I was a boy, sat with my father, listening to the birds. “The dawn chorus,” he said in the young light, “the dawn chorus.” I remember his itchy jumper, his smell of mothballs, the great thrill of the singing birds, all marking their territories with music. But what was this excitement? And where does it come from? Do we associate birdsong with safety? Simplicity? Or is it an invitation into a more natural world? Emily Dickinson said it best. Liking birds is economical. It saves going to heaven. And lying here this morning, listening to a concert of birdsong from my bedroom window, I think how right she might have been.
Awake, I make coffee and wander to the sea. The water rolls like the skin of some giant turquoise jelly. I think of our hawk-eyed neighbour, who told us there were once so many octopuses you could put your toe in the sea and have one climb up your leg. Large black shags (Gulosus aristotelis, named appropriately after the Greek philosopher Aristotle) contemplate the world between fishing trips. And then, with time, I see the maker of my morning. A descending osprey (Pandion haliaetus), a fish-eating bird of prey, about 50,000 breeding pairs left, looking for its breakfast. She dives with a crash. Sodden wings are heaved from the sea, a large fish empaled on her claws, yellow-legged gulls already in pursuit, reaching down to snatch the fish. A myriad of natural luxuries. I haven’t even finished my coffee.
For me, this is Formentera. For all its fine treasures, luxurious shops and white-sand-charm, none are as beautiful as its proximity to the natural world. Easily taken for granted, we are afforded here a special connection with nature, an invisible hand, one that can lift the soul, simplify the world and teach us about the important things in life. And the more we listen and learn from nature, the larger her gifts become. Medicinal plants are perhaps the best examples of this, where knowledge and cooperation have created very sustainable and successful relationships.
This evening, we walk to our favourite spot, my girlfriend and I, along a thin sandy path, through dunes and woodland, where mastic grows (Pistacia lentiscus, ancient Greek chewing gum) beside the iconic Phoenician juniper (Juniperus phoenicea). We arrive at a clearing, an open meadow of flowers and buzzing bees. We have come to gather herbs to make a typical oil, infused with the fragrance of Formentera’s most important plants.
DO WE ASSOCIATE BIRDSONG WITH SAFETY? SIMPLICITY? OR IS IT AN INVITATION INTO A MORE NATURAL WORLD?
Of all the ingredients perhaps Mediterranean wild thyme (Thymbra capitata) is the most indispensable. A diuretic, an antiseptic, a living first aid kit, it’s used against coughs, asthma and sinusitis. The plant, when boiled, makes aigua de frígola, a local remedy for stomach aches and it’s also a main ingredient in hierbas, a popular herbal liquor. Its thin, scaly leaves are also perfect in our oil. Growing close by is felty germander (Teucrium capitatum), a purple and understated plant, whose characteristic smell of incense was once said to hide the smell of alcohol on over enthusiastic revellers, handed out from holy houses around the streets of Dalt Vila.
But in the low sun, more plants are needed. Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis, a beautiful name, referring to the medieval officina, the room in monasteries where medicinal plants were stored) shines like green glass, growing happily beside pockets of pungent rue (Ruta chalepensis), a powerful plant, used for millennia to improve circulation and to even induce abortions. Among all the dotted bouquets, we find our star ingredient, the egg-yolk flowers of everlasting (Helichrysum stoechas), so called for its ability to hold its colour when dried. This curry scented flower, once used to ward off anything from bad smells to evil spirits, is incredible for the skin and has been widely used in cosmetics for those very reasons.
The plants, with their unique histories, peculiarities and traditional uses, are soaked for a month or two to create a strong scented olive oil. Each golden drop is then strained to sift out the flowers and afterwards, with messy hands and helichrysum fingers, a swim in the blue is essential. The oil is brilliant for the hair and skin, and smells great too. And now, each time I use it, I am reminded of that thin sandy path, the woodland, the wild flowers, and the gifts of Formentera. And just like the osprey, the birdsong, the buzzing bees, it provides a pathway into our natural world, a world of peace, euphoria and contemplation. Perhaps old Dickinson wouldn’t mind me saying that liking nature is also economical. Its gifts are free, constant, yet entirely priceless.
