It is said that the house that houses the b & b La Luna and L'Ulivo was in a remote past a fortified area of protection to the ancient village. Its position, in fact, outside the village and facing both the hill and the valley of the Magra, was essential for the sighting of enemy troops who wanted to predominate on this territory, strategically important, as a way of communication between the Ligurian Sea and Tuscany. Destroyed several times following the Tuscan and Genoese invasions, this house was rebuilt and inhabited since 1690 by local families who transformed it, according to the customs of the time, into a shop with an adjoining house. Traces have been found during the restoration work, the remains of an ancient press for the production of olive oil, and some containers for the collection of oil, which are recovered, are exposed in the ancient tavern of the house. Terracotta fragments depicting Roman heads have also been found, testifying how the house has very ancient origins.
It is from the activity of oil production, so rooted in the local tradition, that the legend of the Magic Olive is born. According to this legend, in fact, such a Martino Polloni who lived in the present b & b between 1820 and 1880, during the November harvest of olives, found under a tree near the house, an olive with iridescent colors. A strange olive, in fact, because it lasts like a diamond and covered with very thin incisions. He decided to keep it as if it were a lucky charm, and he hid it in a crack in the rock in the basement of the house. But from that day on, its olive trees stopped producing fruit and on all the nights of full moon, a melodious song could be heard climbing up from the cellar and going up to the sky. Martino therefore decided to hide in the shadows to investigate this strange event.
And just during a full moon night he saw a girl with very long silvery hair who, seated on the ancient steps (still present in the b & b's foundations) sang her melancholy because she had been locked up in a dark and narrow antrum. He understood then that the girl was none other than the Olive that he had found long ago and hidden in that place. The next morning, with the olive in his pocket, he reached the hill in front of his house and buryed it, reciting ancient litanies that his parents had taught him. And so it was that the trees began to fructify and the song of the Olive Fairy turned into the rustling of the wind among the silvery branches.