Month: October 2012

It is amazing to me how different an environment can be depending on the time of day, the season of the year. Remi and I had first visited Sault a few years back after having spent an early morning in the lavender fields. They were in full bloom and so were we, giddy and infused so that all we saw took on a perfumed glow.    

What a change, then, as we walked the village’s empty streets on our most recent visit. 

Gone were the roving groups of laughing lookers. 

It was as is if, with relief, Sault no longer had to put its game face on…

…and could just let its insides flop out for all to see.

So we strolled around quietly and I looked beyond the edges…

…and into a time worn softness.

Not to mention the bluntness of everyday living. Such as a sign (a warning?) that we were entering “The Dog Pee Neighborhood”…

…Ben looked at me as if to say, “Reeeally?” He was right at home!

Our laughter echoed, it was absorbed into the walls…

…and made the leaves grow.

That gray autumn day drew colors that we might not have otherwise seen…

…and lifted up textures like blowing sand.

It was one Sault. Not ‘the’ Sault. Travelling is such a mirage isn’t it?

And I saved the fun for last…I will see what face Sault will show me this weekend! We are running away again, just for a few days. Yes, to our little cabanon to drink in The Quiet. I told you that we wouldn’t be able to stay away. It is supposed to rain but I don’t care. All the better to wash the dust from my eyes to see clearly. Hoorah!

So, yes, the Luberon series will continue…

Have a wonderful weekend everyone…

Ps. I am thrilled that Lost in Arles was mentioned by the amazing Carla Coulson on her blog Carla Loves Photography. I have found so many wonderful blogs through her suggestions. If this is your first visit here, welcome! Merci, Carla.

With due apologies, I am taking a quick break from my series about the Luberon (unless you are all secretly tired of it in which case please let me know and I’ll put it to rest) because some serious celebrating is in order: yesterday was my first official sweater, jeans and boots day–hallelujah! I feel like I am sliding back into myself after being trapped in someone else’s wardrobe. Mais hélas, along with rapid temperature shifts comes what? A case of the sniffles. I have been fighting off a throatal frog for a while now, so it was time to take matters firmly in hand and whip up my first batch of autumn soup to shoo the sickness out of me.

Although I dearly love my Fog Soup (Oh, hello Yee Olde Ancient Bloggee post, how sweet you seem to me now and how much do I miss that kitchen and garden!), I didn’t want to be coddled, just the opposite, I wanted to heat things up a bit. When I visited Mali, I would be stunned by the locals liberal and I do mean dousing use of hot sauce until I was told “it keeps us healthy by burning out the bad stuff.” So, while this isn’t nearly as spicy as I would have liked it as I do have Remi’s French palate to appeal to, it is just the right touch when you need a little saving. 

Soupe d’urgence or Emergency Soup

2 1/2 large Sweet Potatoes, peeled and cut into medium sized chunks

5 carrots, sliced 

1 big onion, diced

3 large garlic cloves, same

1/2 Tablespoon diced fresh ginger (or cuilière à soupe instead of T in France)

Spices:

cumin, cayenne powder, cinammon, ancho chile powder, cajun spices, heck I even put a pinch of Smokehouse Maple in there, to taste

1 Liter chicken broth (unless you are the gorgeous Jennifer of the ridiculously undervisited Gustia blog, in which case, go vegetarian!)

As I have written previously, I am convinced that my soups improved enormously by cooking with a Creuset pot, but hey, do what you can and just don’t let the veggies burn–we aren’t talking about that kind of heat here! 

Sauté the onion in a swathering of olive oil (about 2-3 Tablespoons) until soft. Add the sweet potatoes and stir a bit to help break down the starch. Cook on medium-high for five minutes with the lid on, add the carrots, again stirring to coat with the oil and onions. Lower the heat to medium, add the garlic and cook with the lid a bit off to the side for twenty minutes or until thoroughly soft, stirring from time to time. Now, I prefer to add the spices here (I trust you to come up with your own amounts but I put a strong preference on the cumin) and continue to cook on super low for an hour but feel free to go ahead and add the chicken broth and simmer. Again, this soup is best if you let it simmer on low for a few hours and but I have done it in as little as twenty minutes in a pinch. Let it cool a bit before transferring into a blender (in batches if need be) and pulse gently. Transfer to serving bowls and top with one last kick of cayenne and voila! Note(s): You might be wondering how many people this serves. Good question. Are you as piggy as I am? Well, then not a lot. Definitely four as a starter or perhaps as a main depending on your portions. As you can see, I only had a tiny bit to have with lunch and so was forced to make myself a Bacon, Egg, and Tomato sandwich as a consolation prize (and yes, the eggs really are that yellow in France). Also, I know that you might be tempted to swirl some creme fraiche in here–and hey, whatever bakes your cake–but it doesn’t need it. 

Bon App’ and stay healthy!

PS. Ben got all velvet-painting eyed when I told him of the collective interest in a calendar featuring his sweet face. As my British friends would say, he’s chuffed!

Ben and I took off exploring while Remi patiently sorted and snipped, gathering lavender leaves to use in his fine cooking. Of course, I would call him to come see the abandoned cabanon with its well so that we could imagine what we would do with it, if it were ours. A bedroom here, the kitchen there. Plenty of shadow in the shade of the trees, an afternoon dream.

Remi presented me with a bouquet of blooms and Sabine’s Mother surprised us with a vial of lavender essence, one that had been created in the traditional way. “Well, if you like that sort of thing,” she added politely. I smiled widely in return and asked, “Who does not?”

Both are on my desk as I type. Later on, Sabine would tell me, “Sometimes in the heart of winter, I close my eyes and inhale a bit of essence and it is as if I am transported right back to summer and can feel the sun on my face.” Today is the first sweater day of autumn here and I know these small treasures will keep me warm in the months to come.

As strong as ancient stone…

And runs as deep as a spring drawing down to the center of the earth.

We are growing older together…

…with our little family! 

Here are to the wonderful adventures that lie ahead…

Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

I believe in you.

For nomads like myself, as much as we love the hunt, there are moments when it would be wonderful to be settled, to be a part of the casual gathering rather than always looking on from just outside. Such occasions are rare but they do arrive from time to time. When those feelings stir, I focus all the harder on seeing and remembering how lucky I am to be discovering something new.

A heavy iron cross marks the entry to Oppedette. A tiny one-car only lane separates it from the former village café… 

…where a sundial continues to capture the slow passing of the Provençal sun…

…one that is burning away the last traces of the sign above the entry. How many men had gathered here for their daily pastis…

…while the women gossiped over the washing in the lavoir…

…raising their voices to be heard over the chimes of the bells in the main square?

But as I turned a corner, I was snapped back into the present. For unlike the other villages of the Luberon that I had seen so far, something modern was clearly a foot. Here, was a renovation in many of the homes that used traditional materials in a very contemporary way. Such as steel casings for the windows…

…wide wooden beams as the stairway to a front entry…

…and iron to create one of the more gorgeous terrace railings that I have ever seen.

And yet the charming spirit of the village remained palpable…

…and behind every other corner…

…were glorious traces of the past…

…and of all of the possibilities that are still to come.

As we prepared to take our leave and prepare a Sunday lunch of our own, I was attracted to a beautiful home on a slight rise over-looking the valley. Doesn’t it deserve to be loved? 

If only I had the means, I would bring it back with care and make its garden grow.