It was a warm, cheerful summer’s morning in ancient Greece. The birds sang beautiful, joyful songs in the olive groves, awakening the people of Athens and their sweet tunes pulling the dawn sun out of her rosy pillows beyond the tall, violet mountains.
From the glistening, dark green, and slender oval leaves drooped dew-covered olives of all colors; scarlet, black, and green with bright red pimentos. In the coral-colored sky was a single stratus cloud, breezily and lazily drifting through the morning sky. The soft breeze that was pushing the cloud, waving the grasses and stirring the tree leaves carried the warm radiance of the sun in the East. Dew dripped from blades of grass, shingles of roves, leaves of trees and bushes, from everything--cleansing the world to start the new day with a clean slate.
All was sweet as brown sugar and lovely as a candy heart. But, on that wonderful, picturesque day, the vile essence of pain and senseless violence rang out, braking the sweet, gentle tunes of the songbirds. For, late yesterday afternoon, a tiny baby girl had been born. It was her father’s decision if she would live happily in the family household or be abandoned to die alone in the world.
The girl’s father, as most ancient Greek fathers did, favored boys over girls and despised weaklings and runts. He chose for her to be abandoned. Solemnly her mother took a basket and placed her, rapped in a blanket, within it. The basket was gently set near a creek, for the mother hoped and prayed that the nymph of the creek would take pity on the small child and protect the girl.
But the mother, through her tears and grief, had precariously placed her baby to close to the water. The chill river water lapped at the little girl. She--who had been previously sleeping soundly--awoke burst into tears, crying loudly. By pure chance, in the nearest household, was a caring, gentle woman. She heard a baby crying. And--although most women would never dare what with it not being a celebration--she crept out of the house for a little investigating.
The woman, Iris, was saddened--yet not entirely surprised--to she a little baby girl bobbing in the waters of the creek. The creek very nearly pulled the girl away--and only the gods knew if the basket had buoyancy enough to keep the baby afloat--but Iris quickly snatched the baby up and pulled her away, clutching her tightly and protectively. She wasn’t a water nymph, but some might say that the girl’s mother’s prayers had been answered.
With that, Iris hurried back to the house to ask her husband if she could keep the girl, for the ancient Greek’s believed unjustly that men were the masters of the household.
After a short but heated argument between the two, they resolved--with mixed feelings between the both of them--that the girl would become a member of their twelve slaves, making them have thirteen.
Once the baby was deposited into the slaves’ courters, the slaves huddled around her. One, named Lydia, suggested ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος, or Summer, after the season in which the young blessing had been found. Everyone agreed and so, that was the baby girl’s name.
*****
Summer yawned sleepily, awakening early dawn twelve years later, on the first day of summer. She looked around blearily. She gasped, a sudden spark of urgency in her green eyes, and lunged for the window--which was covered by a plain wooden shudder--and threw it open. She saw that, to her great relief, the dawn sun was merely peeking above the horizon as a sliver smaller then last night’s moon--which had been a slender crescent.
Despite the fact that the morning was new, Summer rushed hurriedly to collect and put on her single pair of day clothing. It was a plain rectangular dress that stretched a little farther then her knees with holes for the head and shoulders. The dress was a clear, dreamy blue, much like the summer’s sky.
Straight after that, Summer rushed out of the slaves courters and into the men’s dinning area. All of the dirty dishes and plates of last night’s feast (free men only) still lay forlorn and abandoned with heaps of U.R.F., or Unidentifiable Remains of Food. Sighing, Summer hurried about collecting these distasteful dishes, which she deposited into the kitchen for another slave to clean.
Next she amassed several jugs for water and rushed off to the closest creek, which happened to be, ironically, the very creek where she had been left and found years before she could remember. Summer was just about to plunge the first into the water, when she paused.
She addressed the nymph of the creek, as she had been taught, “May I please take some of your water?”
Water lapped at the base of the jug which was being held over the creek, as if asking to come inside. Summer took this as, hopefully, the nymph of that creek giving her permission to collect the water. She then dipped them, one by one, into the cool waters. Once all three of them were full, she carried them--one on her head and one occupying each of her arms--back to the house.
Summer then set the trio of ruddy clay jugs down in the kitchen. Almost as soon as she had placed the third and final jug down, another slave whisked two away. Already the people of the house were demanding a breakfast of goat cheese, olives, and other foods.
She sighed, knowing that she had a long, long days’ work ahead of her.
*****
Summer reached high above her head and plucked a beautiful, ovular olive as black as midnight. Still-fresh dewdrops showered down on her from the glistening green leaves of the olive tree as she picked the wet olive. It made the olive look even more delectable....
She continued picking endless olives from olive trees of all colors; from every shade of green, to burgundy red, to shining black. Each looked more wonderful and awe-inspiring then the last.
Summer wished to pause and eat one--or two--but stopped herself. She had other tasks to tend to. Still, it took all of her will power not to taste one.
Her wicker basket full to the brim with juicy, colorful olives, she raced away from the olive groves, careful not to spill any of the treats she had collected, and back to home.
She set the olive baskets down and darted away again, this time with a milk pail in her hands. She was going to milk the goats.
*****
Once she was finished with the weary task of milking Saffron, a jumpy young goat who always wanted to play, Summer hurried back to the house, goat milk sloshing precariously in the pail.
She set the pail down in the kitchen. She was downright tired. She had first hurried to the creak to collect water, returning with heavy, filled to the brim jugs, then rushed around collecting olives from the groves, and lastly milked an antsy goat. Summer yearned for the days end, but Apollo’s chariot was only halfway through the sky, and she still had to retrieve firewood.
She knew that the day’s work had only just begun.
______________________________________________________________________
Summer sighed and settled into her uncomfortable bed. Most of the slaves treated her nice enough, and Iris was one of the sweetest people that Summer had ever known, but the ones that she saw the most were the free men. They thought that slaves were well underneath them, and didn’t treat the slaves or women with any respect whatsoever.
And, to Summer’s great dread, tomorrow night there would be a party. Only men were allowed there, and the men usually became very drunk in the first ten minutes of the party. Summer and most of the other slaves would serve the men delicacies like goat cheese, wine, and roasted beets. They would also have to serve (Summer shuddered at this) meats like fish.
So, Summer knew that tomorrow would be packed full of activities and that she would need to have a full night of sleep. But all she could think about was the wind, wild and free, going its own way and doing whatever it wanted. She wished that her life could be like that....
Soon, Summers eyelids became to weighed to stay open, and, with a heavy heart, she feel into a dreamless slumber.
*****
Summer’s eyelids snapped open. The pinkish light of the dawn sun streamed through the window. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the crumbly packed dirt floor. She whipped her day dress on and rushed out of the room.
Instead of having her usual chore of gather water from the creek or the town fountain, she was immediately sent to the garden to gather some of the many vegetables and legumes that grew in the gardens. She was given two awkwardly large baskets to carry the things that she gathered within.
She hurriedly amassed a wide verity of vegetables in her baskets. These included leafy greens like cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, and cress, and other veggies like wild celery, garlic, carrots, artichokes, and fennel. That was all she could fit in the first two trips, but on the final ones Summer squeezed in bulbs, leeks, cucumbers, radishes, squash, and turnips. Also legumes like beans, lentils, chickpeas, and peas, green and yellow.
After collecting the legumes in the fourth and final trip, she plopped the last two wicker baskets on the stone-slab floor of the kitchen, which was very busy at the moment, for it was almost midday now.
Faster then an arrow in flight, Summer shot away with her duo of water jugs. Today, she was using the water from the town fountain. She shoved the jugs underneath the rims infinitely overflowing with sparkling, clear water. She loved the gentle trickling sound of the water spilling over the stone sides. But the soft sounds were drowned out by the noise of the Greek village’s busy streets.
Ignoring the many people wandering aimlessly or hurrying busily about, Summer rushed back home, water sloshing and dripping from the sun-dried clay jugs.
Once Summer entered the house, a round woman in a too-small violet dress shoved the two baskets of olives that Summer had collected yesterday.
As Summer set the water down, the woman explained, “You must take these to the olive press and have Delphinia,” (Delphinia was another slave and a good friend of Summer’s) “so that she can press them into olive oil. Understood?”
Summer nodded, eager to see her friend. “Understood,” she as she snatched away the baskets full of olives and whisked away.
Some time later, Summer bumped into Delphinia, who was standing splat bang in front of the pathway, right around a convenient turn. Almost all of the beautiful olives fell out of the baskets and fell on the floor, which was--luckily--clean. Summer fell on her bottom.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” Delphinia exclaimed apologetically, which was unlike her spunky, tomboy self.
Summer was surprised at Delphinia’s sudden politeness. She stood there, unsure what to say. “It no pro--” Summer started.
“Well?” Delphinia interrupted in a moody tone.
“I was just saying that it’s no problem at all,” Summer replied with a hint of a smile. Now that was how Delphinia acted.
“So what are you doing here anyway?” Delphinia asked as the two friends picked up the olives and set them back into the baskets. “I thought that Eva was coming.” Delphinia added hurriedly, but truthfully, “Not that I’m disappointed to see you, Summer. I was just wondering.”
“I understand,” said Summer with a soft smile. “Anyway, Eva and Frotini are being kept busy in the kitchens,” (Both Eva and Frotini were friends of Summer and Delphinia’s) “anyway, thanks for helping me pick up the olives, Delphinia.”
“No problem,” Delphinia said, shrugging and plucking three olives from the wooden floorboards.
The two friends picked up the rest of the olives in silence. That is, until Delphinia picked up the last olive and screamed gleefully,
“DDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”
Summer covered her ears during the long, loud cry of joy. “Yeah,” she agreed with a laugh. “done.”
With that the two hurried over to the olive press and got to work.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
From the glistening, dark green, and slender oval leaves drooped dew-covered olives of all colors; scarlet, black, and green with bright red pimentos. In the coral-colored sky was a single stratus cloud, breezily and lazily drifting through the morning sky. The soft breeze that was pushing the cloud, waving the grasses and stirring the tree leaves carried the warm radiance of the sun in the East. Dew dripped from blades of grass, shingles of roves, leaves of trees and bushes, from everything--cleansing the world to start the new day with a clean slate.
All was sweet as brown sugar and lovely as a candy heart. But, on that wonderful, picturesque day, the vile essence of pain and senseless violence rang out, braking the sweet, gentle tunes of the songbirds. For, late yesterday afternoon, a tiny baby girl had been born. It was her father’s decision if she would live happily in the family household or be abandoned to die alone in the world.
The girl’s father, as most ancient Greek fathers did, favored boys over girls and despised weaklings and runts. He chose for her to be abandoned. Solemnly her mother took a basket and placed her, rapped in a blanket, within it. The basket was gently set near a creek, for the mother hoped and prayed that the nymph of the creek would take pity on the small child and protect the girl.
But the mother, through her tears and grief, had precariously placed her baby to close to the water. The chill river water lapped at the little girl. She--who had been previously sleeping soundly--awoke burst into tears, crying loudly. By pure chance, in the nearest household, was a caring, gentle woman. She heard a baby crying. And--although most women would never dare what with it not being a celebration--she crept out of the house for a little investigating.
The woman, Iris, was saddened--yet not entirely surprised--to she a little baby girl bobbing in the waters of the creek. The creek very nearly pulled the girl away--and only the gods knew if the basket had buoyancy enough to keep the baby afloat--but Iris quickly snatched the baby up and pulled her away, clutching her tightly and protectively. She wasn’t a water nymph, but some might say that the girl’s mother’s prayers had been answered.
With that, Iris hurried back to the house to ask her husband if she could keep the girl, for the ancient Greek’s believed unjustly that men were the masters of the household.
After a short but heated argument between the two, they resolved--with mixed feelings between the both of them--that the girl would become a member of their twelve slaves, making them have thirteen.
Once the baby was deposited into the slaves’ courters, the slaves huddled around her. One, named Lydia, suggested ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος, or Summer, after the season in which the young blessing had been found. Everyone agreed and so, that was the baby girl’s name.
*****
Summer yawned sleepily, awakening early dawn twelve years later, on the first day of summer. She looked around blearily. She gasped, a sudden spark of urgency in her green eyes, and lunged for the window--which was covered by a plain wooden shudder--and threw it open. She saw that, to her great relief, the dawn sun was merely peeking above the horizon as a sliver smaller then last night’s moon--which had been a slender crescent.
Despite the fact that the morning was new, Summer rushed hurriedly to collect and put on her single pair of day clothing. It was a plain rectangular dress that stretched a little farther then her knees with holes for the head and shoulders. The dress was a clear, dreamy blue, much like the summer’s sky.
Straight after that, Summer rushed out of the slaves courters and into the men’s dinning area. All of the dirty dishes and plates of last night’s feast (free men only) still lay forlorn and abandoned with heaps of U.R.F., or Unidentifiable Remains of Food. Sighing, Summer hurried about collecting these distasteful dishes, which she deposited into the kitchen for another slave to clean.
Next she amassed several jugs for water and rushed off to the closest creek, which happened to be, ironically, the very creek where she had been left and found years before she could remember. Summer was just about to plunge the first into the water, when she paused.
She addressed the nymph of the creek, as she had been taught, “May I please take some of your water?”
Water lapped at the base of the jug which was being held over the creek, as if asking to come inside. Summer took this as, hopefully, the nymph of that creek giving her permission to collect the water. She then dipped them, one by one, into the cool waters. Once all three of them were full, she carried them--one on her head and one occupying each of her arms--back to the house.
Summer then set the trio of ruddy clay jugs down in the kitchen. Almost as soon as she had placed the third and final jug down, another slave whisked two away. Already the people of the house were demanding a breakfast of goat cheese, olives, and other foods.
She sighed, knowing that she had a long, long days’ work ahead of her.
*****
Summer reached high above her head and plucked a beautiful, ovular olive as black as midnight. Still-fresh dewdrops showered down on her from the glistening green leaves of the olive tree as she picked the wet olive. It made the olive look even more delectable....
She continued picking endless olives from olive trees of all colors; from every shade of green, to burgundy red, to shining black. Each looked more wonderful and awe-inspiring then the last.
Summer wished to pause and eat one--or two--but stopped herself. She had other tasks to tend to. Still, it took all of her will power not to taste one.
Her wicker basket full to the brim with juicy, colorful olives, she raced away from the olive groves, careful not to spill any of the treats she had collected, and back to home.
She set the olive baskets down and darted away again, this time with a milk pail in her hands. She was going to milk the goats.
*****
Once she was finished with the weary task of milking Saffron, a jumpy young goat who always wanted to play, Summer hurried back to the house, goat milk sloshing precariously in the pail.
She set the pail down in the kitchen. She was downright tired. She had first hurried to the creak to collect water, returning with heavy, filled to the brim jugs, then rushed around collecting olives from the groves, and lastly milked an antsy goat. Summer yearned for the days end, but Apollo’s chariot was only halfway through the sky, and she still had to retrieve firewood.
She knew that the day’s work had only just begun.
______________________________________________________________________
Summer sighed and settled into her uncomfortable bed. Most of the slaves treated her nice enough, and Iris was one of the sweetest people that Summer had ever known, but the ones that she saw the most were the free men. They thought that slaves were well underneath them, and didn’t treat the slaves or women with any respect whatsoever.
And, to Summer’s great dread, tomorrow night there would be a party. Only men were allowed there, and the men usually became very drunk in the first ten minutes of the party. Summer and most of the other slaves would serve the men delicacies like goat cheese, wine, and roasted beets. They would also have to serve (Summer shuddered at this) meats like fish.
So, Summer knew that tomorrow would be packed full of activities and that she would need to have a full night of sleep. But all she could think about was the wind, wild and free, going its own way and doing whatever it wanted. She wished that her life could be like that....
Soon, Summers eyelids became to weighed to stay open, and, with a heavy heart, she feel into a dreamless slumber.
*****
Summer’s eyelids snapped open. The pinkish light of the dawn sun streamed through the window. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the crumbly packed dirt floor. She whipped her day dress on and rushed out of the room.
Instead of having her usual chore of gather water from the creek or the town fountain, she was immediately sent to the garden to gather some of the many vegetables and legumes that grew in the gardens. She was given two awkwardly large baskets to carry the things that she gathered within.
She hurriedly amassed a wide verity of vegetables in her baskets. These included leafy greens like cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, and cress, and other veggies like wild celery, garlic, carrots, artichokes, and fennel. That was all she could fit in the first two trips, but on the final ones Summer squeezed in bulbs, leeks, cucumbers, radishes, squash, and turnips. Also legumes like beans, lentils, chickpeas, and peas, green and yellow.
After collecting the legumes in the fourth and final trip, she plopped the last two wicker baskets on the stone-slab floor of the kitchen, which was very busy at the moment, for it was almost midday now.
Faster then an arrow in flight, Summer shot away with her duo of water jugs. Today, she was using the water from the town fountain. She shoved the jugs underneath the rims infinitely overflowing with sparkling, clear water. She loved the gentle trickling sound of the water spilling over the stone sides. But the soft sounds were drowned out by the noise of the Greek village’s busy streets.
Ignoring the many people wandering aimlessly or hurrying busily about, Summer rushed back home, water sloshing and dripping from the sun-dried clay jugs.
Once Summer entered the house, a round woman in a too-small violet dress shoved the two baskets of olives that Summer had collected yesterday.
As Summer set the water down, the woman explained, “You must take these to the olive press and have Delphinia,” (Delphinia was another slave and a good friend of Summer’s) “so that she can press them into olive oil. Understood?”
Summer nodded, eager to see her friend. “Understood,” she as she snatched away the baskets full of olives and whisked away.
Some time later, Summer bumped into Delphinia, who was standing splat bang in front of the pathway, right around a convenient turn. Almost all of the beautiful olives fell out of the baskets and fell on the floor, which was--luckily--clean. Summer fell on her bottom.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” Delphinia exclaimed apologetically, which was unlike her spunky, tomboy self.
Summer was surprised at Delphinia’s sudden politeness. She stood there, unsure what to say. “It no pro--” Summer started.
“Well?” Delphinia interrupted in a moody tone.
“I was just saying that it’s no problem at all,” Summer replied with a hint of a smile. Now that was how Delphinia acted.
“So what are you doing here anyway?” Delphinia asked as the two friends picked up the olives and set them back into the baskets. “I thought that Eva was coming.” Delphinia added hurriedly, but truthfully, “Not that I’m disappointed to see you, Summer. I was just wondering.”
“I understand,” said Summer with a soft smile. “Anyway, Eva and Frotini are being kept busy in the kitchens,” (Both Eva and Frotini were friends of Summer and Delphinia’s) “anyway, thanks for helping me pick up the olives, Delphinia.”
“No problem,” Delphinia said, shrugging and plucking three olives from the wooden floorboards.
The two friends picked up the rest of the olives in silence. That is, until Delphinia picked up the last olive and screamed gleefully,
“DDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”
Summer covered her ears during the long, loud cry of joy. “Yeah,” she agreed with a laugh. “done.”
With that the two hurried over to the olive press and got to work.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
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