Crete does not count months the way cities do. Here, time is measured in scents. The year begins not with fireworks but with the sharp breath of pennyroyal rising from wet earth, the velvet shimmer of sage on the hills, the purple fire of thyme, and the blessing of oregano in the late summer heat. Walk a mountain path, and you can read the calendar on the wind.
February–March: Pennyroyal Wakes Early (Mentha pulegium)
The first sign of the year is not seen but smelled. In damp corners of fields, along the edges of streams, a sharp minty fragrance cuts the air. Fliskouni — pennyroyal — is awake.
An old woman at the village fountain lifts her bucket and nods:
“Winter is leaving. You can smell it in the fliskouni.”
Children crush its leaves in their hands, laughing when the scent stings their noses. Their grandmothers dry it for tea against coughs, while midwives once whispered of its power to stir the womb.
In myth, pennyroyal was sacred to Persephone, the goddess who returned from the underworld each spring. No wonder it wakes so early. It is the herb that says: life comes back.
April–May: Sage in Silver Garb (Salvia fruticosa)
By Easter, the hills are covered in sage — faskomilo — a soft silver-green, as if the land has been dressed in holy robes. Its velvety leaves shimmer in sunlight, and when it flowers in pale mauve, bees swarm in clouds, their hum carrying across the fields.
A shepherd in Psiloritis bends to pluck a leaf, rubs it between his fingers, and inhales.
“For the throat,” he says. “For the stomach. For the soul.”
Families hang sage in bunches to dry, burn it to cleanse houses, or steep it in boiling water. Its smoke wards off the evil eye, its tea soothes tired bodies. In ancient Greece, sage was sacred to Zeus, believed to give wisdom and long life.
On a May morning, the hills smell of honey and sage, and you realize spring has fully arrived.
May–June: Wild Pepper, the Red Beads of the Hills (Piperia tou vounou)
Between the silver of sage and the fire of thyme, the mountains scatter their own little rubies: wild peppercorns. Red, bright, growing in clusters that no one seems to care about.
You see them everywhere — along roadsides, in village courtyards, in forgotten terraces. Children play near them, goats brush past them, tourists never notice. But pinch one between your fingers, taste it on your tongue, and it bites back with a fire sharper than oregano, more playful than thyme.
Old men smile when you mention it.
“Ah, piperi tou vounou,” they say. “We used to pick some for spice, but now… who bothers?”
And yet in distant cities, these same peppercorns sit in glass jars with heavy price tags, sold as rare delicacies. On Crete, they are common enough to be invisible. Beyond Crete, they are luxury. That is the paradox of wild pepper — abundance here, preciousness elsewhere.
June–July: Thyme, the Purple Fire (Thymbra capitata)
Summer bursts open with thyme. The dry hills ignite in purple blossoms, and the air itself turns heavy with perfume — sweet, sharp, intoxicating.
In Anogeia, a boy points to the bees swarming over the flowers.
“They drink the thyme,” he says, “and we drink their honey.”
And what honey it is — Crete’s most famous, amber-gold, thick, tasting of sunlight and stone. Thyme is also the shepherd’s herb. Goats that graze on thyme are stronger, their milk richer. Families gather sprigs to flavor bread, to dry for winter, to throw into the pot with lamb.
Ancient Greeks believed thyme gave courage. Soldiers rubbed it on their bodies before battle. Today, it still feels like fire — not in the hearth, but in the hills.
August–September: Oregano, the Blessing of the Hills (Origanum vulgare)
When the sun burns hardest and the cicadas cry longest, oregano — rigani — blooms. White or pale pink clusters cover the hillsides, delicate against the harsh light.
Villagers climb the slopes with knives and baskets, cutting it carefully, leaving roots to regrow. In courtyards, they spread it on white sheets to dry. The whole village smells sharp and sweet, a scent that clings to skin and clothes.
A grandmother sprinkles dried oregano over bread, then adds olive oil.
“This,” she says, “is Crete on a plate.”
Oregano is not only food. It is protection. Hung above doors, slipped under pillows, carried in pockets — it wards off bad luck. In myth, it belonged to Aphrodite, goddess of love, who planted it on Crete as a blessing.
By September, when harvest begins, oregano is everywhere. It blesses the year’s end.
Living Calendar of the Mountains
Pennyroyal wakes the body, sage protects and soothes, thyme sets the summer on fire, and oregano blesses the harvest. Together, they are Crete’s clock, its breath, its memory.
Ask an elder when spring begins, and they will not say March. They will say:
“When the fliskouni wakes.”
“When the sage shines silver.”
“When the thyme burns purple.”
“When the rigani blesses the hills.”
Walk the mountains, and you will know the month by your nose. Not by the date on a screen, but by the scent in the air: pennyroyal sharp, sage soft, thyme burning, oregano blessing.
The Wild Herbs Calendar at a Glance
| Month | Herb | Local Name | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|
| Feb–Mar | Pennyroyal | Fliskouni | First to bloom; minty; clears lungs; ancient women’s herb |
| Apr–May | Sage | Faskomilo | Silver leaves; bee favorite; sacred to Zeus; tea, smoke, blessing |
| May–Jun | Wild Pepper | Piperi tou vounou | Red peppercorn clusters; abundant in Crete yet sold abroad as luxury |
| Jun–Jul | Thyme | Thymari | Purple blossoms; makes thyme honey; goats thrive; courage herb |
| Aug–Sep | Oregano | Rigani | White/pink blooms; staple seasoning; protective, sacred to Aphrodite |
| All year | Basil | Vasilikos | Gim’s favorite — given fresh daily in his cage, fluttering delight |
In My House, Too
Even here, in my own home, the herb calendar runs. When I bring in sprigs of thyme, oregano, sage, pennyroyal, or even basil, I do not just smell them — I give them to Gim. Every twenty-four hours, his little cage changes with the season: fresh herbs, bright and alive, waiting for his curious beak.
He tilts his head, tsup-tsups at me, hops with excitement, and tastes the leaves as if he too knows the calendar. And though he nibbles them all, basil is his true delight — the scent alone makes him flutter, the taste keeps him busy for hours.
It reminds me that the wild hills and my quiet room are not so separate. The same herbs that bless the mountains also bless a house, a kitchen, even a bird’s cage where a small canary rules like a king.
This is Crete’s calendar — stitched in leaves, sung by bees, remembered by people, and noticed even by a little canary named Gim.
