Down the Lane

The ruined windmills on the ridge between Chorio and Yialos.  The low stone wall on the right of the crest, just before the rocky outcrop,  is Pontikokastro (Mouse Castle).  This is a neolithic stone circle, sometimes referred to as the grave of King Nireus.

It is not just the local humans who enjoy the spring greenery - the lambs are fattening for Easter and this family of two cockerels and three hens were promenading down the lane this morning, choosing their favourite delicacies as they sauntered along.  Someone has probably noticed they are missing by now.  No, they are not mine - most of my chooks are white or speckled grey.

One of the few ruins left on the main stretch of the Kali Strata.  The moss has turned the turquoise paint on the steps the same colour as the faded woodwork.  To restore a house such as this is a labour of love but at least this one was inhabited sufficiently recently for it to have an electricity meter.

Blustery squalls marching into Yialos.

After a sunny start our little corner of Greece has become increasingly grey and blustery. Strong winds and rain are forecast overnight as the low pressure system that has been battering Southern Italy heads east through Greece to Turkey and Syria. Despite some gloriously spring-like days, the winter is not over yet and we can expect more wet and windy weather between now and the March equinox.

The shops are selling oranges, lemons, Cypriot potatoes, Greek leeks and beetroot and not much else in the fresh produce department at the moment. It is too cold and wintery in the main food producing parts of Greece for much to flourish at this time of the year and Symi is the end of the line for imported stuff from more exotic climes. Every afternoon I hear the chatter of local housewives on the hillside, picking horta, the various wild edible greens that are highly prized as a vegetable at this time of the year. Young dandelions, nettles, poppy greens, wild endive and various other greens – the Greek’s aren’t unique in enjoying fresh young leaves. The French have their mesclun, the Italians their misticanza, but in Greece horta has to be picked wild on the hill and no one has yet to my knowledge started marketing it prewashed in little cellophane bags with a sell by date.

Have a good weekend.

Regards,

Adriana