October is written in orange, scrawled loopily with a fat crayon. This much we know and I have the photos to prove it. But not the golden glow of Jack O’Lanterns grinning in the night but the warm rust of ochre warming my fingertips, a lasting stain and bright.
Millions of years ago, my part of the world, Provence, was just one long sad sea. When the continents leaned into one another, conspiratorially, limestone and sandstone built up over time, leaving us with the surprise of ochre.
Ochre has been mined for pigments since the dawn of humanity. It traces out the animals dancing across the caves of Lascaux, the Egyptians dabbed it tenderly across their lips and cheeks…
Such earth equalled wealth for those who mined it and such was the family practice along a certain stretch of the Luberon for over one hundred years. And while the natural has long been supplanted by the synthetic, the land here is still thriving.
It seems to me to be that now is a month of abundance, despite an/our American predilection for Thanksgiving in November. And the varying terrain along these former ochre mines is rife…with life.
So lets hear it for the shift and sway of earth giving us the goods over and over.
Let us use them wisely.
For we are indeed rich, when we take in all that we have. Around us and in who we are.
I know, I know how often I say that but right now, as we dive towards the winter sleep on this top of the planet while friends are awakening to spring below on the other, it bares repeating.
Listen to the scribble of the undertow.
What is in your heart during this month?
What are you hoping for that lies ahead?
It is October, a perfect time to do a bit of (gentle!) digging…
…is there anything just below the surface that is calling for attention?
…for while we all learn our lessons and endure our scars…
…all the more reason to welcome a whopping batch of joy when that is what life throws us, to roll around in it gleefully, creating moments to carry us through the months ahead…
For yes, our lives are inscribed indelibly in a lasting ochre. Let us try to write it well.
Today’s post is my October contribution to the “By Invitation Only” series. To see what the talented bloggers from the around the world have concocted for “Thoughts on October” please visit Splenderosa here.
Wishing you all a wonderful month ahead…
Oh, Heather….I forgot to mention the day when, having gone back to Rousillon to visit a firned who'd been living there for a while, I noticed an extremely pretty, middle aged woman….a tourist who was (and for this reason, if nothing else, she cut a prominent figure) NOT dressed in 2-short shorts, clunky "walking" shoes, and a tank-top.
She was wearing a very pale-blue & white striped, charmingly "ladylike" sundress with a white belt/sash, and a wide straw hat, with her blonde hair pulled back and a pair low-heeled shoes (I don't know what these are called; ladies wear them at afternoon parties). I pointed her out to Herve, remarking on how lovely she looked.
Herve's response was "That's the most ill-prepared woman I've seen in years….she's going to be S-O-R-R-Y in about half an hour….".
"Huh?", I asked. Pointing at her, Herve said "Take a look….WHITE shoes?????…
And then we watched her as she set off, delicately picking her way down the trail leading through the old ochre mines and quarry.
We did, indeed, an hour or so later, see her. She'd unthinkingly made the mistake of sitting down somewhere…and her entire butt was covered with iradicable ochre stains…and those shoes were thoroughly ruined. Everything-above-the-waist was, of course, still just as lovely a thing as could be seen on a Provencal summer-day….but the bottom half was a permanent (as I expect she later found out), dry-bloody mess.
At the time we saw her, she didn't appear to have yet noticed, and I didn't feel like pointing it out to her.
Level Best as Ever,
David Terry
http://www.davidterryart.com
Heather, what fantastic words and photos. You constantly inspire me to look more closely and to feel more deeply. xo j.
We will have it moored in the water until October 15, when it has a checkup and then goes to its winter home on land. We were out last Sunday afternoon, and all 5 of us enjoyed the water, sun and sand immensely. (Both dogs are quite willing to doze between their three daily walks the day after a water outing!) I wish we could import you three for next weekend's foray!! Fondly, Leslie
I'm sorry I'm late to this piece. (Je ne fais que courir en ce moment.)
This is stunning. Poetry. And fascinating besides. The images are equally gorgeous. You do October proud – and yourself – and the magnificence of nature we so easily overlook.
I remember being fairly perplexed when I saw the movie but enjoyed it nonetheless. Just as I had the memoir. It does me good to know that she is genuinely a nice person to boot.
But as for me, well, I never would have thought of that in a million years! I don't think enough happens around here to be a movie. I am flattered though and will keep it in my noggin' for stewing…
For the second time today (and it isn't even 3pm here), thank you so much.
xo,
H
P.S. Heather?……as you may know, I'm pals with Frances "Under the Tuscan Sun" Mayes. She and her husband, Ed, obligingly came to the "coming out" party thrown for Herve and me two weeks ago, and they live in yet another lovely-old house down the road from this old house. So, in a town/village this small, it'd be difficult NOT to meet her (they split their time between Cortona and here)….and she's so sincerely nice (I'm not being sarcastic) that it would be impossible not to also like her.
She's also enterprisingly and nothing-but-pleasantly diplomatic concerning the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun"…… the wildly succesful (and, actually, quite entertaining) Diane Lane vehicle that was "based" on Frances's equally succesful memoir. Both the movie and the book continue to sell like hotcakes.
Of course, the plot of the movie (which is, actually, an entertainingly engrossing plot) has scarcely anything to do with her actual life/memoir….beyond the protagonist's being a female writer who bought an old house in Italy after a divorce. The script writers did retain the Polish stone-masons, but almost all of the rest is not to be found anywhere in the memoir. As Frances, with predictable poise and diplomacy, has said "They kept the SPIRIT of the book".
I find this all very amusing (Her husband, who bought and restored the house right-along with Frances, is entirely excised from the movie, although he/"Ed" does appear,in the guise of handsome young writer, in the closing scenes). It's all very interesting to me.
In any case, you never know…..recall that "Julie and Julia" was made (much to the satisifaction and financial gain of everyone involved) from a "treatment" of a blog that was never even a book.
My personal, little Fairy (so to speak) Godfather wish for you is that "Lost in Arles" suffers the same enviable fate one of these fine days.
sincerely,
David Terry
http://www.davidterryart.com
I couldn't sleep last night and like an idiot, I checked my email. Stifling that much laughter actually kind of hurts! 🙂 And then, of course, I went back to bed and spent the next hour or so cooking up a response in my head (rather than just getting back up and writing it down)–80% of which got swept away when I did finally sleep. So I got to have fun all over again this morning, albeit in a sleep-deprived state, so thank you. Whew. That was a good one.