(Asphodel)
What can you say after such a Black
Tuesday? I will not be the only one, feeling the fear rising. When I
go outside (walking is a good remedy for panic attacks) and the wind
plays over a field of bright yellow rapeseed, then Brussels seems
worlds away. But even on the island there is fear: not of a terrorist
attack, but because of the insecurity surrounding the refugee
problems. Even though most islanders have a roof over their head,
times are getting more and more uncertain and incomes are reduced.
Lots of tourists are afraid to come, even though the numbers of
refugees arriving have reduced dramatically and you rarely see them
anymore. The refugees who reach the island only want one thing: not
to be sent back to Turkey, a country they consider to be, just like
their homeland, a country without future or hope. Most volunteers and
NGO's have retired from the camps, which are now said to be prisons.
Many of them have departed for places where their help is still
needed, like Athens or Idomeni.
The island looks as if nothing has
happened. Nature also helps us to forget: for the unseasonably high
temperatures have encouraged plants and flowers to bloom as never
before. They offer consolation in these dark days and I feel very
happy that at least I may enjoy this beautiful Lesvos. Amazing
landscapes, changing coastlines and villages that seem to be
forgotten in time mean that, just for a while, you can forget the
evil world.
I love asparagus and because of the
scarcity on the island of these fat stalks from Holland or Germany, I
have to do with the wild variant. This doesn't grow in the earth but
is a prickly bush whose young shoots try to reach high above all
other bushes and whose tips are considered a delicacy here. The
Greeks bake them in an omelet; I prefer them parboiled with a
vinaigrette, or made into a ragout with eggs and shrimp.
Gathering asparagus is not simple.
The thin shoots lend themselves to invisibility and many a time you
come smack-up against one swaying in the wind right in front of your
nose, despite the fact that that you've been intensively staring
unsuccessfully in the bushes for the last five minutes. They like to
hide in the midst of all kind of prickly bushes, so it's best to wear
gloves. I don't like gloves and I dare to thrust my hands deep into
the thorns because I have to have that very thick asparagus, the
thicker the better they taste.
I force myself a way through
flowering prickly Spartium, I climb over odorous thyme, oregano and
other spice-like bushes, I gaze along slopes hoping to see fresh
green stems shooting up to heaven and I even dare to descend into
ravines to get some of the most illusive asparagus.
Nowadays I even have to fight a way
through fields of Asphodels, where thousands of them reach higher
than my hips. They too, this year, seem to want to set new flowering
records. They grow like hell and whilst it is such a pity that they
do not offer an enchanting scent like the almond does; perhaps it's
just as well, as the whole island would be scented like a broken
perfume bottle.
Asphodels are of the same family as
the lilies, but they have not got their sweet odour. When your nose
approaches an asphodel, it will detect an unpleasant smell. Once I
brought a thick bouquet of Asphodels into my house to enjoy their
beauty, but only the once and never again! According to Greek
mythology they are the flowers of Persephone, and smell of death.
Homer even described fields of asphodel in Hades, the afterworld,
where restless souls await their verdict. Another story says that for
every dead soldier an asphodel flowers.
Even
though I know these associations, walking across a field filled with
these to towering heavenward flowers, I fall silent because of their
beauty. They grow in soil impoverished by draught, overgrazing or
erosion, which is not good for the field. But the good news is that
they get pollinated by bumblebees and
honeybees: insects that are ready to be put on the list of endangered
species.
Asphodels
grow from oblong tubers, in some countries are used to make bread,
and in others used as fodder. The Persians used them to make glue, in
other Eastern countries they were used to thicken salep (salepi),
a milky brew made from orchid bulbs. I am not sure whether they ever
did that in Greece (a country where you still can find some salep
sellers in the streets - even though it is forbidden to make this
drink from orchid bulbs). I have only once tasted salep and found it
to have a horrible taste!
While the huge asphodel with her many
flowers overshadows all other flowers in her surroundings, the orchid
loves to play hide and seek. Most of them are small and their flowers
also pretty teeny. But be aware: when you study them up close, you
can become bewitched by their beauty and special forms - especially
the flowers belonging to the Ophrys-family, with their imitation of
the bees that inseminate them. They can have great designs, extreme
colours and funny humps, some that may look like the horns of the
devil. But in Hades there is no place for orchids.
Yesterday we went for an orchid hunt
close to Koudouroudia and there we found giant Ophrys who tried to
reach far above the prickly bushes. I am sure no salep maker would
have crept into those bushes to steal their bulbs.
While
Europe desperately tries to master the refugee problem, spring on
Lesvos has been exploding. On show: the bright coloured anemones, the
blood red poppies, the honey-scented yellow rhododendrons, the fat
peonies, pine woods hiding slopes full
of
red tulips, the
wind-tinkling Fritillaries
or
the shy crocuses and wild hyacinths and
many more.
They all have their own place on the island. Until the end of May
(and in the mountains until the middle of June) Lesvos will be one
big park of flowers. Come and see it!
(with
thanks to Mary Staples)
©
Smitaki 2016
