In this third part of the series about a year in a mastic village, we’ll follow the journey of little Dimitris and his family. Together with Dimitris, we are observing and learning about the craft of mastic cultivation. Stay tuned for more!

‘Grandma, were you only singing at the fields while embroidering?’, Irini asked her the other day. ‘No, honey. Collecting the mastic was a joyful period too, which took place from September until mid-October, when hunting season began. You know, children, we were spreading white sheets near the mastic trees that we were working on. This way the hunters would notice that people were there, so they would not shoot’, Grandma said while smiling. ‘What were they hunting?’, Dimitris asked. ‘Rabbits and grouses, which were all around us!’, Grandma said enthusiastically.

Irini started wondering about their safety in the fields, and asked Grandma, ‘So, you women were alone in the fields with hunters strolling around? Wasn’t it dangerous?’ Irini didn’t realise that Grandma grew up in a different period of time when people usually felt safer. ‘Dangerous? No, dear’, grandma replied. ‘Quite the opposite. Imagine, the collecting season was also a courting season for the villagers. The unmarried women went into the fields, accompanied by their mothers and sisters, so the men had the opportunity to see them outside of the village and court them. Young men were leaving small pieces of paper under the rocks so that the young girls would find them while collecting mastic.’ ‘And what if the mother collected the love note instead of the daughter?’, Irini wondered. ‘If the mother did not approve the sender, she would go to his mother and complain. Good old times, my child’, Grandma said and moved her arm in a circular pattern*.

‘And what songs did you sing while collecting the mastic?’, Irini continued. Grandma paused for a moment and then said, ‘Well, this is one that a few older women of my age might remember. The younger women do not know it.’

Στο μάζεμα του μαστιχιού (While collecting the mastic)

Σκοπώνε τραγουδούσαν (They sang a song)

Τον άρεσε κι αρέσει τον (Τhey liked it and it was liked)

Όσοι κι αν τον εκούσαν (By any who heard it.)

Ο κάτω κόσμος μάτια μου (The underworld, my eyes)

Νάτος σαν τον απάνω (Here it is like the above)

Μον’ήθελα να παρακαλώ (But I only wanted to beg)

Γρήγορι να πεθάνω (To die soon.)

Όταν σε πρωτοείδανε (When you were first seen)

Τα μάτια τα δικά μου (By my own eyes)

Ήταν το στήθος μου ανοιχτό (My chest was open)

Και μπήκες στην καρδιά μου (And you entered my heart.)

‘Isn’t it a bit dark, Grandma? Why did she want to die? And what does death have to do with collecting mastic?’ Irini asked upset. ‘My child, don’t ask for interpretations. A song has different meanings for each person. It speaks about death, but also about love’, Grandma said to soothe her, and continued with a rather sad and tired tone in her voice, ‘Working with mastic is a very hard job, children. All year long you are either in the field working with the tree, and believe me, manipulating another living being is not an easy job, or at the house working with its product. After collecting the mastic, you know that the process of cleaning will start soon; another meticulous hand work. That’s why it is very difficult to automate mastic cultivation tasks. At the Association they have built machines to do some of the tasks, like a machine for separating mastic pieces according to their size. Nevertheless, pinching still needs to be done by hand. No machine can perform that task’.

Irini and Dimitris were skeptical for a moment due to the song and Grandma’s comments but the truth is, little Dimitris was more preoccupied with the custom of leaving love notes under the trees. For a little boy, he really seemed to like old-fashioned ways of living. Two weeks before, at the celebration of the Dormition of Virgin Mary, he was not able to find Eleni, the girl that he likes, but now the collecting period begins and he might see her in the fields. And maybe he’ll also leave her a note?

* This is a common way to express that a lot of time has gone by non-verbally in Greece.

This is a fictional story written by Danae Kaplanidi (PIOP), and is the outcome of archival and ethnographic fieldwork research in the villages of Mesta, Olimpi, Emporios and Pyrgi. The author would like to thank the research participants for their time and willingness to share stories about life in southern Chios.

In this series of short stories about a year in a mastic village, you will get to follow the journey of little Dimitris and his family. Together with Dimitris, you are invited to observe and learn the craft of mastic cultivation. This is the second chapter; stay tuned for more!

It is very early in the morning. The sun has just come out. The moment Giannis and Dimitris leave their car by the road, the sweet and distinctively rich aroma of the mastic trees surrounds them. Some trees are short, others larger, and the young ones just centimeters tall. Beneath all of them, at the bottom of their trunk, there is the leveled and cleaned soil with white powder, called the ‘table’. From June till November (when the rains start), one can simply identify the mastic trees from the white soil forming circular targets.

Giannis had already started explaining things to Dimitris since they were in the car. For example, that the young trees are not to be embroidered, only those that are more than three years old. Dimitris has heard some of this information before. He has been going to the mastic fields from a very early age, but back then, no one really explained to him what to do or not.

He used to observe with the curiosity of a child. Other kids at his age, and even his friends, did not really care to learn mastic cultivation. They were always bored every time their parents or grandparents took them to the fields. They would play around and complain that they were tired and wanted to go back home. But the elders had a reason to take them to the fields. The children might play around, but eventually they would start to observe because they would get bored of playing in the nature and little by little they started helping.

Dimitri’s Grandma said to him once, when he was younger, that in her time it was mandatory for the children to follow their parents in the fields because there was no one to watch over them. Back then, they did not have babysitters and the grandparents would also be on the fields. Thus the children were joining the adults from dawn till dusk.

She also explained that the task of embroidering (‘kendima’ as it is called in Greek) is a very precise work. One learns to embroider correctly a tree by staying close to an experienced mastic grower for years. By embroidering, the grower creates wounds on the bark of the tree. The tree is a living organism, so one must learn where to start wounding it and how deep. The purpose is not to wound the tree and destroy it, but to learn how the organism of the tree works; how it produces the mastic resin, when an incision is hurtful for the tree, and when it just scratches it.

It is not only the physiology of the tree that needs to be learned; the properties of the mastic resin itself are important too. Mastic resin is produced in liquid form, as any other resin, but unlike the others, it has the ability to dry under the right conditions and become thick as a rock. For this reason, embroidering takes place in August and September; a rain-free and warm but not completely hot period. Extreme heat does not help mastic resin to dry. Fresh air is also important and that is why Giannis prunes the trees every winter; to grow at the point of letting as much sun and wind is needed to dry the mastic resin.

In this illustrative video made by FORTH, we see the practice of dusting and embroidery.

Giannis and Dimitris are now in the mastic field. “Dimitris, did you collect any dried pieces?” Giannis asked. “Very few. There was not much mastic produced from riniasma,” young Dimitris replied with a rather sad tone in his voice. “Well, leave them to dry well and we will collect them next week,” Giannis relieved him.

“Now grab your kenditiri and come here. I will show you how to make proper incisions,” Giannis told him. “You make vertical or linear incisions not too long, up to 10 cm, but also not too deep, otherwise you will hurt the tree more than you want. See? Like this one,” Giannis teached him as he pushed a bit hard and pulled fast the pointy head of his kenditiri on the tree trunk to create an incision. “From which part of the trunk you start to embroider, you remember?” Giannis continued and asked young Dimitris. “From the bottom, because the resin starts to be produced at the bottom where the trunk is also bigger and by making embroideries often, you move upper and upper on the trunk, and the resin follows,” Dimitris replied enthusiastically. “Well done!” Giannis said impressed.

Late in the afternoon, back in the village, Dimitris, his older sister Irini, and their grandma are sitting in the living room. “Grandma, of all the stories you tell us, you never told us any old song that you and your esmichtes[1] used to sing?”, Irini urged grandma. “What song, dear? We only sung in the fields,”, grandma replied. “In the fields?!”, Dimitris asked with wonder. “Tell us some songs. You remember any?”, Irini stubbornly suggested to grandma. “You wonder if I remember, my dear? Of course, I do!”, grandma replied while laughing. “We were spending so much time in the mastic fields that we would sing and make picnics. Let me think for a second. Here is one we were telling while we were embroidering: [2]

Εμπρός παιδιά κουνήσετε, εχάραξεν η μέρα (Come children move, the day started)
Και θα τον κόψει η ταχυνή τον ψεσινόν αέρα (And the dawn will make yesterday’s wind stop)
Πιάτε τα τσεντηστήρια σας να πάμε στα πηξάρια (Grab your kenditiria to go to the mastic trees)
Αμέτε εσείς στο Ψάρωνα τσαι βω στα Χοβελάρια (You go to Psarona and me to Chovelaria)
Τσαι σαν κοντέβγει να γίνει ολόρτο μεσημέρι (And when high noon is almost there)
Η μια τον ένα γάιδαρο στη Βληχωνή να φέρει (The one –she- the donkey to Vlichoni must bring)
Κουνέλια να φορτώσουμε, κολάτα, κονταρούδια (Rabbits to load, kolata, kontaroudia)
Κι η άλλη ας φεύγει στο χωριό αντάμα με τα βούδια (And the other –she- can go back to the village with the cows)
Εμπρός παιδιά κι η εποχή ε θέλει χασομέρια (Come children and it is not a period to lose time)
Μακάρι που και νάχαμεν ακόμη δέκα χέρια (I wish we had ten more hands)

“That was nice, Grandma. But why it refers only to women?”, Irini asked skeptically. “I told you before, my Irinaki. Women were mostly going to the fields at my time”, grandma reminded her.

Summer goes by fast and it is already the 15^th of August. As in any village or city in Greece, the Dormition of the Virgin Mary is celebrated. Here in Pyrgi, the bond of women is very important and many social customs are led by women. For the celebration of the Dormition of the Virgin Mary, women carry the sacred icon of Mary around the village, asking her to bless the village. On the way back to the church, the icon is transferred through changing on the hands of the local women. This tradition is performed only by women and Irini’s and Dimitris’ mother is taking part this year. Irini watches and wonders if she will perform too one day while Dimitris is looking around the crowd to find his beloved Eleni to wish her. He seems to be unlucky this day, but the young boy already has another plan on his mind to express again his feelings to Eleni and convince her. He learned something these days from his grandma and an idea popped in his head.

This is a fictional story written by Danae Kaplanidi (PIOP), and is the outcome of archival and ethnographic fieldwork research in the villages of Mesta, Olimpi, Emporeios and Pyrgi. The author would like to thank the research participants for their time and willingness to share stories about life in southern Chios.

References

In this series of short stories about a year in a mastic village, you will get to follow the journey of Dimitris and Giannis. Together with the young Dimitris, you are invited to observe and learn the master’s craft. This is the first chapter; stay tuned for more!

Α δε λαλήσει τζίτζικας εν είναι καλοκαίρι
If the harvest fly does not sing, it is not summer
(local saying of Chios island)

It is already late June, and Giannis decided to take young Dimitris on the mastic fields with him. Dimitris was waiting anxiously to help with the ‘kendima’, which means embroidering. He has grown up around mastic and wants to become a mastic grower. The fields of Giannis are near the village of Pyrgi, where they live. From the road, they can easily see those rather short trees with deep green leaves and with interesting trunks. On the southwestern part of Chios, mastic trees line the roads on both sides. The sun has started to come up, so Giannis and Dimitris must hurry if they want to finish their work before late noon. Otherwise the Greek sun will be unbearable.

“Dimitri, go find some branches and twigs to make a broom. We need to clean the soil under the trees,” Giannis said. “Ok, I’m going. Don’t start the ‘table’ without me,” Dimitrits replied and he started running immediately to look for branches. “You don’t have to run!” Giannis shouted after him. “Have some patience. I will wait for you.”

While waiting for Dimitris, Giannis looked at one of the older mastic trees. Its branches had grown so much that you could almost stand completely under it. When he was a child, he used to think that the trees were already very big, because he himself was small. While growing up, he learned that mastic trees are actually rather short trees, and it takes specific cultivation methods to make them bigger.

His grandmother used to tell him many stories about life in the past. How back then, they used to bring their children along at the field because there was no one else to babysit at home. Their main transport were donkeys and their saddles were used as baby beds. After taking off the saddle from the donkey, the women would turn it over and place a jute bag in it. Using a rope, they would then hang the saddle-baby bed from a strong mastic tree branch and leave the baby to sleep as if in a swinging bed.

“Hey Giannis, wake up!” Dimitris called him out of his daydream. “What happened?” Giannis asked. “Come on! Let’s clean and level the soil and lay down the white soil!” Dimitris answered full of excitement. “Okay, okay.. I wish I had that enthusiasm when I was your age,” Giannis laughed. Together, they carefully cleaned the soil with the broom they made, called ‘athrimba’.

“I will show you today how to make the first incisions on the tree,” Giannis said. “Today, Kendima? But isn’t it too early? June has not even finished,” said Dimitris confused. “No, it is not too early,” Giannis explained. “We always do the first incisions right after cleaning the soil, in order to ‘wake up’  the tree and start producing mastic. But be careful, we will only make some very few incisions on the bottom of the trunk of each tree. Do you want to know how we call this first kendima?” Giannis asked. “Sure!” Dimitris was excited to learn. “It is called riniasma,” Giannis told him.

Now they were ready to start. “Which tool are you going to use?” Giannis asked. Dimitris looked at the tools in front of them. “The kenditiri or baltadaki,” he answered. “Well done, you have learned all of them!” said Giannis enthusiastically. “Now let’s get to work.”

This is a fictional story written by Danae Kaplanidi (PIOP), and is the outcome of archival and ethnographic fieldwork research in the villages of Mesta, Olimpi, Emporeios and Pyrgi. The author would like to thank the research participants for their time and willingness to share stories about life in southern Chios.
Top image: Mastic field of the Chios Mastic Museum, 2019. Photo: Danae Kaplanidi