It’s not the broadest nor the deepest well; it’s not the oldest one either. It’s a typical Mount Epos well, but it was made by the man who is credited with constructing the majority of Chios’ stockyards.
Stavrini and I had already walked past Ellinostrata and were making our way to Kambouris’ plot. Just before reaching Makria Skala, we came across a small stockyard. “It belongs to my grandfather, Sideris Psoras; it’s a small summer fold. They used to have fifty animals back then, and they would milk thirty of them.” Sideris Psoras, born two hundred years ago, father of four daughters and one son, is the patriarch of livestock breeding on the island. “All his children owned cattle and that’s why he and his wife kept building stockyards. He was a good mason, pretty handy.” Psoras is estimated to have made more than thirty corrals on southeastern Epos, summer, “of April and May” and even winter ones.
“You see the well? Fail to spot it and you’re tumbling down in it.” She was right: although I was just standing a few meters away, the well was invisible, covered by some broom shrubs. Despite it extending out to four meters in depth and two meters in width and featuring a water collector gutter, there was no water, just some moisture at the bottom. “It’s a dry well. In the old days, they used to grout them using dirt so that the water could be retained; but the years that went by have weakened it, and water now goes to waste.”
Water shortage on the Epos plateau would call for plenty of wells constructed a long time ago by shepherds following the same technique. “They would find a dirt spot enabling them to dig in. Back in the day, they just had those oil cans, not some flexi tubs, and they would either get an animal to pull or a man to drag them up; no stairs back then. They would fasten someone to a big rock, or to an embedded boulder, and they would then hoist him down so that he could fill up the can. The person inside the well would hold the shovel while the other one up there would pull. Shovel and pull, shovel and pull” –and that way the well pit was dug.
“He would then get down there, the others would throw some stones from above, he would put them into place, they would reel him up, throw more stones in there, he would make two more stacks before getting back up, and they would then throw more stones” –and that was more or less how the foot of the well was created. If the well was deep, they would afterwards continue building it from the outside. “They would throw the rocks from the outside and fit them together. Then they would add dirt, get back up and carry on building.”
Stavrini and I had already walked past Ellinostrata and were making our way to Kambouris’ plot. Just before reaching Makria Skala, we came across a small stockyard. “It belongs to my grandfather, Sideris Psoras; it’s a small summer fold. They used to have fifty animals back then, and they would milk thirty of them.” Sideris Psoras, born two hundred years ago, father of four daughters and one son, is the patriarch of livestock breeding on the island. “All his children owned cattle and that’s why he and his wife kept building stockyards. He was a good mason, pretty handy.” Psoras is estimated to have made more than thirty corrals on southeastern Epos, summer, “of April and May” and even winter ones.
“You see the well? Fail to spot it and you’re tumbling down in it.” She was right: although I was just standing a few meters away, the well was invisible, covered by some broom shrubs. Despite it extending out to four meters in depth and two meters in width and featuring a water collector gutter, there was no water, just some moisture at the bottom. “It’s a dry well. In the old days, they used to grout them using dirt so that the water could be retained; but the years that went by have weakened it, and water now goes to waste.”
Water shortage on the Epos plateau would call for plenty of wells constructed a long time ago by shepherds following the same technique. “They would find a dirt spot enabling them to dig in. Back in the day, they just had those oil cans, not some flexi tubs, and they would either get an animal to pull or a man to drag them up; no stairs back then. They would fasten someone to a big rock, or to an embedded boulder, and they would then hoist him down so that he could fill up the can. The person inside the well would hold the shovel while the other one up there would pull. Shovel and pull, shovel and pull” –and that way the well pit was dug.
“He would then get down there, the others would throw some stones from above, he would put them into place, they would reel him up, throw more stones in there, he would make two more stacks before getting back up, and they would then throw more stones” –and that was more or less how the foot of the well was created. If the well was deep, they would afterwards continue building it from the outside. “They would throw the rocks from the outside and fit them together. Then they would add dirt, get back up and carry on building.”
📷 Sevasti’s well, the well of “Koutsourias’ old lady”
Sideris Psoras died full of days. His daughter Sevasti, having been initiated into the art of rubble walls, also built corrals, sheds and wells. Several Sideris’ descendants, stockbreeders by trade, still maintain ovine and caprine animals on Epos and Pelineo.
Sideris Psoras died full of days. His daughter Sevasti, having been initiated into the art of rubble walls, also built corrals, sheds and wells. Several Sideris’ descendants, stockbreeders by trade, still maintain ovine and caprine animals on Epos and Pelineo.
SKIMNIES
Skimnies is a narrow “oasis” on Epos boasting fifteen wells (including another “Psoras-made” one) adjacent to one another, all belonging to four shepherd families. The two bigger ones were dug thirty to forty years ago with state funding, while Ladopigado and Horiopigado are the oldest ones since “no one can tell when they were made”.
SKIMNIES
Skimnies is a narrow “oasis” on Epos boasting fifteen wells (including another “Psoras-made” one) adjacent to one another, all belonging to four shepherd families. The two bigger ones were dug thirty to forty years ago with state funding, while Ladopigado and Horiopigado are the oldest ones since “no one can tell when they were made”.