It is finally cherry season here in France. Cherries are my favorite fruit. I only wish they came in the size of plums or peaches. I always eagarly await the arrival of the season. When I first spot them in a market in Paris they are at the awful price of 24 Euros a kilogram. I wait a few weeks and they are then sold at 14 Euros a kilo. Finally, they have reached prices of 6 or 7 Euros a kilo, and I start buying. They are very small at first, but still pretty tasty. In a month or so, they will be at perfection.
Our great neighbor, Octave, arrived at our door today inviting us over to pick as many cherries from his tree as we can. He says they have 200 Kilos of cherries, at least. We went over and the boughs of the trees are heavy with the fruit. Maurice and I are going over this evening to pick a big basket full.
I find cherry trees to be particularly ugly, even though ruby red fruit hangs among the leaves. It doesn’t have a pretty shape and the boughs grow too long. We have one new little cherry tree that we planted. It does have cherries in its first growing season but they are really tiny, smaller than a marble. We are thinking that maybe we should plant a few more.

Whenever I am driving around the countryside, I always keep my eyes open for signs advertising either brochantes or vide greniers. Vide greniers are like flea markets with people selling contents of attics or basements, trying to raise a little money. It can be real hit and miss but I have found a few treasures. A brochant is an antique market with the sellers always being professional. I always find things I would love to buy but the prices are usually too high.
Yesterday, we stopped at a vide grenier in Pertuis that was full of things I didn’t want-I didn’t see one thing I would buy. It would have been great if I had been on the outlook for used baby clothes or toys. This morning, bright and early, I set off for a brochant in Meyrauges trying to beat the heat. I also beat many of the sellers as, at 8:30 AM they were either just setting up or hadn’t even arrived yet. I always have my eye out for enamelware and have what I think is a cute collection. I saw a coffepot beautifully painted that I really wanted but no way am I paying 300 Euros for it.

This is a view of what I think is a chateau overlooking Meyrauges

A look at a typical brochante set up outside.

I love to have this copper bathtub although I don’t have a place for it in my house.

This is a field of poppies near our house that we pass everyday. There seem to be more poppies than usual this spring.

We have had a rather strange Spring here in Provence with lots of the dreaded mistral blowing, not enough rain according to the locals, and cool temperatures, but yesterday it got up to 90 degrees out there and it feels like summer is here, if you can go by such a thing. We have been busy out in the yard pulling weeds and getting a little plot ready for vegetables. It may be a little too late to plant anything but we are going to give it a try. Octave, our neighbor and resident vegetable grower, says he is planting right now and he should know.

Another neighbor is busy moving the sheep to various fields for grazing. In this case, he just moves them across the road from his farm and walks them back at night to a barn. Later they are taken quite a ways from here to Sisteron, famous for their lamb and mutton, a distinction among sheep farmers. Yes, these poor sheep are not being raised for their wool, but for food.

A banner of Sara at the festival in Stes Maries de la Mer

One thing that makes Provence so special is its many festivals. They are especially numerous during the summer and I could probably find at least one a week to attend if I wanted. One very interesting festival is the one that takes place over three days in May in the little town on the sea called Saintes Maries de la Mer. According to legend it is here that two Marys landed-Mary Jacobe and Mary Salome, relatives of Jesus and Mary, along with a couple of others, to escape persecution in Palestine. It is even said that Mary Magdelene did the same and lived and died in Provence in the town of Bormes le Momosa. They all of course proceeded to spread Christianity and Sara, the family chief of the gypsies who lived in the region converted. Through the centuries many pilgrimages were made to the little town.
We were hoping to get into the church which is supposed to be very interesting but it was full of people and the entrance was blocked while a mass went on inside. We went down to the beach to wait for the procession to begin which, on this day, was a statue of Sara whom the gypsies especially worship. First come men on horses, the guardians of Sara, then some colorful banners with paintings of Sara who, by the way, is believed to have been from Egypt and is black, then finally the statue of Sara, carried on a little bark arrives surrounded by huge crowds of the faithful, or just the curious. For some reason, she is dressed in a cloak and it is never removed, so the statue can hardly be seen as she is wearing what looks like a layer of 100 cloakes. She is carried to the edge of the sea to symbolize Sara, the gypsies’ patron staint, joyfully awaiting the arrival of the Saints’.
I had hoped to see the procession of the 2 Marys’ on the following day where a priest is in a painted boat and blesses the statues but this was a good one. Very simple, very unorganized, very sweet, it was fun to be a part of the celebration. The whole little town and the surrounding area is full of gypsies who come for the 3 days of celebration. Due to the reputation the gypsies have, I was a little apprehensive about getting something stolen, so I didn’t carry a purse. Some of the town was closed up, including a few shops. It is not an elegant town, by any means, but rather plain with a few cheap souviniers for sale and some unappealing things, to me, offered in a gypsy market.
In retrospect, we realized that, instead of waiting in the sun on the beach for over an hour, we could have spent the day in a bar having a cool drink in the shade, then followed the procession down to the beach where it is most interesting. It was a fun festival-very different-and we are glad we went.

Guardien at the front of the procession. Sara is in the back.

Close-up of Sara’s gown. Her face cannot be seen.

Look at this darling baby dressed up as a sparkly gypsy. Many little girls wore fancy dresses like those flamengo dancers wear in Spain. Didn’t see any little boys in costume for some reason.

This is a chateau near us slowing falling into ruins although part of it is still lived in.

This is from my journal when we returned to Provence in January.

Well, it is a new year. We had planned to spend Christmas at the house but stayed in Paris instead when company arrived. About the middle of January we finally made it. I have really missed our house while in Paris, especially the size of it as we sit in our tiny living room.
The sun was shining when we arrived but the wind was blowing and it eventually clouded up and rained the next day. It was nice to drive from the TGV train station making the now familiar journey to our home. We pass Aix, drive through the urban mess of Pertuis and then, finally, go through la Tour d’Aigues and make it to the little country road that takes us to our home. It is all rather bare and deserted looking this time of year but it is still a pleasure to be home once more.
The big surprise was our property. I usually don’t know what Maurice and the landscaper are talking about so never know what to expect in our yard. We arrived to find many bushes and trees have been planted. The biggest difference was the land down below which has been totally cleared. Our closest neighbor down below us has also cleared their land and it looks entirely different. I noticed that the land to the side of ours got cleared too, in an area that I had spent hours trying to trim and tidy up. We now have a mound of wood to burn and will have to wait for it to dry out a little and the wind to die down before we can burn it. The air in Provence is filled with the odor of wood being burned every where and sometimes, when driving through an area, I think it is foggy only to catch the smell of burning wood drifting from someone’s bonfire and filling a valley with smoke. I would think that someone with asthma would have a difficult time with this.
Maurice received a sort of year’s end newsletter from the little village above us. There are some major water changes being made and streets are being dug up to replace water pipes. The newsletter also said that three couples from the village were married last year and that two people died. No new births, though.

This was written last summer.

Rain

As is usual for Provence, it has been a dry summer. It hasn’t been that hot especially compared to the summer we experienced last year. In fact, it has been rather cool. Every morning we get up to very nice cool weather and by the afternoon it is is very warm, usually in the 80’s. It has been unusually windy according to our neighbors. It seems like every afternoon we get gusty winds, sometimes very strong.
I have only been in our swimming pool one time. I like the water pretty toasty, close to 90 actually. I don’t want it to be a shock when I get in the water. I got in once up to my waist and that is where I stayed. With the wind blowing there was a real evaporative cooling effect and I am just a chicken when it comes to getting too cool. Maurice is really upset that I haven’t joined him every afternoon. I used to be a real pool person, in it all the time, but between sunburn, my hair and the temperature, I have become a pool side person.
So, with the dry summer has come fire danger. One day I spotted smoke quite near to our house and the next day when we drove by the area, there was a black circle about 30 feet in circumference. I never found out the source of the fire. It isn’t unusual to see smoke in the area and we often see helicopters and planes flying over our house on the outlook for fires or on their way to dump water somewhere. I’m hoping we never have to evacuate our house when a fire comes too close.
I spent some days wishing for rain as the grass we planted is really looking sick. I hate grass. I hate watering it, weeding it, and mowing it. It seems to be really high maintenance to me and I hate to see it in areas such as here in Provence where it isn’t suited in my opinion. Anyway, I got over-ruled as it was felt that we needed a little variety from just gravel. At some point down the road most of the grass will get covered with paving stones but we have to wait at least one year for the soil to settle possibly two or three.
Finally, I got what I wished for. I was awakened one night about one in the morning by very heavy rain and hail. I even got up to check the windows as I thought one might get broken. It didn’t last long but the next morning I walked outside and there was a lake outside our house in an area which still hasn’t been filled in due to the August vacation thing, and two really nice rectangular pots I have filled with pink periwinkles were left without one flower. The rain/wind/hail took off every single one. Around the pool several sections of land had sunk quite a bit making me glad that we hadn’t done more than the grass.
Our neighbor had it much worse. I could hear him shoveling up above us in his yard and we went up to help and what a huge mess it was. There is something wrong with the drain above him which is right below our little village and all of the water from the village came down into his yard. His pool was black with mud, things were floating everywhere, mud covered every surface in his yard.. We helped shovel mud for several hours. It will take them days to get it looking even half way decent. Throughout the day neighbors came to help. Their filter was in this little underground plastic unit and was totally filled with mud and water. The dirt here, when it gets wet, becomes like cement so I know if they don’t get it out quickly, it will be filled with hard mud.
I went with trepidation to go and look at my steps expecting the rocks to be everywhere but it held. Only one rock had moved and dirt had been washed away in one place and that was it. I’m very proud of myself.

Street market in Aix