Cradled between the two mountains that form its walls, High Groves is a sanctuary from civilization, its natural beauty providing all the joy and serenity a soul can want.  The property was purchased from the nearby monastery of Taxiarchon in the late 1960s, by my parents, George and Joann Comnas, he an oil and shipping executive, both of Greek descent and living in London. A lush private forest surrounds the estate’s fertile valley floor, which has been cultivated by father and my older brother Basil, into a veritable Garden of Eden.

In the early 1970’s, Basil, who had spent his early twenties roaming Afghanistan, perfecting his horsemanship in the brutal Central Asian game of buzkashi, smuggled  two stallions out of Afghanistan, and brought them overland, through Iran and Turkey to the Greek shores of Rhodes, finally to roam free again on the family estate. As there were no buildings on the property in these early years, Basil slept under the trees with his horses, cooked his meals over an open fire, and drew water from a small well that had been dug. In time he organized some local masons to erect a stone stable house for himself and his stallions.

Basil eventually left the estate for America, returning a few years later with his new wife to develop the property into a working fruit farm. Two small cottages were built and a large stone barn to support his life as a family man. Orchards were planted, wells and bore holes dug, modern irrigation systems installed, electricity brought in and even a telephone was finally connected. 

After decades of nurturing, the estate is now a productive fruit farm. It boasts exquisite olives, some from a tree with a 6 meter diameter (probably over 2,500 years old) still harvested today, plus, a vineyard that produces four varieties of grape (some made into a very decent table wine) row after row of apricots, oranges, grapefruit, clementines, pears, pistachios, almonds, walnuts, pecans, hazelnuts, as well as a handful of fig, quince, and apple trees. My father was particularly proud of the ruby-red grapefruit and pecans planted from seeds he had brought from Texas. You could liken it to Eden, but that wouldn’t be fair to High Groves.  People always feel better for having come. There is sweetness to the air that leaves no doubt that you are no longer in civilization, and abundant well water so pure that the chemist in Nauplio, upon testing it, called it a miracle.

In 2002 my wife, Ann, and I left our stylish house in Mayfair to begin a new adventure in Epidaurus.  Our goal was to build a large stone manor house on High Groves, in order to be able to enjoy the luxuries we were used to, in a setting that was pure paradise. Six years and many surprises later that dream finally came true, and so much more.

The seasons each have their way with this verdant valley, first bursting forth with innumerable varieties of wildflowers in the spring, then framing each living plant with the wheat colored remains of Easter’s baked grasses in the hot dry summer, to a chorus of cicadas giving a sense of timelessness, until autumn’s rains start a process of greening that fills the olives, ripens the oranges and brings back the herds of grazing goats and sheep that had sought higher grounds during the summer; finally the cool breath of winter sharpens this vision with a crisp air that coils nature’s springs for the next cycle.

Watching this progression of nature, while seeing the stone house slowly rise from its foundations, was as therapeutic a process as ever was. Ann and I learned about tree husbandry, took our olives to the local mills, watching the liquid gold flow warm from the spout at its terminus. We marveled as tons of fresh fruit were harvested from our trees, as the grapes were pressed the old-fashioned way, to become musto for the wine we would produce, as nuts were collected, dried and shelled for sale to a cast of caricature merchants, one more shrewd than the next, as jams were put up from each harvest, and wild herbs, organic vegetables and wild greens gathered to grace our table. The seasons passed, returned, passed again and one day we looked up at a home that was finally finished. The construction site that had spawned endless rubble had become a gently landscaped bower of beauty and grace we had never in our wildest dreams imagined possible. We had arrived in paradise, having had no sense that that is where we were headed. Serendipity was once described to me by my father as finding something you are looking for, when you are looking for something to find. What indeed had we found?

Site of the ancient sanctuary of Asklepios, king and god of healing, there is more than a little bit of history surrounding this historic district. Settled in the 6^th century B.C., and fully developed in the 4^th and 3^rd centuries B.C., this was the medical center of centers of the ancient world, where people flocked in droves to take part in the cures, the therapies and the restorative atmosphere of the assortment of monumental structures, which was called the Asclepieion.

Most people know Epidaurus for its ancient theater, still an active venue for dramatic performances in the summer months. Most people don’t know, or have forgotten, why this theatre was originally built. In fact, there are two theatres, one is part of the Asclepieion itself, and another much smaller version is a few kilometers away on the sea, in the fishing village now called Ancient Epidaurus. The theatres served both the residents and pilgrims who came seeking cures. Today they serve a well-heeled congregation of Athenians and summer tourists seeking to glimpse the classical opulence of a by-gone era. High Groves is nestled between the Asclepieion and the villages of Ancient and New Epidaurus, in a high valley called Vassioi.

These somewhat sleepy sea-side villages, mostly agrarian and fishing, with a number of destination restaurants which are almost overwhelmed during the summer theatre season, await visitors with a calm welcome and a reverence for traditional Greek culture. The cafes now offer internet access, and there is one restaurant whose cuisine could even be termed nouveau-Greek, but by and large change has eluded Epidaurus. The locals enthusiastically participate in church calendar celebrations and the focus of their lives is still on the agricultural cycle. Fancy cars and other symbols of progress are in evidence mostly on weekends, when Athenians descend on the villages, soaking up the supply of fresh fish, gobbling down an array of traditional dishes prepared for their arrival, and walking along the water-front to inspect the fishing boats, and yachts that take refuge in the port.

In 2009 Ann and I returned to the US, leaving High Groves with my brother Basil, who recently retired from the UN. Resting up from twenty years in war-torn countries, Basil is putting the finishing touches on the lodge house and cottage, harmonizing the agriculture, looking around for some good horses, and soaking up the peace and quiet that we have only known in this special place.