Although I cringe when she uses the phrase "climate change", this article provides one individual's perspective on what is happening in her neck of the woods.
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Elyse Welles | July 26, 2023
ATHENS – Last week began with an alert on my phone Monday morning: “Wildfires are spreading in your area. Be prepared to evacuate.” Receiving these alerts throughout the summer, more and more each year, sends my heart racing. Like a pinball in my chest, it hits each emotion in rapid succession. It strikes fast into anger at what is happening yet again due to climate change. Then it ricochets off of fear for my own safety and the impossibility of evacuating with every cat in my house and our cat colony. It bounces again and hits sadness, spreading an overwhelming chill over my body, when I think of the unexplained fear that the animals – stray, wild, and domestic – will suffer. And then the numbness comes on, the pinball sinking between the bumpers. Until the next alert sends the ball rolling again.
July 23rd saw the island of Rhodes evacuating nearly 20,000 people, at least half of which are foreign tourists, in an unprecedented, record-slashing wildfire. For eight days as of writing on July 25th, fires have torn across the heavily-wooded island of Rhodes, as well as all over Greece’s islands and mainland. The United States Embassy in Greece repeated the General Secretariat for Civil Protection has announced Very High Risk (Category 4 alarm) for all citizens currently in Greece as of July 17th in several areas of the country, and the British government has sent a rapid deployment team to Rhodes for aiding in the evacuation of their citizens. Meanwhile, Greece’s foreign ministry has initiated a crisis management unit for the island and beyond. Watching footage of Rhodes’ evacuation, rabbits carried by firefighters, and tourists holed up in a gymnasium waiting in limbo, it’s hard not to personify the island as the ancients did. Rhodos is the tutelary goddess of her island, a daughter of Aphrodite and Poseidon to some, to others a naiad daughter of his and Amphitrite’s. It is her body scarred and brutalized by these fires. Her immortal body was left charred by human actions.
Wildfires are a yearly danger, growing in threat each year. In 2018, the unprecedented wildfire in Mati saw over 100 people killed. The land has still not recovered and families are not returning. In 2021, Evia saw the same crises, and many of the locations that burned are now considered unsafe to live in for their wildfire risk. Places that have been inhabited for millennia are being abandoned not because of war, but another human-made disaster: climate change.
As I take in my laundry on my rooftop, I look out over the sea towards the island of Evia, where plumes of smoke remind me that the fires are far from over. Some days the thudding beats of helicopters, their propellers pulsing shadows across my windows, jar me from my work on their way to collect water from the sea to douse another fire. The ash washes over my skin when I swim in the sea, and I wonder: is this from a tree older than the human actions causing this climate disaster? The ever-present awareness of the damage humans do to the land is unforgivable. Unforgettable. Disappointing. Angering.
As a pagan living in one of the most sacred places in the world, experiencing wildfires somehow feels more personal. The messages of concern I get from family, friends, and followers around the world remind me that many feel the same way about Greece. The motherland for more than just Greek citizens, Western civilization owes so much to Greece. Perhaps no gift she gave the world is greater than her goddesses and gods, land spirits, and numina (sacred places) that formed foundational practices for many paths of spirituality, neopaganism, and witchcraft.
What’s more, Greece is a haven of nature, an untouched landscape of ancient forests. In the valley of Delphi, one can nearly see the nymphs and satyrs peeking behind trees. In aging stone villages, the stoixeia are alive and well, still receiving their offerings. And in quiet winds, the daemons, the emotional land spirits, can still be felt. These wild places are untouched by humans directly, but in the worst sort of irony, are the first to be destroyed by the human-made actions escalating climate change.
But none here in Greece are alone in this fight. Firefighters, equipment, helicopters, and foreign services have been provided by neighbors in Egypt, France, Italy, Malta, Jordan, Israel, and Turkey. Ursula von der Leyen, president of the European Commission, promised that Greece “can always count on European solidarity.” But will it be enough as wildfires continue to spread?
CONTINUE READING: https://wildhunt.org/2023/07/living-in-greece-and-wildfires.html
