one of many pomegranites on elizabeth's tree |
modern "frantoio" (oil pressing) where we picked up the oil from the olives domenico had harvested the week before |
nice fall view from frantoio |
the garden filled with cabbages, cavolo nero, lettuces, radicchio and more |
cabbage and cavolo nero |
a future oil olive presser at work |
many boxes waiting to be pressed |
modern machine which separates out the leaves and branches from the olives, all automated |
elizabeth at work |
there it is, final product |
90 kilos of oil ready for some lucky Umbrian |
great looking oil |
after a stop to pick up the oil we headed to the family who makes honey and picked up a few jars |
honey making equipment |
after a hard day of procuring oil, honey and veggies from the garden we get treated with another gorgeous view/sunset |
and a great fire |
on our sat a.m walk we visit the baby kid goats |
and the proud father |
starting our walk |
we headed to asproli on foot to see the "old" frantoio. here is the village church and belltower which still rings out at noon |
The old fantoio does it all by manual labor. the olives are first put in here and mashed up (that is done by the rotating blades. step 1 |
the mats have the olive spread and piled on top of each other and the excessive water is squeezed off. step 3 |
the olive pate like substance comes out the tube and is spread by hand onto the mat. step 2 |
Lots of hard work awaits in the old frantoio |
and who would know that this garage is really the frantoio where the olives were getting turned into lovely Umbrian oil? |
in a nearby building an old style wooden rake like structure which separated the olives from the branches |
waiting to be made into oil |
old frantoio in action, wonderful old machines |
one of our scrumptious meals all coming from the garden |
the proud farmer with his little basket of mushrooms he picked in the field |
the calm before the storm on Sunday |
storm rapidly approaching with high winds, torrential rains, thunder and lightning |
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frantoio in action |
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the welcoming mats were the mats the olives are spread on, loved this entrance |
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the proud farmer's morning harvest of mushrooms |