Osso di Oliva and the Miraculous Oil
A tale dedicated to all olive growers, especially those in Salento.
A very poor family lived off their small goat herd but mostly from selling the oil produced by their olive trees, perhaps millennial ones. No one, not even the village elders, knew when these trees were planted. They had many mouths to feed, including a young girl whose name, a perfectly ordinary one, was forgotten by everyone—even her parents. She spent all her days in the olive grove, running and playing hide-and-seek with hares and deer. She knew every olive tree by name.
There was “The Great Old One,” who didn’t even know his own age but often spoke of men with short swords and strange armor who rested under his canopy.
Then there was “The Immortal,” who had faced fire and been reborn from his ashes.
And “The Feeder of Multitudes,” an enormous tree that bore so much fruit that they could never harvest it all. Year after year, more people joined the family to help, but they always left discouraged, with olives still hanging from the branches. Immense flocks of birds would arrive after the harvest to feast day and night on the remaining olives to prepare for winter. Only then would “The Feeder of Multitudes” finally be free of his burden.
In telling these stories, we almost forgot about the little girl! She was thin, almost skin and bones, taller than other children her age, with long, straight raven-black hair, bark-colored skin, and deep blue eyes that even the sky and sea envied. As mentioned, no one remembered her real name; to everyone, she was “Osso di Oliva” (Olive Bone).
The Disease of Forgetfulness
Her life, though difficult due to her family’s poverty, was peaceful among her olive tree friends. One night, she noticed that neither her parents nor her siblings had gone to bed. She thought nothing of it. The next morning, she awoke early to find them all busy and active. She was sent to the village to buy chickpeas and flour and discovered from chatter in the shops that no one had slept the previous night.
It was true. No one had slept that night—or the nights that followed. It was the dreadful Disease of Forgetfulness. At first, no one cared. They didn’t feel tired and were happy to have more time for work and celebrations. Children played and chased each other through the night.
But after a few days, perhaps due to the lack of sleep, people began losing their memory and failing to recognize each other. Neighbors didn’t recognize neighbors; husbands and wives forgot each other, and together they forgot who their children were. They wandered through their homes asking, “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” The situation worsened when people began seeing friends and family as enemies to distrust and defend against. Fights and quarrels broke out, escalating to street assaults.
Osso di Oliva, mysteriously immune to this illness, was horrified. She realized she had to find a solution to save her village and her friends. She went to the olive grove and asked the trees for advice. The eldest trees held a council (none moved, communicating instead through their roots). In the end, they told her how she could save the village and its people.
That night, unafraid of the danger, she went to the village and anointed everyone’s eyes with oil from her olive trees. The villagers soon fell into a deep, restorative sleep. Upon waking, they recognized each other again and embraced as if they hadn’t seen one another in years.
Osso di Oliva was celebrated as a heroine and respected as a healer. From that day on, many sought her help for all sorts of ailments. But the oil did not work for them; it seemed to have lost its properties or was created solely to cure the Disease of Forgetfulness. Eventually, people stopped coming, bitterly thinking she was unwilling to help them, believing the olive trees cared only for their village and its inhabitants.
The Olive Grove in Danger
Time passed, and the Disease of Forgetfulness was forgotten. One day, while playing with forest animals, Osso di Oliva heard a voice calling her. She recognized it—it was her olive tree friend “Silver Leaves,” but the voice was faint and suffering. When she reached him, he said, “Look at me, Osso di Oliva. I’m unwell, drying up entirely!”
It was true. His youngest branches were withering, and leaves were falling. “It started when the spittlebug visited me—it made me sick…” Osso di Oliva was saddened but thought he was exaggerating. “Olive trees are strong,” she thought, “They’ve endured so much and will overcome this too.” And she forgot about it.
Weeks passed, but the situation did not improve. “Silver Leaves” was almost completely dry, and other olive trees began to fall ill. Alarmed, Osso di Oliva tried to speak with the elder trees, as she had during the Disease of Forgetfulness, but no one answered. A deathly silence reigned in the grove. Osso di Oliva was at a loss.
Experts were called in and tried poultices, resins, and mineral watering, but nothing worked. In the end, defeated, they told her, “You must cut them down and burn them all. Only this will save the other olive trees.”
Osso di Oliva couldn’t accept it. They were her friends; they had saved the village. But no one seemed to remember.
Seeking Help
Desperate, Osso di Oliva spent days and nights in the grove, whispering words of comfort to the sick trees, but to no avail. Finally, she thought of the miraculous oil that had healed the villagers. If it had cured the Disease of Forgetfulness, it might cure her olive trees. But there was none left; the harvest had been lost to the illness, and her despair deepened.
She had no choice but to ask the villagers for oil. One morning, she stood in the village square and shouted, “Only oil can save the olive trees, but we have none. We need yours!” But no one stopped to listen. Everyone thought, “Of course, she wants our oil for her trees… and then we’ll be left without any.”
Osso di Oliva began approaching people individually, pleading with them to lend her their oil. But they angrily brushed her off.
“You burned down your brother’s house during the Disease of Forgetfulness! And you? You threw your children out because you didn’t recognize them. And you, yes, you—you slammed the door in your wife’s face, thinking she was a stranger!” she cried. “The oil saved you, and now you turn your backs on those who rescued you?”
But no one helped her. Osso di Oliva returned home in despair.
Is all lost?
She spent the next few days in the olive grove without ever leaving it. She whispered words of comfort to the sickest olive trees but without hope.
After a week during which she had never returned home, she was about to give up when she saw her neighbors approaching with a jar in their hands. “We don’t have much oil, but we can give you this. Use it as you think is right.”
Osso di Oliva hugged them and as she did so she saw other people approaching. They all had, some in their hands, some on a cart, a container with oil. And more were still arriving. She no longer knew how to thank them and at a certain point she realized that she had enough oil to be able to act.
With the villagers’ help, she began spreading oil over every tree—trunk, branches, and remaining leaves. They treated all the olive trees. That evening, the villagers wished her luck but left, convinced it wouldn’t work.
Days passed, and nothing changed. A month later, sitting in the grove that now resembled a petrified forest, Osso di Oliva heard a voice again. It was “Silver Leaves”: “Come to me, Osso di Oliva…”.
She thought he wanted to say goodbye.
Silver Leaves
“Look at me,” he said. She looked through her tears: “I see you—you’re all dry!”
“Look closer!” he replied. Wiping her eyes, she noticed a tiny green leaf peeking from a hidden branch. “A leaf!” she cried, sobbing with joy.
It took months before all the olive trees were declared safe. Meanwhile, the villagers’ trees were also treated and saved.
A Tribute to Osso di Oliva
Today, in the village square, stands a great olive tree. At its base lies a statue of Osso di Oliva, and a fountain flows—not with spring water, but with oil.