Romeo in the Garden

SKALA ERESSOS, LESBOS, GREECE: My room had a balcony overlooking a house with a small garden and a neglected yard. An elderly Greek woman, in her late seventies, lived in the house with her chickens. Every morning, she released them into the yard, where they spent their days scratching the earth, eating melons, running about, and singing in a language only they understood. The hens were a diverse group, with varying shapes and colors. Some were plump, others lean, some boasted shiny feathers, while others seemed to have skipped a bath in the sand. They were each unique.

The Greek woman herself looked like a picture from a postcard, with an intense gaze, leathery skin, a modest skirt, and a cardigan. I noticed she grew vegetables and had a pomegranate tree. One evening, my Irish neighbor and I were chatting and enjoying beers on our balconies. “Do you think she eats the chickens?” I asked.

“I think she keeps them for their eggs,” she replied.

Suddenly, I noticed the hens walking in a synchronized manner, as if participating in a parade.

“Every evening at sunset,” my neighbor explained, “the hens walk back to the coop in the garden.”

Shortly after the parade, the elderly woman appeared, ensuring all her feathered charges made it home. She looked up at our balconies and spotted us. She waved and smiled. We waved and smiled back, feeling a sense of royalty. She began to move her hips and arms, swaying to the rhythm of the wind and the chirping crickets.

We followed suit, mirroring her movements. The older woman then transitioned into a traditional Greek folk dance. Next, she playfully touched her breasts, which were large like melons, and held them up in the air. It seemed you could have placed a tray upon them. She wore a wide, joyful smile. The Irish woman, joining in the fun, mimicked the gesture.

The Greek woman then formed her hands into a heart shape. We reciprocated. This sequence of movements – hips, breasts, and heart gestures – continued for about twenty minutes, or perhaps longer. We laughed heartily in the warm September evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky orange, the Greek woman blew kisses into the air. We caught them and sent our own kisses back to her.

As she entered her house, she turned around several times, waving goodbye. We didn’t exchange a single spoken word.