People and Animals

Here at The Silva Project, everything we do revolves around people. This seems ironic since the project itself was established to create a safe haven for animals and environmental anomalies, but these things merely the mechanisms that operate and propel the real goals of the organization.

Every morning, I walk down to the barn, pick up my gloves, burlap bags, and shovel, and muck out the fields. After that, I give all of the horses hay, feed them, give them water, and make sure that they are all doing ok. I could do this every day completely by myself, without any help, and ultimately, without any purpose other than to keep the animals healthy and alive. However, what is the purpose of having an animal without putting it into some sort of use?

That is where the people come in.

All around this place is evidence of its impact on people. Outside the front door is a cart full of rocks painted with horses and trees and sunshiny fields—all painted by children from the farm, of course. The children’s precious drawings of horses and dogs adorn the creaky barn doors and tack room—a constant reminder of the impact that the horses have on them every day. I have been there before in my childhood when I loved riding horses. I would fill the margins of my math homework with drawings of horses and bridles and saddles, I would dream horses, I would walk like a horse and try to think like a horse. It was a big part of my life that frustrated me, intrigued me, and gave me happiness, and I can see these same sentiments on the faces of all of the riding students and riding instructors that are at the farm every day.

For the past week, we have been giving lessons to two young children who are vacationing at their grandmother’s house from Switzerland. One of them is a little girl who has cerebral palsy and the other is a quiet, curly-haired little boy who does not have a disability. They receive a week’s worth of therapeutic riding lessons every time they vacation here, and they say that even just a couple weeks a year makes a huge difference to the kids. The mother and father both look like they walked straight out of a modeling agency and the two kids bounce around without a care in the world. I could tell from my first 10 minutes with them that this is a virtually perfect family that surrounds both of the children in love and happiness at all times. We played games with them on the horses and heard the two kids laugh and nuzzle the horses’ manes, the mother and father called out to the children every time we passed them at the side of the ring, and the word, “Bravo!,” was shouted every time they did anything correctly. I enjoyed watching the family work together to make a worthwhile experience from using these glorious animals, and this lesson time quickly became my favorite time of every day.

However, it is not just the farm that is making a difference to the community, but the general feeling of love for all animals and living things here. Every day, we receive phone calls at the barn from people who have found a snake or a hurt dog or three baby owls, and of course, we refer them to Silvia Steen who works her magic to make sure the animals’ needs are met. This past Tuesday, about 20 biologists, including the controversial and famous botanist David Bellamy, came to dinner at the villa and studied the trees and animals around the property. They raved about the beauty of the place and how much they respect Silvia for doing what she does. It was the smile on their faces that told me that this place had made an impact on them, if even in the slightest way. I smiled too.

Not "Where" but "Who" you're with...

The Silva Project would not exist if it were not for the volunteers that work here. Although they come in and out every couple months, there is always one to replace another—one door opening as another one closes, as they say. I believe this rotation keeps the place new and fresh—the animals have someone new to dote upon them, Mrs. Steen has someone new to talk to, the beds have new dreams, and the house has new laughter. Since I have been here, I have seen this rotation and this freshness more than once.

Earlier this week, Mrs. Steen’s distant niece Alexia moved out after being here for a month. Alexia is a tall, picturesque Greek woman with a thick British accent. She reminds me of all of the strong, charming British women in movies that I love and had an air about her that was fun and refreshing. Since she has left the dynamic in the group has changed. Since she worked at the farm, I guess I am technically her replacement, and I feel like I have replaced her in more ways than one—I have taken over her “project horse,” Captain, I am a farm hand, and I am more quiet and reserved like her than the other girls.
Two people are leaving on Sunday: Mark and Molly, who are a couple from America that have taken time to travel the world for the past year. They have worked here for almost 3 months, will be camping out in Italy for 2 weeks, and then moving to Sweden to run a spiritual camp of some kind. They are both free spirits that say that their life is an adventure. The pasts that they have are more interesting than about anyone’s past that I have heard of their age. Molly is 23, a graduate from a small arts college in Florida, who has spent the past two years living in hostels across the country that have lead her to meet intriguing people and live in unique situations which are not limited to building her own tree house and living in it. Each are quiet but easy to converse with, and obviously intelligent. They are truly citizens of the world.

Emily, who is a 21 year old from Ireland, is leaving next week. This girl has so much spunk and has showed us the town more than once, introducing us to her Greek friends and favorite bars as a way of keeping a legacy after she leaves. She is everything that one would imagine an Irish person to be. Her accent is hilarious, and I have had so much fun learning all of the Irish-isms that include but are not limited to, “Look at me poor wee feet!,” and, “Let’s go get pissed tonight!” I will definitely miss her vibrancy when she leaves, but I wish her the best as she becomes a dentist when she returns from her year off of school.

Katherine from New Mexico just arrived last night as Molly’s replacement at the farm (even though she has switched to work with the dogs as Mark’s replacement). She is very nice, intelligent, and funny, and I look forward to getting to know her in the upcoming month.

Amy arrived on the same plane with me completely by coincidence. She is blonde and tall, brash and fun-loving. She started off working on the dogs but has now switched to working at the farm with me because she has a lot of past experiences with horses. She keeps us all entertained when we go out together because loves to learn Greek and converse with Greeks about movies, food, and lifestyles. She will be here until the beginning of July, so I can’t wait to get to know her more.

David is a man from Washington State in his 70’s who works with the horses. Silvia noted that this is the first time that The Silva Project has had an older individual to volunteer, but truth be told, I think that David's love for the island and for the animals is apparent in all of the work that he does at the farm and around the house.

A guy named Bryan arrived a few nights ago from visiting home in the States for a few days. Although he spent a few extra nights in hotel lobbies and airport terminals and got permanently kicked out of Belgium in order to make it back here cheaply and in one piece, he arrived and immediately began dictating chores to the new volunteers. Since he has been here for over 9 months and is a pseudo employee, he has the right to do these things. He also holds some additional power because he has a car that can be used to drive to town, although I use the term “car” lightly. Really, this vehicle is a chunk of metal with four wheels. The windshield wipers are controlled by a lever in the dashboard, the passenger seat is kept in place by wire, the ceiling leaks every time it rains, there are holes that have been drilled in the floorboard to let out water from the leaky ceiling, and the car has to be hotwired every time you want to start it because the key broke off in the ignition a few months ago. But it is a set of wheels none-the-less that gets us from point A to point B in a crowded, semi-terrified few minutes.

Overall, this 200 year-old-house has seen more personalities and conversations than it can hold, and I am so glad to be a part of the variety of people that pass through here every year.

In the Streets of Paleokastritsa

Since Monday is my only day off per week, two other coworkers and I have decided that we will devote our Mondays off to take day trips to interesting villages on the island. Over a sparkling wine, some hummus, and Greek meatballs at Captain George’s restaurant last night Amy from Georgia and I looked at a map and some travel books to see where we would go today. Very quickly, with the help of the eccentric Captain George, we decided on Paleokastritsa, which is a village that is parallel to Kanoni on the West. Although we did not know what to expect, we were given a few names of people that George knew scrawled in a hybrid of Latin and Greek characters and the places we HAD to see when we go there. Emily from Ireland, Amy, and I woke up at 8:00 AM this morning (earlier than we wake up for work!) to catch the bus to Corfu Town, and then to hop on another bus to Paleokastritsa.

When we arrived there, we were taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place—there were not many buildings, but the water was a certain kind of blue that had us convinced that residents secretly put dye in it when no one is looking. The first thing we did was eat some cheese pastries and satsiki for breakfast and then meander up a winding road to a monastery at the top of a hill. The monastery was beautiful, full of flowers, real live monks, and views that were utterly breathtaking. After this stop, we walked back down the mountain and went on a boat tour of caves that riddle the coast of the island. Even though we visited maybe 2 caves, the boat ride was pleasant—made even moreso by driver (whose name was Spyros; surprise, surprise) who wanted to keep us entertained. For the rest of the day we sat on the beach and swam in the lovely water. I ended up looking like a boiled prawn by the end of the day, but it was so much fun to explore this part island at our own leisure—taking in its beauty and its people like I have never taken in a place before.

The Show and the Seminar

This weekend was super-busy because the entire farm at Villa Silva put on a horse show for a rather famous guest of honor names Franklin Levinson from Calorodo. Franklin is a horse whisperer and public speaker who did not receive the same amount of hype as Pat Parelli, but still works just as effectively in explaining and demonstrating natural horsemanship at farms all over the world.

On Saturday, more advanced riders and volunteers at The Silva Project were able to show their riding skills and horsemanship skills in three different dressage events throughout the day including a walk/trot course, walk/trot/canter course, and jumping course. My responsibilities were limited to walking up and down the mountainous hill to and from the riding ring with hay, saddles, horses, riders, and anything else they needed from the farm down below. Tensions were high as the volunteers readied kids and horses for their events, making sure every stirrup was in place, every girth was tightened, and ever collar was buttoned. The kids performed beautifully and glowed with excitement as their names were called to received medals and trophies as a prize for their work.Although this competitive setting makes room for nervous riders and horses, the day went smoothly save for one fall from a spooky horse. This is the first horse show that the Villa Silva has ever put on, and I can tell that it really made a difference for the riders here in terms of their relationships with their horses. The highest points of success for the children—clearing a jump, switching leads effectively—brought them closer to their horse, while the lowest points—falling off, placing last in the event—inspired a frustration that will ultimately make the children work harder with their horse to obtain an elevated goal. There’s just something about dressing up to impress judges and manning a horse with grace and patience in the most stressful situations that makes a rider stronger, and I was glad to have witnessed this growth on Saturday.
Today, Franklin Levinson gave a day-long seminar for the riders, parents, and volunteers about natural horsemanship. This type of horsemanship involves caring for a horse in a way that is empathetic to their instinctual needs, also know in more main-stream media as “horse whispering.” Franklin worked with three horses with issues at the barn: Prince, who spooks at everything; Roben, whose abusive past has given him a problem with aggression; and Shaun, a Skyrian with bad ground manners. With Prince, Franklin showed the children how to be compassionate towards that horse’s fear and how to be a good leader to the horse so that it will feel safe. With Roben, Franklin took a fortified stance as he quietly made Roben submit to his leadership so that his aggressive tendencies disappeared. And finally, with Shaun, Franklin lead the horse around and kept him entertained—communicating with him at every turn so that he never misbehaved.
Franklin emphasized that horsemanship is like a dance, in which the handler is the leader and remains empathetic with the horses desires and needs while remaining very self aware and firm in quiet leadership. As I watched these horses show signs of change—lowered heads; twitching ears; walking, trotting, and halting with the simple sound of his voice—I realized that quiet, empathetic, and compassionate leadership seems to be what works most effectively with horses, and with humans. Franklin’s seminar was not only a time for his to train these horses, but it was also a time for him to teach the children (and adults) in the audience how to lead their animals and each other.

The Crazy Island

The thing about Corfu is that almost no one you will meet here is actually from Corfu. I have met many people from other places than Kanoni, and most of them are originally from England or other parts of Greece. In fact, I would say about 90% of the families whose children ride at the barn are from England while one of the spouses is from a different part of Greece or the Mediterranean. Although this can be disappointing at times, since I came here expecting to immerse myself into a distinctly Corfuite culture, it also makes things interesting. People have a great sense of the world around them and a greater appreciation of the beauty of the island, which is usually the reason why they decided to move here in the first place.

Most of these people who are outsiders of Corfu but citizens of Greece refer to Corfu as “The Crazy Island.” Although, based upon my experience of the town thus far, I first assumed this was meant in the terms of tourism traffic and the bustling night life, but most often, this term actually refers to the mental state of the people that live here being slightly like a loose cannon.

I think (or at least I would like to think) that I experienced my first “Crazy Island” experience as I visited the Vlacherna monastery that is about a 5 minute walk from my house. This monastery is a small, white building that is situated on its own mini-island that can only be accessed by a narrow levy lined with fishing and tour boats. As I approached the end of this levy I caught sight of something pink, round, and flowery prancing around in front of the chapel. When I came closer, I saw a very colorful, portly old man who was probably in his mid-seventies wearing his nicest gray Sunday slacks and a bright pink button-down. There were roses and pansies of every color tucked in his front pocket, pants pockets, ears, and receding hairline. He smiled a wild, uninhibited smile while he wandered in the courtyard of the monastery, almost taking the same open-armed stance as Fraulein Maria while she blared “The hills are alive…” on her mountaintop in the beginning of The Sound of Music. Although his eyes were a bit crazed (indicating that the cheese may have slid off his cracker, if you know what I mean), his wrinkled face that was haloed in flowers gave every sign that he was in utter bliss just to wander through Corfu like a living rainbow.

In much the same way, Captain George who owns and operates “Captain George’s Restaurant” that is right outside the driveway of Villa Silva is also a quite lovely character. He came to our table as we ate dinner tonight and began to explain to us why most men and boys in Corfu are named “Spyros.” He told the story of Saint Spyros whose body is buried in a church in Corfu Town, and his face lit up when he described the yearly festivities of taking the body of Saint Spyros out in a parade and changing his shoes in the belief that he will walk the streets that night to grant the prayers of all the devout Corfuites. People who desire to be parents in Corfu thus pray to Saint Spyros so that he will grant them fertility in his yearly rounds, and they will name their baby in his honor when and if they become pregnant. And as enchanting as this story is by itself, Captain George’s depiction of the custom—complete with dancing around the restaurant, putting his foot and shoes on out eating table, and fanning himself with a huge oriental fan afterward—is certainly proof that a tale told slightly crazy man who is incredibly excited to share Corfu with others makes an already wondeful story at least 10 times better.

Just from my brief encounter with these people from Corfu, I can definitely say that if this “Crazy Island” is a disease, I am ready to catch it.

Farm Work

Long, long ago, all of the Aegean was covered with tiny bay horses—from Greece to Italy. As the years progressed, people who lived in the Mediterranean found great use for these tiny ponies because they were a hardy breed that didn’t need to have horseshoes. It is for this reason that many historians speculate that Alexander the Great used these horses in his conquests of greater Europe to carry supplies without the necessity of bringing extra metal and blacksmiths to give them horseshoes. However, as the times grew more and more lean in the upcoming years, the people of these ancient times began to eat the ponies for sustenance. After many years of being used as a hard-working labor horse and a source of food, these little horses became isolated to the island of Skyros in Greece, where they lived on a mountain that is counted as one of the tallest mountains in Greece. When overpopulation of cities forced people to move to outer islands and create a more agricultural lifestyle, these horses, whose species had already been decimated by the past centuries, became even more threatened. The new residents of Skyros began to release their sheep and goats onto the same mountain that the horses lived on, which of course meant that the Skyros horses were sharing their food and habitat with other animals that lived in the same manner that they did. In addition to the sheep and goats, farmers also grazed their larger horses and mules on the mountain as well. By the time that there were less than 200 Skyrian ponies left in the entire world, the origins of their lineage had been so sullied by interbreeding with these mules and other horses that it is hard to tell what they may have actually looked like before the farmers ever began releasing their animals on to the mountain.

Even now at The Silva Project, the Skyrian horses have a range of appearances—some are dwarves, some are large; some are black, some are brown; some have blue eyes, and some do not. However, despite the evidence of their turmoiled past in terms of inter-breeding, they are a wonderful species that have quiet dispositions and work very well with the small children who ride them. They themselves are small, usually not standing more than 11 hands high, the smallest being about 9 hands, but perhaps the most amazing thing about them is that they are the only ones in the world. This makes them truly special, and I wonder sometimes if the 3 to 6 year-olds that ride them are aware of the privilege that they have to ride such a rare species of horse.
The average day for me as a barn hand consists of mucking out the fields and paddock in which the horses live, feeding them their hard feed, tacking up horses for the lessons in the afternoons, leading horses for the lessons in which the children are very small, putting hay in the pastures, and cleaning the barn area. Although this is a lot of work, the horses and the general situations are funny and often comical. The waste from all of the fields is put into a burlap sack (you have to wrestle with it for quite a while before you can actually fit your shovel of poop into it) so that it can be used as fertilizer in the kiwi orchard. This is dirty work, indeed, and sometimes I will come back in the afternoon to find about an entire flake of hay under my shirt and the joints of my elbows and knees almost black with dirt.

The animals and people here are delightful as well. Many of the horses are playful and so comfortable that they will lay down in the field or are allowed to roam about the barn area. The children that ride at the farm are also very cute, many younger than the age of six. I personally find this a very young age to be around horses (almost too young) but they seem to get along just fine and enjoy their time.

However, I never let the hard, dirty work that I do get in the way of finding a way to respect the animals, environments, and people that I come across. From the top of one of the paddocks you can see the ocean and a mountain with a city situated on the side, and that is when I truly realize that I am in Greece (albeit scooping horse poop into burlap sacks). I take a deep breath of the Mediterranean air and never question whether what I am doing here is helpful or what the BN program would define as “service,” because I have no doubt of it when I look into the eyes of one of the horses and know that I am perpetuating a lifestyle which saved them and will keep them alive for many years to come.

First Day in Greece

I arrived last night in Corfu with another girl who will be working at The Silva Project until July 1. We hopped in the car with Mrs. Steen, the founder of the Silva Project, and began our journey to her home. Since it was dark, I could only see things as they passed in front of the car headlights. Trees. Ancient Chapels. Walls. Villas. Graffiti. Driveways. It was only a dream-like glimpse of what comprises the town that surrounds The Silva Project, and I hope to see more of it on the weekends when I venture out with the other volunteers.

On the drive, Mrs. Steen began talking about The Silva Project and its goals. She spent most of her life working with special-needs children and serving as a leader on many boards that dealt with problems in Greece such as animal control. Because of her civic engagement within the community, almost providentially, a man one day approached her and showed her three things which needed to be addressed within the Greek community. One was an environmental-related organization, one was a community center, and one was a tiny horse. I can imagine that Silvia asked herself: “Which do I pick? Door 1, door 2, or door 3?” However, having a place in her heart for animals, she chose door number 3, and thus saved an entire species of horse of which there were less than 90 left in the entire world. This place in her animal-loving heart can be heard, smelled, and seen 24 hours a day, seven days a week. In the house there are over 4 cats and maybe 20 dogs. One dog has only 2 legs, and about 4 have three legs. Just a few months ago, Sylvia rescued a female dog whose entire back half had been crushed by a car. After nurturing it and vaccinating it, the dog gave birth to three healthy and adorable puppies, who are a delight. But, her love for animals extends beyond dogs and cats. I would say there are a good 20 horses at the farm, all of which are happy and healthy. Part of my work as a volunteer will be to find practical uses for the Skyrian horses that live here, because, as Mrs. Steen said, “No one wants an animal that cannot be used in some way.” Already, Mrs. Steen has sold Skyrian horses to places in Edinburg, Ireland, and Skyros in Greece, where new organizations are being set up to breed them and use them for introductory riding lessons.

As if dogs, cats, and horses were not enough, Sylvia also collects a wide array of birds and a few other mammals, which I was not aware of until last night and this morning. As I stood speaking to Sylvia before bed, I heard a husky sound that sounded like snoring. I asked her if there was a person sleeping nearby with a serious snoring problem and she said, “Oh, no. I forgot to tell you this, I keep about 4 barn owls in the living room, and that is the sound they make.” Barn owls? The line is not drawn there. On the front porch, there is a raven-type bird, throughout the house are canaries and finches, by the barn are hens, roosters, and ducks, and behind the house is a heron that she rescued only last week.

As anyone could imagine, there are many interesting smells that fill the air around this house and within the house, which is over 200 years old. As I sit here writing now, I can smell the aroma of cooked cabbage, litter boxes, and lemon trees. I also hear 10 dogs barking, roosters crowing, horses whinnying and a blender running in the kitchen. The house itself is in a state of ruin, of greater glories gone by. Windows will not shut, doors will not close, the house moans at night under the weight of years and years of age. But it does not lack in charm, and I’m sure I will discover even more of its personality in my stay here.

The land on which the house is situated has belonged to Sylvia’s family for over 50 years, and she has kept it preserved, trying to touch as little of it as possible, because she sees the virtue in letting some of the planet earth remain unexplored. The estate itself is slightly reminiscent of “The Secret Garden” in the way that man-made items are mixed and overgrown with natural items, giving me a sense of child-like wonder about what lies underneath an ivy-covered column or what the rusty spickets and mysterious frames of structures were used for in their prime. Like the rich history of the city that I perceived in Turkey, the rich history of the land is an ever-present enigma here. Just outside my window is a fichus tree that Sylvia tells me is over 1000 years old, and a few steps down the driveway reveal the only eucalyptus tree in Greece (pictured below), which is over 700 years old.

Overall, I feel out-of-my-element here because of the smells, the sounds, and the people. When I arrived last night, I felt extremely tired and homesick, and when I went to bed in my 6 foot by 6 foot room that may or may not have a flea problem, I was feeling pretty low. However, upon waking and seeing some of the glories of the place, I’m sure I will get used to it in time, and I truly look forward to my stay here for the sake of learning about the organization and learning how to serve it to the best of my ability.