We are so very proud and privileged to be working with these amazing people – Itamar, Sarit and their team – and to be invited to talk about the superfood that is premium extra virgin olive oil.
We would, of course, love to supply you with premium fresh extra virgin olive oil. Just go to our online shop or get in touch.
If you have never tasted Mother’s Garden now is the time. Listen first, though, to hear what Itamar and we have to say……….
Feedback means so much to us … This was our favourite last week.
“Dear Martin and Maggie
Just to let you know that the quality and taste of your delicious olive oil was highlighted recently.
Visiting my 90 year old mother, I decided to make her favourite sunny weather lunch – ciabatta topped with sliced vine tomato, mozzarella and basil, sprinkled with olive oil.
I didn’t realise that Mum had run out of Mother’s Garden olive oil so had to use a well-known Italian brand instead. It was awful – very pale and it tasted like sunflower oil. Yuck! Our lunch was spoiled.
Needless to say, Mum now has a fresh supply of Mother’s Garden oil with strict instructions to tell me when she needs more.”
Any more reviews of our premium fresh, single village mill, extra virgin olive oil? We love to know what you think.
Who would like some amazing new harvest premium extra virgin olive oil? We are harvesting and pressing now, for deliveries of daisy-fresh, amazing premium extra virgin olive oil in the UK during early December. A superfood treat!
HOW TO SAVE……
PRE-ORDERS PLACED AND PAID FOR BEFORE 30th NOVEMBER WILL BE AT THE CURRENT PRICES
(Current prices 2 litres £19.20, 5 litre £40.70, Case of glass £42.60 – nb there is still a £10.75 delivery charge for orders under £120)
Prices from 1st December will be 2 litres £19.50, 5 litres £41.50, Case of glass £43.50 ,
We aim to have this new harvest with customers before Christmas, hopefully in the first two weeks of December.
PLEASE SHARE AND TELL YOUR FRIENDS!
Thank you to the twenty friends, family and volunteers pressed into action-packed days in the olive groves.
Would you like some? Get in touch. Or go to our online shop.
We have had to make a slight increase from December 1 due to greater production and transports costs, but we are still able to bring you one of the finest olive oils in the world from as little as £8.30 a litre.
Sending all best wishes from a rather busy Mother’s Garden
Unsere ersten fünf Bestellungen in Deutschland!
Wir haben in diesem August unsere ersten fünf Bestellungen von privaten Kundinnen und
Kunden erhalten, und unser Premium natives Olivenöl extra wird ihnen direkt nach Hause
geliefert. Ihnen allen unser aufrichtiger Dank!
Indem Sie hier online kaufen, können Sie einen Karton von 6 Flaschen à 500ml für den Preis
von weniger als €12 pro Flasche nach Hause geliefert bekommen – wunderbar für Ihren
Tisch, Ihre Ernährung oder als Geschenk.
Wenn Sie einen größeren Behälter kaufen, können Sie mehr sparen – und weil unser
Transportpreis eine Flatrate ist, kann man noch mehr sparen, indem man mit
Familienangehörigen oder Freunden eine Sammelbestellung aufgibt.
Our May shipment is in England, ready for distribution next week – world-class, award-winning arbequina extra virgin olive oil from our valley, appreciated by more and more people. Just get in touch if you would like to try some.
Why should you? Premium olive oil is not only delicious but exceptionally good for you. Here is a guide – http://www.oliveoiltimes.com/olive-oil-health-benefits. But if you have any questions please ask us via our contacts page.
Remember, too, that if you just want to try a 500ml bottle we have deli and farm shop outlets in Norfolk, Kent, Hampshire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire and Devon. Just ask.
And please keep track of the nature and life down on the farm with our monthly Mother’s Garden posts and photographs at https://www.facebook.com/mothersgardenoliveoil/. The olives are in flower now and we have cirl buntings hopping from branch to branch.
The cottage is booked now through to the end of September, but we would be delighted to welcome you if you want to consider an autumn break.
Keep well, and if you want to join the growing number of customers appreciating our fresh EV olive oil please GET IN TOUCH.
New UK outlets for our fresh, award-winning extra virgin olive oil! Just in. Taste the difference.
HAMPSHIRE – REDFIELDS GARDEN CENTRE
Brown and Green shop, Ewshot Lane, Church Crookham, Fleet GU52 8U
DERBYSHIRE – DERBY GARDEN CENTRE
Brown & Green Farm Shop, Alfreton Road, Little Eaton DE215DB
STAFFORDSHIRE – BROWN AND GREEN FARM SHOP
Unit 2, Trentham Retail Village, Stoke on Trent ST48AX
DEVON – FERMOYS GARDEN CENTRE
Brown and Green Farm Shop, Totnes Road, Ipplepen, Newton Abbot TQ125TN
Any questions, please get in touch.
More and more people are appreciating our premium, fresh and healthy arbequina olive oil.
Ping. Spring bursts, headlong, certain. Lucid blossom pops on the fringes of the meadow, at the feet of budding vines, on the fingertips of the black-barked almonds. The reaches of the bare walnut canopy chime with chaffinch song.
It is disconcerting, bewilderingly precipitous.
I’m trailing behind the dogs, beyond the olive grove into the spooky shadows of the pine copse on the gentle sloping terrace above the corral. It is a place of whispers, corridors and half light, not so dense, nor too open, the fitting place to bury the sparrowhawk. This is where these birds prey, breathe, strike, belong. On my looping route in and out of the wood I pass two scatterings of feathers, one from a pigeon, the other a blackbird.
The sparrowhawk cupped in my hand – a juvenile, yellow-iris male I think – still had the steel in its half-closed eyebeam; a warrior, as Ted Hughes poem keenly summed, blue shoulder-cloak wrapped about him, weighing just seven ounces. Its Jurassic feet of shocking turmeric yellow, of clinical finesse and power tipped with curling razor black talons, were as perfect as the counter shaded bars on his chest. What a terrible waste.
The last time I had been so close to murderous creation was when its cousin and another farm and valley predator, a goshawk, had broken through the net canopy of our chicken run exactly two years ago. Dim-witted, I had stepped in, over the corpses of two chickens it had dispatched, and tried to usher it out. It looked into my soul. The raptor gaze was as shocking as the bulk. It was a force of nature.
The hawks were dark, untameable, graceless creatures of history, unloved by the falconers with noble peregrines on their gauntlets. Goshawks were deemed vile and fractious, hard to master. For sure their darting, shadowy world is far harder to glimpse, let alone fathom, so different it is from the soaring falcon. But what wonder when you see a hawk, sense the menacing, brutal power from that different world, the one we rarely see and decreasingly sense: the parallel universe inhabited by other Earth creatures who have evolved to perfection, who somehow have the power to shake us humans awake from our ludicrous dream that we know and understand, are wise and supreme.
The sparrowhawk had met his end on the bumpy main road that slices through the rolling vineyards and groves a couple of miles from the farm. In its tunnel-vision, terrain-skimming pursuit of prey it had crossed the path of a truck and lay flinching on the verge the opposite side of the road beyond the crash barrier. There was nowhere for us to pull over and, as ever, crazed Catalan drivers were furiously bunched up behind our bumper like railway carriages. We were heading for the olive mill and decided to check on our return journey to see if the bird was stunned or dead.
It was still there. The life within it had frozen, the beak locked down against the barred softness of its chest. We took it home and then I found a suitable spot to bury it beneath pine needles and two hefty stones, on the lip of the copse with an uplifting open visa of the valley, near the bee orchids.
I drifted deeper into the shadowland. Through the dreamy rhythm of the dark bark I was heading for the bowl of brightness at the far end, the latest crucible of labour where we are trying to make sense of our relationship with this land. On the western fringe of the farm beside a sunken holloway of cane, oak, blackthorn and bramble, we are, as sensitively as possible, steadily freeing a line of old olives from a worryingly combustible tangle. Imagining harvests to come we steadily stack firewood for future winters. We attempt, as we have done all over the place, to thin the dominant forces and to foster diversity, with mixed results. This corner of Mother’s Garden has been abandoned long enough for some of the undergrowth to tower 20 feet above the ancient olives. At intervals the mesh of the hollow has been breached by wild boar whose well-worn paths pattern the valley like the ancient ways of hobbits. And at the deepest point, where in 15 years I have never ventured before (and where we will leave nature alone) I found the half-crater of old badger set beneath a crooked hawthorn.
All this is but 100 metres from our pony’s dusty corral that sits in an elbow of the woodland. What nights frolics the old girl must witness, which explains her propensity to doze in the winter sunshine when out to graze. The creatures – boar, owls, badgers, rabbit, rats and cats that prey on them, weasels, deer – that inhabit that other world we rarely experience, must keep her awake most of the night.
Of all the cats that live off this land, arguably the wildest has wheedled her way into our warm kitchen. Gen Cat is classically feral. Her fat ringtail, her black side stripes on camouflage grey and her fearless countenance suggest her genes are predominantly from the forest. She will take a rodent half her size, refuses to acknowledge the terriers’ hatred, and yet at the same time has the guile to circumnavigate any doubts we might have about letting such a beast on to our laps.
Back in the hollow, as I tickle along with the clearing for an hour a day in the company of all manner of living things, I breathe in the benefit. I can begin to see the progress while weighing lessons learned from living so close to that other world,, fortified by a space I foolishly used to think of as solitude.
DELICIOUS, HEALTHY NEW HARVEST EXTRA VIRGIN OLIVE OIL – TAKING ORDERS NOW FOR DECEMBER DELIVERIES.
There is nothing tastier or healthier than the freshest, finest food is there? But have you ever tried this?
Order yours today (for mainland UK deliveries early December).
Choice of 5 litre, 2 litre or case of 6x500ml bottles.
Our new harvest arbequina extra virgin olive oil, being pressed as I write, zinging with flavour and goodness and exceptionally low in acidity, can be on your table in time for Christmas.
We at multi-award winning Mother’s Garden are pulling out all the stops once again to make this available in the UK for the festive season. A rare treat. All you have to do is get in touch or go to our shop to order.
If you have never tried our UK Great Taste Gold Star olive oil, this is the perfect time. Drizzle it on steamed vegetables, on baked fish, onto fresh bread or winter salads. Taste the difference.
And our 500ml bottles (available in cases of 6) make excellent presents for family and friends or to take to dinner parties.
Meanwhile the shadows lengthen as the farm eases towards winter. Our olives are all in but the other village families are still harvesting and the cooperative mill is a hive of activity, blooming with the scent of fresh olive juice.
A burst of rain has brought the usual enchantments, not least wild mushrooms. People are wandering the valley with baskets under their arms, including our friend Enric who gifted us four different kinds.
The talk is of a hard winter ahead, but for now everything seems to be holding its breath. We shall see, and I will tell you.
Keep well. And get in touch if you ever want to know more about Mother’s Garden, or to visit.
SHAKING THE TREE NEEDS REVIEWS
A long-distance hug to everyone who has bought the new Shaking The Tree e-book. Would you consider posting a review?
Two options – Good Reads and Amazon Books. Here are the links.
There is no more poignant measure of treasured time than the faces of your children.
I turn off the chainsaw to rest my arms and free my hot ears from the muffs. The air still rattles with engine noise. Two powered para-gliders, the sharp colour of grapefruit, are edging along the valley, riding the cloudless sky. If I hadn’t looked up I wouldn’t have seen the peregrine.
There is now more room among the pines for the old olive trees to breathe. And there is room on the terrace wall to perch. A chicken idles past the ankles of the pony and out of the corral. Ah-Ah. I wander over and check the hay store. I haven’t looked for days. Five eggs.
La Petita is dozing, resting one hoof. She is rarely alone, especially at night. The plough work of the wild boar is everywhere.
Through the new pools of light in the wood the initial flecks of almond pink. The last of Joe’s giant snowman has gone. No frost for three mornings.
A carpenter bee, the first, gently writes its name in the air. My gaze slides to Maggie clearing around and feeding the olives. Water from the spring is running between the broad beans.
We must press on with pruning. Maggie has begun in the vineyard, but the olives await and we are too late to finish the almond grove.
I must soon nurse Nell the 51 year-old tractor out of hibernation. It is good to harrow when the earth is amenable.
The Mother’s Garden year is ticking on. How we love the promises of these awakening days. Perhaps I love February most of all.
Now back inside, Martin. Leave the beauty of the woodpile with the robin on top, the happy sense of progress, the sun on our shoulders, and write about this feeling. Then get on with the latest screenplay, maybe checking first if, like the eggs, we have some more orders for fresh olive oil. Oh yes.