Picnic and a project

New beginnings. They are so full of promise, aren’t they?

Recently, Remi and I were invited to a pre-preview of one such project and a fine time was had by all. Remi had met Anne and Dominik during his coverage of the Roman Boat story for National Geographic Magazine. As video artists, they lead a busy and fulfilling life, one that has long been centered in the Panier District at the heart of Marseille. But, as the noise and pressure of city life no longer fits the bill for their creative needs, they decided a massive change was in order.

They bought a rambling old farmhouse in the countryside outside of Aix-en-Provence. While nearly everything needs to be redone (save for the beautiful cement-tiled flooring), the potential is absolutely incredible.

Having heard previously of this new adventure, I was so thrilled to be able to see the house in a virtually untouched state.


The patina of its many previous lives – it was originally a relais stop for mail, changing horses and resting during a journey – is fully intact.

Remi and Dominik carried down a table from one of the upstairs rooms along with a few random chairs and set them up under the shade of an ancient tree reigning over the walled-in courtyard. I spread out an old sheet for a table cloth and laid out the picnic.
The conversation flowed steadily for several hours over many subjects. Occasionally, I would step into the cool shade that the interiors thick stone walls (up to one yard deep!) provided. There were so many details to take in, elements that somehow have not been handed down to our daily mode de vie despite their usefulness. I could imagine sliding open the middle section of the screen in the front door to accept the mail or perhaps to hand over a freshly made pie to a neighbor.
And throughout my wandering from room to room, that old tree listened and rustled in approval. How I wanted to take photos of the walls stripped bare of layers of someone else’s wall-coverings…
…but this is not my project, it is theirs. With time, the well-thought out plans that Anne has drawn up (she is also an architect) will come to fruition. The house will be a home and the barns will become work spaces. Isn’t it inspiring?
At some point during our lazy meal, this fascinating couple admitted that it was their first on the property. Remi and I were deeply flattered to have been invited for this beginning. We left waving wildly as the car pulled away, shouting out thank you’s and well-wishes for the adventure that lies ahead…
Have a wonderful rest of your weekend…

Wandering through the forest, away from home

Who are you when you are away from home?

Do you feel like you carry yourself intact – your own little bubble bouncing within the big blue marble – wherever you are? Or do you feel the edges start to blur and shift as they tend to when you are picking your way through an unknown forest, senses alive and prickling?
I have been away from Provence – and from Remi and the dogs – since May 28th. My Mom took time off to be with me for a week and we all helped my Sister move into a beautiful new home. During those busy days, filled with action and movement, I strode forth as Heather Who Lives in France, carried by the song of my life there. But now my Mom and Sister have gone back to their normal schedules and I am spending quite a bit of time alone.
Already, I have found the ground to be a bit slippery underfoot. The tune of “Who I Am” is slowing down and in the quiet of this undefined environment, certain notes are hanging off the bottom of the scale. I don’t particularly mind. 
When Remi and I were travelling for our work, I came to relish that stripping down process. The rich simplicity of directly and continually encountering something new. There is usually little room for the noise in our personalities during such experiences. 
Here too I see how malleable I am. To pick me up and put me down somewhere else, amidst other loves and interests feels like an opportunity, not only to express other aspects of who I can be – such as being literally and culturally understood – but within the remove of my daily definitions to remember the core of my heart.
Step by step, I crunch across the leaves, I lift my legs over the fallen branches and rise up on tip-toe to try and take in the view.

Even within such seeming stillness, much is happening…

Through the mist and onwards


My thoughts are scrolling backwards in time, seventy years to the day.

Through the fog of the early Normandy dawn…
…our Allied soldiers waited on rolling seas, ill and cramped…
…yet solid and ready.
As the light broke, they stormed…

…through the water that pulled at their boots…

…only to hit terra firma as bullets rained from above.

On they charged to part the mist of history that Hitler had draped over Europe, over the world…
…that darkness, seemingly irrefutable, was seared by their bright light of hope and strength.

Here are to those that fought that day and to those that were left behind. You created a new path. 
Long may we remember, long may we follow.

Softness of the Provençal Spring

My head is lolling towards the open window where my hand lies out-stretched, conducting the breeze.

There is a sense of sweetness – not scent nor taste – that coddles my skin.

And in the blooms we stop to gaze at, I see a promise.
Of growth, of continuation…where age falls off into l’oubli
…Most certainly for the olive trees that had died of a frost bone deep in the ground so many years ago and yet they wave wildly as I pass, gleefully reborn.

I reach for my camera and idly snap, catching at nothing in particular but the essence of all.
Remi is driving next to me and I here him quietly chide me for being so casual in my photography. “It’s not respectful,” he tells me for the tenth time. A smile rises on my lips and I snap again, kissing the air.
Doesn’t he know that I am in love with the softness of the Provençal spring?
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