This piece is part of the reflections of Ethan Schmidt, a doctoral student at Simon Fraser University, on the nature and landscapes of Lesvos.

One of the most striking things I noticed since our arrival on Lesvos is the variety of unfamiliar flora and fauna and the amount of time our group has spent trying to identify them, observing the habits of animals and the properties of plants. We have been attentive to vines and flowers and trees, strange birds, colorful fish, iridescent butterflies and beetles, and the ubiquitous swallows, cats, and lizards. 

During our first swim together on the beach below the town, we were struck by various kinds of creatures which inhabited the warmth of the shallows; a yellowish fish which squeezed into the gaps in the rocks on the sea-bottom and which, following a few minutes of observation, revealed itself to be touched with shades of crimson and azure; another fish, at first grey, then, when the light touched it, alive with hints of deep purple, which followed after us as we disturbed the sand with our feet (and which we eventually realized were not attempting to consume our toes, but which, in fact, were presumably feeding on the invertebrates and plankton which we disturbed in the sand), and schools of tiny, electric blue, fish, which came in various different sizes. 

At Skala Skamnias, I found myself standing where a mountain-nurtured stream, its source somewhere in the forests and olive groves high above, emptied into the Strait of Mytilene, searching for waterbirds and amphibians on the marshy banks with which it was fringed. Upon reflection, it struck me that my fellow researchers and I were engaging with an ongoing tradition of naturalism on Lesvos which stretches back to antiquity.