My childhood passed in a country house that my father had built on land he bought in a village before we were born…

We would spend our entire summer there. Until it was time to go to school, playing in the fields, being in contact with every beauty of nature…

I remember, in the evenings, village men would come and sit in our garden, they would chat with father. These conversations would go on until late. I would sleep outside as a child, on mattresses laid out in the garden. I would feel extremely peaceful falling asleep under the stars with their light and the conversation sounds I listened to without understanding.

We would wake up before the sun rose in the mornings. After we washed our faces with well water, my grandmother would make us drink a spoonful of olive oil. Then we would wander around the fields until evening.

I ran a lot barefoot in those fields. We would eat the tomatoes, cucumbers, and figs we picked from the garden, sometimes we would steal and eat watermelons from neighboring fields.

When our knees and hands got scraped from falling, grandmother would bring lemon and rub it on the wounds and heal them. We had such freedom in that village life. There was such a strong bond with nature. I got diarrhea many times from eating unripe and dirty fruit and vegetables. Where we lived was not in the village center either. It was outside where the fields were.

The village center was about fifteen minutes walk away. On Fridays, villagers would set up market stalls in the village square and sell vegetables and fruit they produced.

I would go horseback with my cousins to shop from those stalls, with the shopping lists my grandmother prepared. The village square would fill with people on Fridays. People outside the village would also come shopping. It was literally like a marketplace. The barber shop and grocery store in the village were places I liked to go to. The barber uncle would give me candy every time. That’s why I liked going there. And you know those big glass jars where they used to keep candy.

I would watch which jar he would reach into…

One side of the village road was all carob trees. I would eat carobs until my stomach hurt. Going to the village fountain and drinking water was the most important ritual My siblings and I loved splashing around at the fountain.

Those beautiful trouble-free, fight-free, unaware, beautiful days…

Summer evenings when my aunts would call their children home one by one…

My grandmother calling me home by whistling…

Playing hide and seek…

Lighting a fire and making tea…

I always say if God gives us health, I want to retire and spend time in the village.

They tore down and sold the house, the land my father built piece by piece after his death.

I never wanted this. My siblings wanted money. That house, that village, the peace there were my father’s heritage to me. I used to visit there every year. My whole childhood is there. After it was sold, I never went to that village again. I can’t… Because every stone there is a piece of my life. And that village without my father and our house means nothing to me. Have a nice day…