And so the time has come to say goodbye

Had a lovely walk up in the olive groves this morning.  I took the dog and we went on our favourite trail, she snaffling fallen olives (strange dog with very odd tastes!) then running full pelt, head down, narrowly missing me on several occasions; I meandering and enjoying the views, colours and the carpet of wild cyclamen that still spreads across the hillside, their splashes pink and mauve breaking up the greens and browns of the undergrowth.

We took our normal path up to a high peak, where I can look out across woodland of mainly Cypress pine in one direction and Olive in another, with the sea and snow capped peaks of Albania beyond.  There in the deep valley immediately ahead (I've never tried to climb down that side, there is a path of sorts, but too overgrown and slippery to risk) at the bottom of which is a tiny cart-track that winds it's way between the trees, the only indication of human habitation in the immediate vista.  On the furthest hillside there is a small village, the houses barely discernable as anything more than white dots, with the smallest trails of smoke rising from what must be chimneys.  It is a wonderful place, where I feel very close to both God and nature.

It's a place where the only noises are entirely natural. There are no engines, no whirring of chainsaws,  and providing I don't go too early or late in the day, even at this time of year gunshot is hardly ever heard. All that I hear is birdsong, the rustle of a lizard scuttling into long grasses, the dog pounding her way up and down the tracks,and just occasionally the sound of complete silence which is truly amazing.

Today though I felt sad.  It may be the last time I visit this spot, with the dog anyway.  Next month I'm heading back to England with the children - not forgetting Luna and Olly, the dog and cat.  I have come to love this island, and our village in particular, but for economic and to some extent emotional reasons the time has come to start a new adventure!

I will be keeping the house here, and as I said to the children, we're not moving back to England, we live in Corfu but I will be working abroad for a few years.  I fully intend to continue thinking of this small island as my home, and indeed we'll still be here for several weeks each year. However, for a while at least I'm returning to my home town.  Somewhere that I haven't lived in nearly 25 years!

Going back to my walk though - I normally find myself absorbed with all manner of thoughts that I don't have time for when the children are around, or work is beckoning, but today, once I'd cleared my head I spent a little time on really looking at my surroundings.  It occurred to me that you can tell much about life in and around a village from the paths and roads.  The old pathways up in the grove seem to be nearly cobbled in a very rough fashion. Whether they were man made like that, or whether smaller rocks, now smooth and deeply set into the ground, have over the years been washing into the dirt tracks I have no idea, but in either event they have led generations through the groves and hillsides around us.  A definite feeling of walking in the footsteps of the ancestors.

On the tarmac road at the top of the village, a more recent innovation laid no more than 10 years ago, we followed donkey hoof-prints for quite a distance. Was the poor beast laden with olives and made to walk across the road before the tarmac had dried? Perhaps though it was just during a particularly hot day when the tar was warmed and softened.  In any event it had very delicate hooves and a precise way of walking.

Further into the village tarmac gives way to concrete, where a plethora of footprints are found.  Evidence of village cats playing, or fighting; a big, big dog that probably scared half the children and old ladies in the area - I wonder, was it taking itself for a walk?  A single pony hoof mark on a small patch of concrete. Maybe taking a bride's dowry to her new home, as was the tradition until not so many years ago.  And then there are the bird footprints - telling stories of migration, of new spring birth, and not forgetting Sunday lunch!

For the last five years I've steadily learned about the coming and goings of a small, traditional Corfiot hill village. Whilst I have learned a great deal I also realise I haven't even really scratched the surface.  That would take a lifetime. 

Perhaps I'll still blog from time to time.  I have many stories that haven't hit the pages of this portal yet, I'll see if I have the time.  Meanwhile, thank you for joining me on this journey, it's been a blast!