The Little Summer of Saint Demetrios

The Little Summer of Saint Demetrios

We tend to think in Britain that we have exclusivity over talking about the weather. Not so. Here on Kythera it is the topic of conversation everywhere. The fact that it is fine and warm is not unusual. The fact that it is actually hot and we have only had one day of rain, on 18th September, since the spring is unusual. The fact that we have had gentle breeze on a few days is not unusual, but that we have not had the dust driving, rain driving gale force winds for which this island is know, is unusual. A few nights ago we had an incredible sound and lighting show which lit up the skies so that we could clearly see across to the mainland; but we had no rain. But last night there was another storm and with it came some rain; only for about an hour, but for that hour is was more like the lashing rain that we are used to when the back drive runs like a river and the road is ankle deep in water. In the afternoon both Waldo and I had sensed that there was rain in the air, despite there not being a cloud in the sky. Neither of us mentioned it to the other, not yet confident of the extent to which we are both in tune with the natural environment here. Then, just before dusk Waldo called me away from the computer to look up. I won't say that the sky was black, but it was certainly peppered for, against the blue sky, we could see swifts darting about everywhere. They were quite high up and as we did our best to count them, we reckoned that there must have been over two hundred birds silently gathered and swirling about in the air currents. They made no noise, except the occasional sound of wings when one came swooping down. They did not appear to follow any pattern, simply swirling and twirling, perhaps catching insects on the wing. This lasted for just about 20 minutes then, as quickly as they gathered, they moved on. They were part of the many migrating birds that we are privileged to see this time of the year as they move south to warmer climes. I cannot help wondering where they go from here. Given the ravages of so many north African countries, the bombing and warfare, the dispersal of people I just hope they find homes to build their nests in when they arrive at their destination. I hope too that these little birds can give pleasure to people as a break from their war torn days.

I have now moved down to my office known as the AcropoLiz in homage to it's position perched on a ledge overlooking a valley down to the sea and across the Straits of Maleas to the mainland. The move has taken me deeper into the wilderness that is our land. It is actually at the dividing line between our garden and the olive terraces. Down the whole length of the building is a pergola over which the vines grow. Below that it an 'in training' oleander hedge; a bush that Waldo cut and hedged for the first time last year. It is doing well and provides a colourful wind break.  As I sit in the silence I see the little geckos out hunting during the day. They run up and down the vines trunks, stopping when they see potential prey. It is incredible how they remain so still, poised to pounce. If I had not caught the movement before they became statues it would be very difficult to see them, such is their camouflage. I notice that the geckos here are darker than the ones around the house whose hunting grounds are the pale colours of stone and painted walls. In the afternoon the little fellow sun themselves on the roof of this building and I hear them scampering across the inner ceiling panels to get to their favourite tile. Then, as the sun goes down they come in for the night. Two in particular are very curious about me. One looks over the ledge at the top of the wall just to my left; he barks until he gets my attention and then just looks. I try my gecko language, but rarely get an answer; Waldo by chattering his false teeth together is far more proficient at gecko-speak than I. The other seems to have taken up residence in the curtain to my right. He is much bolder and will come down the material, down the window edge and onto my desk. I think that it I remember to bring down Waldo's daily catch of flies he will become quite tame - the gecko I mean of course, not Waldo!

Other visitors are outside the AcropoLiz. Thunderthighs, the big lizard comes down the path and suns himself of the warm stones outside the door. He takes no notice of me and refuses to acknowledge my existence. If I get too close to him he just lumbers off disdainfully. The citrine wagtail is back for the winter. he spend a lot of time on the path, standing with his strange bobbing action, picking up grubs and insects he finds between the stones. I put bread crumbs down for him and he lets me get closer every day. I have high hopes of him coming to trust me to the extent that he will at least peck food out of my hand, it not step onto my outstretched hand. I once trained a robin to do that and it was such a rewarding experience, the little bird gave me hours of pleasure and to be so trusted by a wild creature is a great privilege.

Some people on Kythera cherish the extension of summer for with the winter comes a cool dampness that pervades every corner of old houses. It makes it impossible to dry clothes. People then live in a damp, woody atmosphere cheered only by log fires and hearty soups. For others there is the real fear that the olive harvest will be poor. The olives now are no more than mere pips; tiny, hard and with little flesh. The trees desperately need rain to take up the life-giving water through the sap and produce the rich fruit, plumped up with oil. Whilst few farmers totally rely on nature for their water, the cost of electricity to pump the water to their trees and crops is now prohibitive in Greece. Instead of collecting lots of much needed tax as the government intended, lots of farmers are simply giving up on their crops and we have the crazy situation where shops are resorting to buying lemons from Argentina, apples from the Netherlands and Apricots from Lebanon.

We are fortunate on Kythera in that we have plenty of water, but it is not always in the right place. Thus some farmers and individual house owners have to spend a large proportion of their time collecting water from natural springs or paying for the public authority to deliver water if not on mains connections. As the cost of petrol is now 2 Euros 10 cents on the island; the most expensive in Greece, the costs of collecting or delivering water are becoming far too expensive for commercial use.

The effects of the two showers that we have had are really quite amazing. Our hibiscus continues to delight us most mornings with a new flower just on the edge of our bedroom patio. The flame orange flowers on bushes nearby have come out in profusion. We thought that they had retired for the winter. The bougainvillea and oleander have star5ed to bring forth new flowers. It makes me wonder how much of flowering plants is related to the season and how much to the weather. Our toads are now edged with beautiful wild cyclamen in colours from deep fuchsia to pure white with deep pink centres. they seem to grow even in the roughest ground and even look as though they spring from collections of pine needles where the road runs through the woods. How come they won't grow in our garden? I just love the flowers and have tried replanting roadside ones, buying potted flowers and replanting them, growing from bulbs and at most I get scant blooms and then nothing. The roses in a house on a band in the road on the other side of the village are a wonderful show of colour. There are some beautiful roses which seem to combine yellow and a deep orangey red, pale pale pink, a lovely lilac colour, a deep deep red and an array of yellows, reds and yellows. Waldo waters our roses but nothing seems to be happening with them. We always seem to be away when they bloom, by the number of dead heads needed when we come back, I wistfully think 'they must have been a sight'. But for the most part it stays in my imagination.

For the local people it provides some respite between the tourists mostly leaving the island and the olive harvest. Now they start talking about going to Athens. This may be to sort out their money that they have earned during the summer and other business issues. For some it is to clean and prepare apartments that they have rented out during the summer and get them ready for their holiday over the Christmas period when they will go to Athens and spend the time with family and friends. For many it is simply to return to Athens for their winter jobs. This seasonable approach to work always fascinates me. Whereas there are many people who simply change the location but do the same work; as waiters, running shops, running restaurants, chefs and of the type of work that has transferable skills and the changing location of customers. There are a growing number of people for whom technology enables then to move easily between Athens and the islands or their homes area of Greece. In the heat of the summer the only people who are in Athens are those who cannot leave for various reasons and tourists. Those who can leave do. Those who work in advertising agencies, taxi drivers, those who work in electrical shops, give up all manner of skills for the summer as people become waiters on a summer island. Now is the time of transition.

Tomorrow, 18th October is St. Luke's Day. This is the day for the commemoration of the dead, a day when people will take to the church grain or a dish called Koliva which is a sort of thick, sliceable porridge made of grain which is also the traditional meal at funerals. People hold a vigil in the church where their relatives are buried and then have a feast, a sort of picnic really, around the tombs of their loved ones. This is particularly celebrated in a wonderful, old village in perched high on a mountain ledge in northern Greece, Metsovo because the tradition dates back to the time, just two generations ago when many of the families, who were not silversmiths, were semi-nomadic shepherds. Each year they would spend the summer in the high cooler pastures. Before leaving for their winter in the warmer lowlands, they would honour those who had died in the highlands and been buried in Metsovo. The next days would be spent preparing for the long journey down the mountains. This time of year, the weather is usually good and is often called 'The little summer of St. Demetrios', and thus the work and packing up can be done in the dry, without the inconvenience of rain. St. Demetrios' day is October 26th. and is often the last day on the high pastures, sometimes marked by a feast where the new wine is opened and tasted.

The shepherds, their families, many no doubt nursing hangovers, and their flocks would then take the familiar trails down to the lowland pastures. This used to be a wonderful sight as hundreds of sheep and goats, people, caravans of vehicles all came down the tracks, through small villages and crossed main roads. The women of the villages would all be out protecting their roses and vegetables from the goats. Many villages, even today have the roadsides, particularly in front of houses, planted with Lucern, a clover type plant which is a great favourite with both sheep and goats. This was done in the hope of distracting the greedy animals. Now the plants are left to give their bright pink flowers to adorn old walls and roadsides. All would be quiet in the villages until the nest spring, when St. George's Day 23rd April was the appointed time to return to the highlands. Now, the few shepherds that still live a transhumant life move their animals in large lorries and their families live in fixed homes, driving to visit their relatives when necessary. Not quite the same romantic pastoral scenes, but far more convenient than the old ways. It is perhaps indicative of the way society is changing to realise that the most that is retained of these old traditions is the tasting of the new wines, which is celebrated by parties and festivities in rural villages and town houses alike.