Just here is the small shed with my washing machine, and next to it is a patio crisscrossed with clothes drying lines (since dryers are uncommon here). Best of all, the backyard is filled with citrus trees, including lemons, limes, and oranges, all of which the owner (who was once a citrus farmer) said I was welcome to pick and enjoy. And enjoy them I have all winter long. Sometimes I’ve eaten as many as six juicy clementines each day! And of course, in the spirit of Cypriot hospitality, I’ve shared bags full of fruits with my colleagues, neighbors, and friends, too.
When I’m not outside picking fruits and reading in the sunshine, I also enjoy letting the outdoors come inside by opening my windows each weekend morning (when it’s not raining cats, cats, and more cats, that is!) to let in fresh air, the way all of my Cypriot neighbors do. At these times, standing in my backyard or near an open window, I feel most enveloped in a sense of community. Here in my neighborhood, the houses lie close together, and sounds drift through the lemon trees and the flowering lantana bushes scarcely separating my house from Maro’s. There’s the swish, swish of Maro’s broom across her patio, the burble of old-timey Greek songs from her radio, the tinkle of her telephone, the rustle of a stray cat darting from her yard to mine, and the ebb and flow of Ελληνικά, the Greek language. Further away, there’s the κικιρίκου, κικιρίκου of a rooster (here, roosters are not said to crow “cock-a-doodle-do” at all!). And on Sunday mornings there’s the melodious song-like ripple of church bells from several streets away.
