OR, NOW I’M DEALING WITH A JUNGLE!
When finally I got back to the mountains and went up to my garden a bit of a shock was in store for me.
The beautifully ploughed field was shoulder-high in weeds and very thorny thistle-like weeds, and the trees had all got a lot bigger! Not just a bit, but about doubled in size. I turned my attention to the top terraces by the broken beautiful carcass of a house and there I saw nothing but weeds, ivy, vines, rocks and bloody plastic. I would have to have a proper plan and I needed a less shocked and overwhelmed brain to process it. I would have to put my gardener’s brain in gear and see what could be achieved that wasn’t reckless and well, a waste of time till the rebuild.
I had a big bag of different seeds that I optimistically had gathered of non-GMO organic heirloom varieties of veg and flowers. The various varieties of beans, peas, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, spinach, kale etc were no longer going in until the next season now, nor were the beneficial wildflowers for the wildlife, aroma and fabric dying. Neither would my medicinal herbs. Bummer but realistic. The ground was bone dry and my stream was a mere trickle. Dangerously hidden under the six-inch carpet of dead pine needles and weeds were ankle-breaking rocks of various sizes and sections of a massive dead vine hung from all the trees to slap you in the face along with scratchy dead branches and twigs from various trees but especially the poor olive squashed between its peers on the top terrace. At eye level and below, eye-removing perils abounded and tree branches were ready to knock you out if you lost concentration for a mere second. This doesn’t even include the dreaded brambles sheathing the falling roof of the house and about six feet beyond covering the ground and also climbing anything around with their robust prickles and pathetically small fruit. These bastards were all about the leaves and thorns!
I decided I would embark on the only practical route I could manage, clearing the top two terraces, the second one down having two narrower shelf-like ones made this and obvious project. What ensued was six days on the trot of hard labour.
Each day I got up early and abandoned all hope of breakfast as they don’t really stir here at the fish restaurant where I am living in one of their cabins. Although they call me family and put up with my other foibles I could see that I wouldn’t get away with that, so I rose early and walked the nearly two km up to my place normally collecting my friendly tribe of doggies. I have to walk this way as the more direct path is guarded by a Rottweiler who is hateful! This is a great shame but occasionally I get a lift en route.
Upon arriving I unpack the boots I’d left here from last time along with the secateurs, gloves and pruning saw which I have borrowed (along with a big heavy old rake a couple of days later) I also take out my bag of runes my brother made for me to sit and absorb the energy there. This is now a ritual.
At the beginning, I was piling up the scattered rocks to avoid ankle damage into piles and clipping dead wood (for there is a lot) to avoid eye damage. I thought some of the roof tiles would be salvagable but sadly they all have smashed as they fell, besides this was crazy dangerous work and not to be undertaken even by a mad old bird like me. As I progressed gradually on that first day I felt so blessed it was almost a spiritual experience. I had promised the old neighbour that I would respect the land and the house her grandfather had built with his own hands.
There is a very definite and fragile structure to an ageing village and its customs and practices, and I have worked very hard to earn their trust and respect. Slowly I am getting accepted and am even getting a little grudging respect. I love these people and I want to be part of this small crumbling village, I don’t want to be an outsider. I always wave and smile and even blow kisses (to the women) even when struggling with a back-breaking hard bit in the garden I will always look up to grin and wave at passing cars and tractors. It’s mostly tractors and they are at it all day so like to keep an eye on where I’m getting to.
So, gradually, after moving the worst of the perils I started cutting and pruning until I actually found a secret garden behind the dense coverage. As I cut and hauled away the debris the area opened up magically and I could finally visualise having a glass of wine or a cocktail indeed out here in the future after a hard day’s work. I can imagine making my simple pottery kiln and starting to create low-fired pieces at the beginning, also making my soaps and body butters with ingredients from the excellent organic places in town. I can see myself dyeing natural fabrics with natural plants and flowers with the idea of creating a small cottage industry.
However, I’m getting ahead of myself. I worked like a navvy over the next six days clearing up space and seeing what repairs would need doing on these terrace stone walls. I cut the ivy along the extent of the whole back wall and revealed a fine albeit a bit broken top road wall. I raked those darn pine needles that made me slippery slide down hidden inclines to have some clean hard-packed earth to walk on and get about more quickly. Over was the miserable stumbling and slipping around and starting a confident stride around refining as I went along.
Plastic and old rubbish were collected and put in the bin at the top of my ‘drive’. Bracken took forever and tore me to ribbons and was slow and arduous as my gloves are a bit thin and only some of the dead vine could be coaxed from its enmeshment in the trees around. Clearly, a tree surgeon will have to be called in at some point but I believe this is a very good start to see what actually needs doing. It’s been more like some terribly tangled problematic puzzle that needs unravelling at its own pace.
I’ve had amazing hospitality in the village. On my 11 o’clock walk up to the mosque one day, to re-hydrate and wash my weary body a little with its waters from the mountain gushing from the two big spouts in a marble mausoleum-style enshrinement, I was invited in for chai. This was at the local store which I’m relieved to say sells beer and fags as well as fresh bread. There were sitting the owner and two other lovely women who insisted I also partook in their meal. Delicious village cheese and herb bread was foisted on me although I was reluctant knowing it would make me sleepy. Then from a pile of unskinned boiled potatoes in the centre of the table, the owner slyly peeled a spud with her fingers and slid it onto my plate. Now boiled potatoes are my favourite thing, if organic they taste of the earth and with a sprinkle of salt they need nothing else. I’m afraid I confess to eating four until I finally said no to more finished my third tea and trotted off back to work a very happy bunny.
Another time the couple came over with a laden tray of the cheesy homemade buns and chai. They sat on the ground with me and admired my handiwork while we ate and drank, then the man cut off two olive branches for me that I’d kept nearly bashing my brains out on. An hour after this my other neighbour passed a tray down with a big bowl of homemade bean and potato stew in a natural tomato sauce. This came with bread grapes and water. She mimed to me she saw me working so hard that I needed food. She then came back with a big bowl of watermelon chunks before she went off to her cows. The kindness is amazing in these village folk. Once over their suspicion, they will do anything to help, especially now they see I’m not a pathetic townie and like good hard work with the land.
I’ve been resting the last few days which has involved rather a lot of drinking I’m afraid but also one lady and her friend came down to visit from the village to introduce herself. She speaks English quite well and they are absolutely lovely. I’d waved at her a couple of times as she passed on her tractor or quad bike. She’s happy to get bits from town for me, or indeed me to go with her and they like a drink so we will have a little party up at hers. I think we will be the naughty ones. Mind you it seems a few like a wee dram locally, and that’s just the women!
LAST NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.
Just as I was preparing to go and eat yesterday afternoon I saw a quad bike arrive with my chum Irem perched happily on top. She had come to search me out for a jolly which involved my first quad ride. Actually, I found it terrifying but wonderful. Had to go up this really rough mountain track first to pick up some figs for her mum and dad to dry, that was the scary bit. We then zoomed up the normal road to the village to pick up beers and apparently a dog! She explained when we got up to her place on top of the mountain that it was a stray and she was taking it in. She has a heart of gold and is very like-minded about the natural life and good energy as is her friend. We chatted as she fed the geese and chickens along with the new member of the family, the stray dog. We then watched a beautiful sunset non-stop yakking. She is really a wonderful neighbour to have as is her friend who brought me a big bag of organic tomatoes from her garden this morning while I was pulling ivy from the olive trees at mine. Really lovely to have found exactly my type of people.
Old Bird Travels Solo! 