Sustainable Living
Living with the Native Fauna
Bounty from the Sea
With the sea on our front doorstep, we have a potentially bountiful food supply—one that was critical to our ability to survive on the land for the first couple of years, when roads to our site did not exist. The only problem was that we did not at first have the critical ability to access it.
Our fish meals were meager. To the islanders, it was laughable that we would cook up a fish soup with the two or three small perch that were all we had to show for several hours of spear-gun fishing. Gradually, we became more skilled.
Christos’ first big catch was a large moray eel. These are (rightly) regarded as dangerous, because of their three rows of very sharp teeth. They are also regarded as not very tasty, and fishermen often just throw them back if they catch them on their trot lines.
We discovered, however, just how tasty a moray eel can be by following a maxim of our fisherman friend Manolas Psaras: the best fish is a fresh fish. Eaten the same day it is caught, moray eels are delicious.
Kathy discovered she has a special talent for catching octopus, and in the early days, when we had no refrigeration, these were prized for the fact that they can be air-dried and do not spoil. If we returned empty-handed from a fishing foray, we could pop a dried octopus in a pot of boiling water. Voila! Instant octopus.
Christos' best catch were groupers, the largest being 7 kg., speared at a 20-meter depth. It has been a few years since he could dive that deep. Our newest fishing innovation is a seine net. If, during afternoon swims in late summer, we see schools of tiny silversides, we call out a crew of whoever is visiting, stretch the net in shoulder-deep water like a fence across the bay, and haul in our supper.
Sea urchins, abundant in the waters close to shore and easily gathered, have become our hors d’oeuvres of choice. And very occasionally, we even manage to catch a prized delicacy: lobster.
Living with Insects and Arthropods
Ants: When we leveled ground for the foundation of our first structure, GBB I, we uncovered a huge nest of big black ants. The anthill is still there — but it has moved into a penthouse. That is, the ants continued to reside, but in the ceiling panel of GBB I. A trail of them extended from the foundation panel up the wall panels and into the ceiling. They are seed-gatherers, and therefore immune to either oil or sugar-based poisons. Since they rarely invade the kitchen counters, we decided to share what, after all, was their home first. Our latest maintenance project, involving repairs to the ceiling, may have finally eliminated them.
Spiders: In the presence of wolf spiders, Kathy is still squeamish about these eight-leggers. Wolf spiders only appear during winter months (and usually in the bathroom sink); they are not dangerous but they are truly ugly, in her opinion. The more common spiders are of the fat garden variety. They weave their huge webs between the poles of the front patio arbor, and are welcome there, catching mosquitoes and flies. Watching their mating rituals is also an intriguing entertainment.
Scorpions: the only truly dangerous creatures on our land are the scorpions. Their sting is so painful, the islanders say, that it makes you “run on the mountain” for three days. For more than 25 years, we did not have occasion to test this saying, as no one ever got stung. As testament to our prejudices, these are the only creatures that we kill on sight. Then, a few years ago, our son was struck by a scorpion’s dagger tail on his index finger. The sting was painful (about like 10 wasp stings, he said), and his finger swelled to double its size. However, he did not feel compelled to run on the mountain.
Caterpillars, Moths and Butterflies
Caterpillars: As our grape arbor grew, we attracted a variety of caterpillars that liked to munch on the leaves. As this was not good for the vines, we would kill them. Then a friend, a vocal advocate for saving butterflies and moths, visited. “Don’t kill them,” she pleaded. “They turn into beautiful moths!” Since then, we’ve decided the grape vine has enough foliage to survive after giving up a few leaves to the caterpillars.
Moths: The hawkbit moths were the first we identified after our English friend’s lessons in Lepidoptera. The most spectacular, however, is the peacock moth, which has only recently made its appearance in Mikro Horio; the peacock moth is a beauty, and the largest of all European moths. We have seen, and measured, one that was 15 cm across.
Butterflies: Many butterflies are now much more common on the land because of the exponential increase in flowering plants. Most are small and pale and delicate, with a few being colorful, such as the "painted lady." Rarely, a swallowtail will put in an appearance.
Lizards and Snakes and Snails
We have become so used to seeing little lizards scurrying about underfoot that it startles us when visitors seem uncomfortable with their ubiquity. They eat flies and other annoying insects and are welcomed for that, as well as for the entertainment value of throwing bits of breakfast cookies their way and watching them attack the crumbs.
Snakes, while considerably less ubiquitous, are likewise harmless and useful – they catch mice. Long and slender, they are only occasionally seen slithering gracefully into a crack in the stone walls. On one occasion, however, as we walked along the road on an early evening stroll, we witnessed a mating ritual — fascinating in part because these usually shy creatures were totally oblivious to Kathy’s photographing them.
Snails are abundant on the land after rainfalls. They can do great damage to plants, and seem particularly to like chewing holes in the cacti. A good method for controlling snail numbers is to call them escargot, gather a sackful, leave them for a couple of days in a wicker basket with a pan of flour at the bottom to clean them out, and then boil them up with garlic, onions, and herbs, thus transforming a problem into epicurean cuisine.
Birds, Bees, Bats and Cats
All of these creatures were not in evidence during our first years, when we visited Gastromeni only in summers. With the maturing of our early plantings of salt pines and figs, we have noticed an explosion of the bird population. While we are not real birdwatchers, one or two of our frequent visitors are, and have introduced us to the variety in what appeared, to our untrained eyes, to be simply a bunch of chickadees. We constructed an elevated birdbath for them, in part to keep them away from harm (in the form of resident cats), and in part also to provide water for bees and bats.
Feral cats roam all over the hillsides on Kythnos; we acquired the first that we considered a pet when a very young kitten appeared in our bathroom one morning, hiding under the counter. It was very skittish and would eat the food we put out only if we retreated out of sight. On about the third day, Christos impulsively tried to entice the kitten by meowing at it. The poor little thing responded immediately, running up and entwining itself around his legs. From then on, it was as docile as, well, as a kitten.
That autumn, before we returned to Athens for an extended period, we constructed a cat door in the bottom of the bathroom door (which had not yet been converted to concrete) and left a supply of food there in an automatic feeder. However, our pet kitten disappeared, never to return.
We still have cats around, but no longer regard them as “ours.” We feed them when we are in residence and leave them to fend for themselves when we are not. At first, we felt guilty about this, even though the islanders insisted that cats fare just fine on their own. A rather sweet one reappears every time we return, and seems fat and healthy, so our guilt at abandoning her has disappeared.
We like having cats around, for they keep down the population of mice (rats, really). Similarly, we wanted to attract bats around the place, to keep down the population of mosquitoes, so we constructed a bat house, and installed it above the stone goat-milking hut high on the north ridge. At first, no bats ventured in to call it their home. But in 2010, we first observed bats swooping out of the bat house just after sunset and disappearing inside at dawn.
Beehives dot the countryside all around Kythnos, and the honey produced on the island is famous for its flavor and thickness. A friend visiting from the US is a beekeeper and he extolled the fun and adventure of bee-keeping, telling us it required minimal work for a bountiful harvest. When an island friend brought us a jar of his own honey, which was incredibly good, we decided to try producing our own.
This island friend got us started by telling us where to obtain supplies, by obtaining for us two swarms with queens, and by installing them in hives up on the ridge to the north. He mentored us through the first seasons (in the process making a fibber of our American friend who said keeping bees was no work at all). We had some difficulties, such as losing the queen in one hive the first year, but enough success to keep us at it for a few years anyway. We harvested 16 kilos of honey from a single hive in 2009, enough to supply us and all of our friends for an entire year. The 2010 honey harvest was nearly double the first year's amount. But by 2012, we gave up on them and donated our 2 hives and paraphernalia to the islander from whom we now buy our honey supply each year.
