Syka

Last summer I was lucky enough to spend a couple of lazy weeks in Agios Dimitrios, on the Greek island of Evia. We stayed by the sea as guests of our friend’s family: Giorgos, Konstantina, Christos, Christos (Papous), and Vasso (Yiayia).

It was two weeks of sun, great food and relaxation. Much of the time was spent sitting beneath a large mulberry tree, letting the heat rise and fall and watching the light change as it danced across the sea.

Whilst we were there, Christos and Vasso were undertaking one of their annual activities; gathering, drying, and storing figs. Syka in Greek (σύκα).

Like most parts of Greece, fig trees grow everywhere in the local area and by this time of year their branches are heavy with fruit.

Once the figs had been collected they were layed out in the hot Greek sun, carefully organised into neat rows. Then, every so often, turned to make sure they dried evenly, over and over again, over several days, until eventually they were dry.

Next a simple mixture of herbs and salt was made to clean and preserve them. The salt used in the mixture was collected by Christos from a small pool he had constructed by the sea.

Next, the figs were left to dry again, this time indoors, before being carefully stacked into small boxes or cut and stored in glass jars, ready for the months ahead.

I will admit that, for a while, I couldn’t help thinking how much effort it all seemed. After all, dried figs are easily bought in local shops or markets.

Living in the UK our days are busy and shaped by overlapping routines. Against that backdrop, it’s easy to describe activities like this, practiced over generations, as slow.

But watching Christos and Vasso, it didn’t feel slow at all. It felt measured. Each stage followed the last without urgency, unfolding at the pace it needed to. Only when set against the speed of modern life does it appear otherwise.

Spending time watching life unfold this way underlined how our days have become shaped with distraction, how much they are shaped by convenience and the expectation of instant results. The scrolling, the noise and the small, trivial urgencies that crowd the day.

Time, experienced this way, has space. Space to notice what’s usually passed over, to see, to listen and to stay with things rather than move on quickly from them.

Watching Christos and Vasso, it becomes clear that this attention isn’t really about figs at all. It’s about continuity. About care. About staying aligned with cycles that have shaped people for generations.

Christos and Vasso spent several days on this activity and in doing so remained aligned with cycles of generations before them, the trees, the sea and the seasons. A reminder that we aren’t separate from the natural world, but part of it… in exactly the same way as the fig itself.

The only cost to them…was time.