Ulivi: The Ancient Olive Trees of Puglia

After returning from Puglia last summer, I knew I would need an olive tree for the balcony.

Over the four weeks I spent surrounded by them in the countryside, I had become accustomed to their presence. I could no longer imagine life without their twisty branches and muted foliage rustling in the breeze, catching the light on the silvery side of their leaves. 

Having played a starring role in the region’s agriculture, cuisine, and economy for approximately 3,000 years, it’s not surprising that olive trees come up a lot in Puglia. People there like to talk about them, and I eagerly listened.

Below I’ll share what I learned about ulivi from these encounters: their history, the threat to their existence, and the care needed to keep them healthy and safe.

Olive trees are a big deal in Puglia

The sheer volume of olive trees makes a strong impression on first-time visitors to Puglia. In the heel of Italy’s boot known as Salento, where my husband’s family is from, olive groves blanket the landscape from Adriatic coast to Ionian coast.

Inhabited by the Messapian civilization in antiquity, the region was colonized by the Greeks around 1000 B.C., and the olive trees probably arrived with them. If not exactly “native,” their presence being the result of global trade and conquests that happened thousands of years ago, suffice it to say olives have been there a very, very long time. And some of the old-timers, the “monumental” specimens, are still standing and producing fruit!

Along the road to the family house, we regularly drove past a modern-day olive oil co-op where olive farmers bring their fruit to be pressed and bottled. My mother-in-law’s family uses a co-op like this to process oil from their trees, which they kindly ship to us regularly.

We’re not the only ones dependent on Puglian olive oil; 40% of Italy’s and 12% of the world’s olive oil comes from Puglia’s 60 million olive trees. The oil is renowned not just for its quantity, but for its quality- I heard it frequently referred to as “liquid gold.”

An olive tree pandemic

If, like me, you follow news about both Italy and plants, you may have heard about the disease that began ravaging Puglia’s ulivi about a decade ago called Xylella fastidiosa. Like the sinking of Venice, this bacterium poses a dire ecological threat to the cultural heritage of Italy. 

Xylella clogs the vessels that carry water from the roots to the leaves, choking the plant to death. Insects like spittlebugs that chew on the leaves spread the disease from plant to plant. Since the arrival of Xylella in Puglia in 2013 (likely from ornamental plants shipped from overseas), it has killed 20-21 million trees, or nearly a third of Puglia’s ulivi population.  The trees of Salento have been hit particularly hard, the spread having started in the south, and almost every tree we saw had telltale patches of dead, gray foliage.

The discovery of Xylella in these beloved trees prompted many strong reactions. Farmers and scientists were reasonably alarmed, while property owners in Puglia balked at the proposal to cut down millennia-old infected trees, and some folks even thought the disease was a hoax. It seemed there was no cure and while governmental agencies and various factions fought over it, the disease continued its deadly march northwards.

Hope for the ulivi

Nowadays, there are glimmers of hope. Around 2016, farmers found that grafting certain varieties of olives onto the severed stumps and branches of infected trees brought them back to life. They have now identified two bacteria-resistant olives and are cultivating native varieties that seem to have survived the massacre. 

The grafting process is expensive on a large scale, but the regional government has offered funding to support farmers who undertake it. They’re also training dogs to sniff out the disease before a tree starts showing symptoms, which would allow action to be taken more quickly.  

In the postwar era, many rural Italians abandoned the agricultural life for industrial jobs in cities. They had understandable reasons, though it led to a tragic loss of traditional practices and, in Puglia, neglected and overgrown olive groves that allowed Xylella to spread more rapidly. One of the best techniques identified for preventing the disease is keeping the groves healthy and cared for.

Lessons from an ancient olive grove

Some of the most beautiful and ancient groves are found alongside the road from the stunning hilltop town of Ostuni down to the Adriatic sea, including the ones cultivated by the Masseria Brancati, which we visited towards the end of our trip. On a lovely tour of the property, we met trees over a millennia old and explored an ancient underground olive mill.

Our guide, the son of the owner, taught me many interesting things about caring for ulivi. I had noticed a lot of bushy growth at the base of most olive trees in the area; he confirmed my suspicion that these are suckers that should be removed, since the plant will direct all its energy towards them if given the chance. Every few years, they let one of them grow to rejuvenate the plant. The olive trees’ incredible longevity is due to this ability to regenerate.

Furthermore, it is important to cut back the undergrowth yearly and encourage the presence of native plants. Although culturally and gastronomically important, the cultivation of olives over the centuries in Puglia has created a monoculture, another reason that Xylella has been so devastating. Caring for the environment of the ulivi prevents the proliferation of the insects that spread the disease.

Masseria Brancati keeps its groves pristine and they have so far escaped Xylella, though they are proactively planting resistant varieties. In a brief chat with the owner, he told me his most knowledgeable workers were nearing retirement age and he was worried about finding help in the future. I eagerly volunteered to apprentice, but I don’t think he realized I was serious.

Back home in Oakland

Once we were back home in August, I started eyeing little olive trees at the garden center near our house. My sweet husband, homesick for Puglia, bought me one for our anniversary. It really wasn’t that expensive – only $35 or so – and it was worth every penny.

Other than keeping an eye out for suckers and pests, caring for olive trees in pots is a breeze. Used to arid, rocky landscapes, they tolerate drought, poor soil, and confined roots. I under-planted mine this winter and spring with heuchera, pansies, tulips, and daffodils, and have direct sown some poppies for later in the season. I might add ornamental oregano this summer in keeping with the Mediterranean theme.

Here in California, instead of Xylella, we have the olive fruit fly which lays eggs in, feeds on, and ruins the crop. They got to most of the few olives my tree came with; you can tell from the little hole they make in the fruit. I salvaged and cured exactly six olives which I will report back on once I’ve gathered the courage to try them. This year, I’ll place a trap to keep the population down, but I’m not counting on a big harvest anyway.

Obviously, the olive tree I adopted isn’t thousands of years old; it’s probably four or five. And it won’t produce pounds of olives from which I will press liquid gold. But it’s a like a talisman that transports me, when I step out onto the balcony, to the deep blue skies, red earth, and sea breezes of that July in Salento. I can’t wait to return.