DYI in Greece

The days now meld one into another, the intense sun punctuated by the rising chorus of cicadas, the multitude of house and property tasks, new friendships and old reunions. Jonathan and Lucia are blessed to have this time together—father and daughter, λάδι και νερό (oil and water)—in a place of unsurpassed beauty and traditional Greek hospitality.

In the early morning, before the heat rises, the do-it-yourself tasks are ticked away: the burying of the water line, installation of shutter clasps, the hook-up of gas of their cooker, the seemingly endless of picking rocks from the κτήμα (property), and plantings: yesterday’s lavender and mint, tomorrow’s Valencia oranges, lemon, apricot, and fig trees, pomegranate, avocado, sage and a host of other aromatic ornamentals. In a few days, Jonathan will begin to paint the house with the help of his friend Paul, but not before he closes the end openings of the ceramic roof tiles, which have become home to a variety of sparrows, swallows, and swifts, whose constant stratching and peeking in the roof can be maddening.

A few hours on the beach is all that can be tolerated now—the heat builds to an excruciating extent by 1 p.m. or so, and retreat to the shade is the only sensible option. Jonathan’s birthday suit has sustained some slight damage, so caution is the word of the day.

Each night begins with a vow to return home from Finikounda early (by 2 a.m….or at least 3 a.m.), and each night said vow is broken. Life really begins at the village around midnight and the last of the cafeneions close their doors just before sunrise, not just for the adults but for children of all ages. For this schedule, an afternoon siesta has become a matter of self-preservation.

Yesterday morning, while Lucia slumbered and Jonathan worked on varnishing the window screen frames, a small puppy emerged from the adjacent olive grove—sheepishly approaching the house, it’s little tail wagging. Jonathan roused Lucia so that she might meet the visitor, and the two bonded instantly. They named her Ελευθερία (Elefteria= “freedom”), and “Lefty” is her nickname. As much as the two might like to bring this sweet creature back to Maine, alas she must find her own home or suffer the fate of so many strays in this country.

The night before the small travel guitar followed the two into the village. Lucia serenaded their friends at the cafeneion with a mournful love song—and then Jonathan played “Stormy Monday” while their friend Niko belted out the lyrics. It was great fun for everyone.

The neighbors in this mountain village, in the true spirit of Greek curiosity, have introduced themselves—bringing bunches of wild oregano, jars of olives, bottles of wine, soda bottles full of rich green olive oil, goat cheese, and plants for their tabula rosa property. Everyone is a farmer, even those with other jobs, and people take great pride in their olive orchards, vineyards, and gardens. The kindness, generosity, and welcoming nature of the village is always much in evidence…as are the many questions. What a Westerner might consider “nosy” is par for the course: what do you do, how much do you earn, when can you retire and live here? These are frequent questions.

In a few short days, the two will be joined by Jonathan’s sister Dyan (Lucia’s νουνά—nouna—or godmother) and niece Zoe. There is great anticipation and the joy of sharing this special place with family.