BACK ON OUR FEET - 21 September 2011
21st September, 2011
We made our first foray into foraging today, making a pact with each other to let go of expectation in terms of what we might be capable of both physically and creatively. Thus, having admitted and accepted today's limitations we were free to ask for help. And so we drove down the hill to Paul and Caro at Les Trois Sources - the 13th Century B+B we had the good fortune to stay in both in the spring and summer. We felt that their friendly faces and Paul's magical sense of direction would be a great jumpstart, and so it was.
Although, even before we turned off the road and onto their lane, I found I had let go of something.
Our first 2 trips here this year carried with them expectation and-particularly
on the first trip-a certain amount of anxiety as to whether or how we could find Provence. This pressure had to do with our years in Tuscany, the openness and availability of the landscape that we had come to know so well and the fear that if we opened to a new land we might lose the old one; a sort of betrayal that could have dire consequences and which, as a result, had us making comparisons - a defense which we eventually let go of. So it was a wonderful feeling this morning, as we left the village and drove down into the valley, to find ourselves scintillated by everything; the light, the heat of the sun, the trees just beginning their turn toward autumn, the vineyards, some still heavy with grapes, you could almost hear them groaning to let go. And I realized I was free now to love Provence having just spent 2 months in Tuscany and finding that love to be intact and not in the least jealous.
We pass the spot in the lane where we had stood in a memorable embrace one evening in July and then pull up to the building just in time to see a cartload of blue-black grapes being hauled away and suffer our first disappointment on learning that not only is the harvest almost over but that here it is mainly done by machine. Although Paul did say there are a couple of places left that harvest manually and that he would make some calls for us.
After hugs and a promise to have dinner together soon, Caro went on her way, leaving Paul to take us to his fig trees where we popped a couple right off the branch. There really is nothing like eating from the source, at the source. To eat a piece of fruit touched only by your hand, a piece of fruit traveling only 2 feet from tree to mouth, as opposed to days spent in crates, refrigerated trucks and thousands of miles of road, maybe even rail and sea, it's incomparable.
After 3 figs apiece we asked Paul where he would recommend we go today. He uttered, as always, a string of names which we have learned to let go of remembering and stick only with the one that pops out when we look at the map. And so it was that we headed to Oppede, which actually was the first out of Paul's mouth, and a more perfect place to start on day 3 of jet lag would be hard to find.
Some 15K west of Bonnieux, Oppede at first glance seemed a bit one-horse and therefore manageable if possibly lacking in opportunity. How wrong we can be. Fortunately we were hungry for lunch and as there was only one option available we took it, sitting on an arbored terrace at the T junction. The whole village seemed to be napping. Hardly a car passed while we ate a mussel casserole, a kitchen sink salad and homemade fig tart with caramel ice-cream. It was a simple, happy meal served with a kindness that fortified our spirits. And then, as we ambled back to the car, we began to see things.
The quintessential French country school...
The library and its beautiful sculpture...
Oh, and look, back there, look at that tree...
Just a plane tree, but oh, how it sings. It seemed to me to be a perfect marriage between nature and man, the husbandry of years of pollarding having encouraged this tree to become the very best it could be. The branches themselves appearing to be the roots of the leaves.
Back in the car again we decided to take the opposite route and then after 100 yards noticed a lane calling out to us. And look what it gave us...
This lane led to another, on which a row of crumbly buildings had us fantasizing about restoration. Fortunately, on thinking it through, we realized both the buildings and we were about 30 years too late.
By now the combination of the Indian sun and the lunch had our still-exhausted bodies beginning to droop, rather like the grapes. So we headed back home stopping in Menerbes, at one of our favorite Provencal shops for the evening supplies for dinner, to accompany the fish we'd bought early in the morning from the Wednesday truck in Bonnieux.
A wonderful day with a surprising harvest of glimpses. How extraordinary to be here in Autumn, the season of gathering and letting go.