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Our story.

In my husband’s family,

olives and oil were part of daily life,

the scent of childhood,

the taste of home.

Love came
slowly…

I’ll admit—as a child, olive oil was far from my favorite.

Salad with oil? I wouldn’t even taste it.

That thick, green liquid didn’t speak my language.


But life has its ways. Quiet, steady, subtle.


And so, over forty years ago, olive oil found me.

 

In my husband’s family, olives weren’t just food—olives and oil were woven into everyday life.


Eggs were fried in oil, oil made the bean maneštra irresistible, and švoj (Dover sole) in “Triestina” sauce was a true feast. Salads were dressed with special care.

It was all new to me—and wondrous.

Our story.

In my husband’s family,

olives and oil were part of daily life,

the scent of childhood,

the taste of home.

Love came
slowly…

I’ll admit—as a child, olive oil was far from my favorite. Salad with oil? I wouldn’t even taste it. That thick, green liquid didn’t speak my language.


But life has its ways.


Quiet, steady, subtle.


And so, over forty years ago, olive oil found me.

In my husband’s family, olives weren’t just food—olives and oil were woven into everyday life.


Eggs were fried in oil, oil made the bean maneštra irresistible, and švoj (Dover sole) in “Triestina” sauce was a true feast. Salads were dressed with special care.

It was all new to me—and wondrous.

Original wooden crate by my father-in-law

Still, even then,
it wasn’t quite love...

Still, even then, it wasn’t quite love…
Love matured over years. Slowly, like the olive tree grows.



 

During July vacations spent with my husband’s family, I remember my father-in-law looking to the sky, hoping for rain in the hottest summer days.


I couldn’t understand why anyone would wish for rain when summer meant sea, sun, swimming, and evening gatherings outdoors…

Still, even then,
it wasn’t quite love...

Still, even then, it wasn’t quite love…
Love matured over years. Slowly, like the olive tree grows.



 

During July vacations spent with my husband’s family, I remember my father-in-law looking to the sky, hoping for rain in the hottest summer days.


 

I couldn’t understand why anyone would wish for rain when summer meant sea, sun, swimming, and evening gatherings outdoors…

I learned
to observe.

And then, love happened…


During the harvest. In the chill of November, when old branches became silent witnesses to generations. 

We picked by hand, with cloth bags around our necks—some on ladders, some in the branches, and the less nimble among the lower limbs.


The harvested olives were gathered in airy wooden crates, turned daily with a care that deeply moved me.


From black Carbonazza to colorful Rosignola to large, deep-red Busa.


I’ll never forget my father-in-law’s face as he gently turned the fruits. 

His focus on the moment radiated complete serenity, pride, and gratitude.

I learned
to observe.

And then, love happened…


During the harvest. In the chill of November, when old branches became silent witnesses to generations.

We picked by hand, with cloth bags around our necks—some on ladders, some in the branches, and the less nimble among the lower limbs.


The harvested olives were gathered in airy wooden crates, turned daily with a care that deeply moved me.

From black Carbonazza to colorful Rosignola to large, deep-red Busa.


I’ll never forget my father-in-law’s face as he gently turned the fruits. His focus on the moment radiated complete serenity, pride, and gratitude.

That effort, that legacy of our ancestors,

could not…must not…be forgotten.

Olives and oil have been part of my husband’s life since he can remember.


For me, they are a gift.

 

Today, as we call that old olive grove our own and have planted three more, it’s as if all the stories of our families, all their effort, care, joy, and knowledge, have merged into one wish: to continue where they left off.

 

I look at nature the same way. With the same respect. The same curiosity and gratitude.

I’ve always been fascinated by how wise nature is in its rhythm, how it seeks not perfection but balance.

How it holds silence, regeneration, and answers—if we’re willing to listen.


That is Poder Sijan to us… joy, peace, gratitude, the pleasure of togetherness, harmony with nature, freedom.

Through our oils, we wish to share a piece of this with you.

GET TO KNOW OUR OILS

That effort, that legacy of our ancestors,
could not…must not…
be forgotten.

Olives and oil have been part of my husband’s life since he can remember.


For me, they are a gift.

Today, as we call that old olive grove our own and have planted three more, it’s as if all the stories of our families, all their effort, care, joy, and knowledge, have merged into one wish: to continue where they left off.

I look at nature the same way. With the same respect. The same curiosity and gratitude. I’ve always been fascinated by how wise nature is in its rhythm, how it seeks not perfection but balance.
How it holds silence, regeneration, and answers—if we’re willing to listen.


That is Poder Sijan to us… joy, peace, gratitude, the pleasure of togetherness, harmony with nature, freedom.

Through our oils, we wish to share a piece of this with you.

GET TO KNOW OUR OILS

OPG SIJAN

Tamara Tić Bačić

Šet. I. G. Kovačića 19


51000 Rijeka

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