Lavender is at its peak right now and up in lavender country there are fields full of it. The fragrance fills the car as you drive along. Here and there we are starting to find fields already cut looking rather glum and embarrassed like a lady with a bad haircut.

Here’s a field on the side of the road on a rather gloomy day

A field below the village of Banon

 Upclose view

The butterflies love it

 Almost every Sunday we go to the small market at Ansouis. I love the drive through the vineyards to get there and I like walking up into the village after we have bought our vegetables, fruit and, usually, a chicken grilled in a huge rotisserie there.

I think the chateau there is one of the loveliest around.

 This time at the market I noticed a little stand set up selling wine. There always someone selling their wine which is grown locally. We usually just buy a bunch of bottles when we are shopping in the grocery store and I seldom do the tasting that they offer but when I saw a stack of books set up next to the bottles I had to wander over and see what was going on. I picked up one of the books and found that it was written by an Englishman who had given up the life of a lawyer in London to follow his bliss with his wife in search of pale rose. I was in the middle of reading the back of the book when I heard a voice say, “Would you like to have a taste?”

” Sure,” I said. (I never pass up a taste of wine).

“This is an especially nice wine,” he said as he poured me a glass.

Maurice asked where it was grown but the man wasn’t sure but he did know that it was an excellent wine.

“Are you by any chance related to the wine maker?”, I asked.

“Yes, I’m the father-in-law and he pointed to a young, blond man standing behind the table.

 ”Did you write this book?”, I asked. And he told me that he had. His lovely wife was also there busily cleaning glasses for more tastings.

 Here he is-James Ivey with his pretty wife next to him.

 Well being a book lover as well as a rose lover and because they were offering a special package with a bottle of their wine and the book, I had to buy them. It seemed like such an adventure somehow. I’ve only read a few chapters of the book about their adventures in France searching for pale rose (my accent isn’t working) but I am enjoying his writing. He has that English sense of humor and has really great descriptive writing.

Here is the book and the bottle of wine.

PS-I don’t think you can buy this wine in the States. In fact, it is difficult to find locally grown wines outside of the region of the vineyard. We seldom find wines from Provence that we know in Paris.

And, as someone asked, yes, he did sign my book. He said something like: I hope you enjoy the read. Very nice man.

 You would have been so proud of me this weekend. We had French guests and not only did I understand much of what was being said, I was even able to do a little talking of my own which they acted like they understood.

So maybe the dam has broken, the plug is gone and my French will start pouring forth.

 So I’m doing some entertaining and my house is even clean-I dusted and vacuumed. The lady of this couple visiting us is an actrice and I don’t know if this influences her choice of clothing or not, but anytime I have seen her she is always extremely well dressed. This morning I got up and dressed in some 3 year old cotton pants and a t-shirt and she came downstairs in heels and a black dress made of material shot through with gold thread and with designs on the bodice in sequins. She’s very nice and everytime she sees me she tells me I look like Shirley Maclaine. I don’t see it, of course, except for the red hair and blue eyes. I asked her if she has ever personally met Shirley Maclaine and she said no so I don’t know what she is seeing-maybe some of her personality in movies–the ones where she is old, cranky and taking no prisoners. In fact, I have often been told that I resemble someone. In the past it was Mary Tyler Moore (when I was young and thin), or Sandy Duncan, if you remember her from years ago, when we both had short red hair. I also had a student once tell me I looked exactly like her cousin. She pulled out a photo to show me. I saw no resemblance and, sadly, I thought the girl in the photo was not atractive at all. Anyway, back to my French guest. She is the girlfriend of a long time French guy that Maurice has known for years. They have been together for a couple of years now but they are still using vous with each other. This is the very formal way of saying you in France. Why, I don’t know, but I intend to get the guy alone and ask him. I’m always tripping over my tongue trying not to say tu to French people I’ve just met. I wonder if, in a century or so, the vous will completely disappear.

In any case, I close with this. This is not me, nor anyone that I know. It is just a series of photos I am starting illustrating that, indeed, French women DO get fat.

 My life isn’t all lavender and sunflowers. Somedays all I do is garden, pull weeds, pick snails off of plants, cook and eat–that’s it. But I do have a few photos to share.

One of my favorite views in Aix of the clock tower

 A view of the top of the fountain in the rotund of Aix

 By the way, I have learned two new French words. I want to get some matting for framing photos. We were in a photography shop in Aix and there was a framed photo with matting on the wall. I asked Maurice if he would ask the salesman if they sold them. Neither Maurice or the salesman knew what I was talking about. Maurice had no idea what matting was. I get really frustrated when French people look at me with no idea of what I am talking about. I kept pointing at it and making motions with my hands trying to tell them what I wanted. Finally it sunk in and the salesman told me that it was a passe partout which basically means a passkey that will open all doors which seems really strange to me. Another lady told me that matting is usually called a Marie Louise although she didn’t know why. Because my frustration level got so high and it took so long to finally get someone to understand what I was asking about, it is yet another word/phrase that is now burned into my brain, rather like ovules and champigons. Sigh.

The sky from my backyard as the sun set

 I’m not sure if there have always been sunflowers around Provence but many people expect to see them here. I know that Van Gogh painted them but, as far as I can remember, they were always in a vase in his paintings. Last year I don’t think I saw any fields of sunflowers but this year, to my surprise, I found a huge group of them below a little perched village near us called Grambois. I know they are known for following the sun with their faces and are called tournesols in French. In any case, these flowers stubbornly keep their heads turned toward Grambois no matter where the sun is. When I took these photos the sun was to my right.

I like the sun shinging through the petals. There is a bee in the middle too.

 If you aren’t into gardening photographs of vegetables aren’t going to be exciting. And I bet I won’t be getting a bunch of hits from a porno site like I did when I mentioned a feminine condition but, oh well. I wasn’t too keen to plant a vegetable garden at first because they can be alot of work but Maurice talked me into it two years ago and I have to say that tomatoes fresh out of the garden are one of life’s greatest joys.

 I look at them every day waiting for the first red one.

My first bell pepper.

 Some baby zucchini. I have some eggplant planted as well so I have the fixings for ratatouille when everything gets ripe.

A fat fuzzy bee on my lavender.

Just a couple of shots of my very own personal lavender. It’s great to walk outside and watch the bees and butterflies do their thing. I can hear all sorts of buzzing going on as I stand there listening to a whole little world going on in my backyard.