windowsills

In the early months of 1903 a boy was born on the island of Ikaria. He had two brothers and two sisters. Upon his graduation from formal schooling, he felt drawn to America, to fashion a life he could look proudly upon. And so, he immigrated to Oregon and there met a young woman and their hearts quickly became knit together. They married at the ripe age of 23.

 In an effort to provide for this newfound union, this Greek, found a job as a painter and made a living painting the many suburban homes that sprang up beneath Grand firs and Black Cottonwoods . Life seemed dreamy and story-like for the young lovers. One afternoon in the fall of 1930, this house painter fainted after lunch. The members of his crew were troubled and forlorn and saw an augury in the scare. The painter returned home that evening feeling troubled by the ill fated day.

 He and his wife consulted three doctors in their county. These three, separately, all surmised that the painter indeed had lung cancer. From the third doctor he was gravely pronounced to have six months left to live.

The painter had grown fond of his dreamy American life but felt convicted to die and be buried in the land of his ancestry. He and his bride returned to Ikaria, to serenely embrace his last months. They moved to a neglected plot of land overlooking azure seas, one that had long been in his family. He connected with old friends and relatives, pulling taut the loose knots of kinship. He cooked again with his mother and went for long walks in the evening with his father.

Roughly four months from his diagnosis, while overlooking the sea, he decided to plant a vineyard for his bride. Knowing he would never live long enough to savor the wine, he knew she would gaze upon the summery grapes and hold close the thought of him. He toiled and tug by day, clearing their plot of land for his approaching absence. Night was soothed in coastal breezes in the presence of his people. He swam in the sea and tended a garden. He was enchanted with the life he and his bride had assumed and the color it now bore. It wasn’t until the summer of 1933 that he began to sense his healthful delight was lasting. The painter and his bride went on to have three children, in the natural fortuitous manner that comes from living a dreamy, story-like existence by the sea. They were happy and their days were long.