There is a plant that does not seek the spotlight, yet has quietly accompanied the edges of the Mediterranean world for millennia. The alaternus (Rhamnus alaternus), an evergreen shrub with an elegant, airy form, is one of the oldest and most discreet presences along our coasts, sunlit hills, and forgotten woodland fringes.
Its origins are lost in time, rooted in the primordial Mediterranean maquis. It once grew abundantly in the forests of archaic Greece and, crossing the Adriatic, reached Puglia during the Hellenic period. There, it became one of the dominant species of the coastal hills, alongside holm oak and mastic. Back then, the Apulian landscape was greener, denser, and more diverse: the slightly more humid climate and less invasive land use allowed the alaternus to thrive in balance with both humans and wildlife.
Over the centuries, however, things began to change. Intensive farming, deforestation to make way for olive groves and pastures, invasions, wars, and wildfires all contributed to the retreat of the original vegetation. The alaternus, a patient plant, withdrew to marginal spaces: among dry-stone walls, hidden ravines, and the last remnants of maquis. But it never disappeared. Like a living memory, it stayed—witness to the nature that once was.

Botanical Portrait of a Survivor

The alaternus belongs to the Rhamnaceae family. It is a shrub or small tree that can grow beyond three meters tall, with a dense, rounded canopy. Its leaves are leathery and glossy, a vivid green that stands out against the dark, often twisted trunk. In spring, it produces tiny yellow-green flowers—not showy, but rich in nectar, attracting bees and pollinators in large numbers.
Its fruits are small drupes that ripen in late summer, turning from bright red to glossy black. They are not edible for humans, but are vital for birds and other wildlife. The plant's presence indicates well-drained soils and mild climates, and its ecological role is irreplaceable: it protects the soil from erosion, offers shelter to insects and small vertebrates, and fits seamlessly into the complex balance of the Mediterranean ecosystem.
Its ability to resist drought and wind, to regenerate after cutting or fire, makes it a pioneer species—one of the first to recolonize degraded land. Where the alaternus appears, nature is finding its way back.

Ancient Symbols and Plant Lore

Though less renowned than other Mediterranean shrubs, the alaternus has never been entirely absent from popular culture. In ancient times, it was often associated with justice and steadfastness, thanks to its ability to stay green through even the harshest seasons. Pliny the Elder mentions it in his writings, attributing purifying and medicinal properties to it. Its Latin name, Rhamnus, is linked to minor deities and tree spirits of sacred groves.
In parts of southern Italy, its branches were used in agricultural rites to summon rain or ward off bad luck. Although the berries are not edible, they were once used to dye fabric in dark tones, and the bark found its place in folk medicine as a purgative.
In short, the alaternus has always been there—at the edges of stories and footpaths, a boundary plant between the useful and the symbolic, between humans and the wild.

Traditional Uses and Modern Revival

Though never widely cultivated, the alaternus has long been a discreet ally. Its hard, durable wood was used for small tools, handles, and walking sticks. Its bark and leaves were valued in traditional medicine, especially for their diuretic and cleansing properties.
Today, the alaternus is enjoying renewed interest among botanists and ecologists. It is used in rewilding projects and Mediterranean gardens, appreciated for its understated beauty and its role in supporting biodiversity. In parks and along nature trails, its name reappears on botanical signs, marking a new awareness of its value.
In an increasingly arid world, the alaternus reminds us that resilience makes no noise. It grows slowly, but always returns—like the memory of a forest that has never stopped breathing.