End of October, begining of November, the Lassithi Plateau region of Crete reverts back into fishing and farming country. The tourist season abruptly ends. The last charter flight is on its way north, the roaring tour buses disappear, and 90% of the shops and tavernas are hastily locked up — windows decorated with a selection of old newspapers.
The first few weeks of tranquility for village residents is a comforting transition — we're all so accustomed to the noise, traffic and stress — it's as if we've moved to another place.
 The sheep descend from their cool high-mountain sanctuaries to warmer slopes — the distant sound of their bells a soothing lullaby, accompanied by the sweet chorus of birds who've returned to their winter home, the roosters communicating in code from every ridge, and the laughter of children who can once again freely roam the neighborhood.
 With the first soft trickling of rain, the olive trees seem to reach for every drop, their agile branches swaying like cotton, blocking any path to the desert-dry earth below. Gradually, the rainy season will promise dramatic thunderstorms and gusting winds, creating an eerie island isolation, yet rekindling our connection to the community and the land and its bounties. After months of stark sunny skies the soft shade of the clouds and nourishing rain softens the landscape — and its inhabitants' nerves — the hotel uniforms are replaced with farming gear and harvest preparations begin.
Read on what is first on Yiannis harvest list in my next blog.
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