Each year his oil would be a little better. After decades of learning, analyzing and refining his methods he began to feel that his was a quality oil. His neighbors would flock to his door to purchase a jar of the oil. Demetrius would accept no money for the oil. He would say that he was making it for love, not profit. His friends and neighbors would instead bring him goods in exchange: a fine ham, some fresh ground meal, a fine laying hen.
It had been many years since Demetrius and Daria had married. He was an old man, and the olive tree was broad and tall. Most days, the old man’s yard was filled with friends. They came for the oil, but they also came for Demetrius. As his oil had mellowed and richened, so had his soul. Some said being around Demetrius was like being near an oven filled with fresh baking loaves. The old wise woman had long since passed away. But Demetrius remembered well their last conversation.
“Will my olive oil ever be fine enough, old woman? I still long to be with my love.”
“Ah, Demetrius, we are all seeking our love. When the oil is pure you will know it.”
Though the oil grew finer with each passing year, Demetrius came to understand that some goals can never be met. Some struggles are about the journey.
9.