I grew up watching my parents grow food for our family. I helped as I could. Inhaled their conversations of plantings and groupings – now I know in permaculture, as guilds.
I moved to a small village on Crete, Greece. After a serious motorcycle accident, part of my recovery was the gift of villagers giving me goats milk to drink. They firmly believed in its power to heal broken bones. I watched. Learned. Asked questions. I remember them now.
Three years of convalescence. My future husband and I relocated to Athens. I worked for a global firm. An interview question included, “will you always need the cane?” We lived at the end of the subway line – Kifissia. I loved it there. I’d garden at home and catch the reticulated bus to work in Kolonaki. Descend into the smog of 1980’s Athens.
Determined woman that I am, I soon dropped the walking stick, opting to create flower beds and gardens. We had a magnificent fig tree. (Actually, shared it, over the fence). Exquisite in their luscious juiciness.
Memories of farm produce brought in daily.
We returned to Canada. The difficult transition of culture shock. Limited fresh fruits and vegetables as I was used to. Tasteless foods. Again, I created green spaces.
Time moves forward. Circumstances and lives change.
I bought almost five acres on Vancouver Island. Such possibility. Such potential! Years of back-breaking work to realize it was too much. My vision too much. I, on my own, incapable of creating what I saw in my mind.
I moved. Moved again. Each time to a smaller lot until I downsized to a 700 square foot house on no land at all.
Drive. Desire. Dreams. Questioned – how much is enough?
Opportunity and sheer dumb luck collided.
I sold the small property and for two weeks stayed at a friend’s B&B. When a listing came up, my realtor said, “You have to see this now, or it will be too late”. I put in an offer that day, and, I am beyond grateful that now, the start of six years in, I own and live my dream.
Not too big, nor too small. Just right – .6 Acre.