To my century-old lemon tree

María Fernández Pino · Originally published in Diario Córdoba, Opinion / Open Forum, on 27 May 2011.

In the centre of the courtyard, that balanced and harmonious courtyard, austere and tranquil, my century-old lemon tree rises majestically. It was what made me fall in love with the house, what made me decide that I wanted to live here, that I wanted to sit beneath its branches in spring and lose myself in the scent of March blossom.

In the entrance hall, up the three steps, stand earthenware basins. To the right, large, impressive ones in indigo ceramic, their decoration recalling Arab traditions. On the other side, small, old-fashioned basins for everyday use, like those my mother used when the season for the traditional pig slaughter came round.

Beyond the iron gate, a little petunia sits on the wooden shelf where the partridge's cage once stood. Opposite is the sewing corner, with two little rush-seated chairs, a rocking chair and a small table. On it rests an embroidery hoop. My hoop, the very one on which I made my last stitch before it was left at the back of the cupboard where we kept our comics. And the little sewing basket, with its measuring tape, spools, scissors and pincushion. Above them, two old photographs, silent witnesses to the years passing over the same furniture, the same threads and the same stitches. There is also a basket holding the last set of table linen my mother began to embroider and never finished, who knows why, yellowed by the passing of time.

Beside them stands the well, shared with the neighbouring house and now sealed. Above it, Our Lady of Health appears on an indigo tile, like all the ceramics, with a little floating oil lamp always alight to keep her company and bring her warmth. There is also a leather armchair and a leather chair from my grandmother's dining room, their delicate tooling barely perceptible. The hydrangeas and trailing petunias are white.

In the courtyard grow geraniums and ivy-leaved geraniums, calla lilies and gardenias, roses and fuchsias. All white. And all in indigo pots. Jasmine, night-blooming jasmine and Arabian jasmine climb the walls. In a little corner beside the kitchen are the herbs: parsley, spearmint, basil and mint. But sheltering everything, filling everything, is the lemon tree, with its yellow lemons and tiny white blossoms. A lunero, an everbearing lemon tree, it fills with blossom when the moon bids it. For more than a hundred years it has cared for the people of this house and given them shade. Intoxicating them with its perfume, making them fall in love with its branches, as I fell in love the first time I saw it.

And beneath its branches, the busy Lizzie, white, thick with flowers, pays tribute to my century-old lemon tree.

But the whole is pure symbolism, as were the paintings of Romero de Torres. On the courtyard walls, tiles bear the names of illustrious people from Córdoba. Bullfighters, philosophers, writers, fashion designers, sculptors, musicians... All men.

And in the entrance passage, the face of Princess Wallada, the last Umayyad princess, is accompanied by her most famous verses: “By God, I was born for glory...”, surrounded by anonymous women's faces. Women with faces but no names. A way of recording their passage through history. Because they did exist, even if we do not know their names. The colours, white and blue, are those of the European Capital of Culture, our modest way of supporting the initiative and asking that Córdoba lead Europe's cultural world in 2016. And the little yellow star of the logo is there in the lemons of my century-old lemon tree.

But there is still one more symbol, one that only sensitive souls have recognised and appreciated. From the wooden entrance door onwards, there is a constant contrast between old and new, between staying and moving forward, between tradition and modernity. With one hand we gather up the old, those things that fill our souls with memories, while with the other we reach towards all that we have yet to live and feel, towards that tomorrow hidden among the lemon tree's branches. A wink to the past and a smile to the future. Thank you to everyone who has understood it this way, for being able to share, even if only for a few days, what we have wished to convey through this courtyard. And thank you to the lemon tree, that century-old lemon tree which, despite its journeys through the desert, is still there, standing, and when it dies, will die standing, as trees do.

Note accompanying the original signature: Third Prize in the 2011 Courtyards Competition, modern or renovated architecture.