She'd told me as well that meals here—particularly the huge midday repast, typically followed by an afternoon snooze—tend to be big gatherings, shared by children and parents and grandparents, relations from far and near, and neighbors and friends who happen by. Almost always, the extended family contributes to the table, bringing foods they've prepared at home. The name day lunch Maria and I attended was no exception. Scores of friends and family came together beneath a carob tree outside the home of her uncle, Christos Moriatis, the beekeeper, whose 14-year-old son is named Konstantinos, after the saint. Christos's wife, Maria, shared hostessing duties with Diamando, who prepared a dish of pork, which is popular in the region, stewed in a creamy, tangy lemon-and-egg sauce with young celery that Diamando had grown alongside the wild greens in her backyard. Nearly all of the ingredients in the dishes at the lunch, in fact, had been sourced nearby by family members. The tender goat meat that our hostess Maria stewed in a delicious allspice-flavored tomato sauce came from a kid raised by Diamando's husband, Theodoros. Christos's mother had foraged the mild-tasting hyacinth bulbs that were poached in a peppery olive oil, which in turn had been made from the fruit of a tree growing in Maria's yard. All the spring produce in the rich eggplant casserole, cooked with plenty of onions, tomatoes, and feta; the mixed roasted vegetables; and the salad strewn with rusks had been grown in the Moriatises' garden. Even the light-bodied retsina served with lunch had been made by someone at the table: Diamando's son Takis, who used resin from local pine trees to impart the wine's namesake flavor. What's more, I realized, it was only May. As the weather got warmer, even more of the fruits and vegetables Maria cooked with would come from the garden.