Author: Heather Robinson

Yes, there is quite a lot of good that comes out of moving despite how much I have grumpled on recently. Oddly–and this might be surprising–I rarely think on the garden apartment in the rue Truchet. So firmly the page has turned. And it has been delightful to rediscover so many objects that just weren’t right for that very specific, very Provençal space. No more so than what I call the treasure chest, la malle aux trésors, which was, by necessity, tucked underneath a swivelling stone staircase where it was promptly ignored. Truth be told it is just a linen chest, one bought years ago as Remi’s initials happen to be scribbled in iron across the top. But, oh, the happiness once the lid is lifted. Not only that wonderful waft of cedar, but lots of little packages, tied up tight. These are largely pieces that we brought home from our travels, though not exclusively. Fabrics, like spices, are a wonderful souvenir as they are light to pack and the pleasure they offer both immediate and enduring. 

And then there are the pieces that have not yet found their use, tucked away on a mini Island of Forgotten Toys. Two bolts of Nina Campbell fabric shipped from England for projects that I can’t yet afford to finish but inspire as baroque only can. More ikats from another trip to Bali, not our colors but irresistible nonetheless. So lovely in the hand. Red sarongs bought at the Russian market in Phnom Penh for a photo shoot on the Toum Teav as the Mekong rolled by. 

Alas, there is no room in our new apartment for the treasure chest. Emptied of its goods, it sits in the attic, amidst the lanterns for a garden that we will hopefully have again. Once I am more settled, I will look forward to taking down these wonderful fabrics, one by one and trying to find a use for them. I have a feeling that some of these pieces were bought in the past for a future life, as we sometimes do, projecting ourselves to where we want to be. Certainly, something will fit perfectly for where we are right now.

One last post concerning our time in the Alpilles. 

The experience still feels so close to me, the joy has remained in my heart. And the quiet too. Such a welcoming home and grounds. Perched on a hill and yet surrounded by pines for privacy, it is its own little kingdom. I do miss the pool, terribly. While I am not a proficient swimmer (typical Leo, I hold my head above the water line en permanence), I am so content to float and bob. My Mother reminded me recently that when I was teeny, I would stay in at the public pool until I was blue and chattering. One idea that occurred to me while I was doing my Esther Williams style twists (red-painted toes up! Towards the sky!), was that being in the pool, in the deep end, was an opportunity for surrender. Nothing below with just trust to keep me buoyed. Similarly with that first, sharp inhale followed by a swift dive to embrace the cold. There is nothing to do but surrender to it. How seldom that is the case in our daily lives, or rather, how seldom we allow ourselves such an opportunity.

Although I clearly thrilled over my pool time, it was Ben, our Golden Retriever that was the champion nageur. I was so grateful when our friend assured me that he was allowed. Poor Ben had never had the great connection to water that is normally his birthright as a Golden. Perhaps it is our fault, taking him to the sea when he was only a six-month-old pup. Those waves scared him. But it was not the case with this gradually descending pool and it was delightful to watch his first tentative bats at the water’s surface with his paw. And certainly, where we go, he goes, so how could he resist? The first few days he was breathing awkwardly, drinking the (happily barely chlorinated) water in gulps as he went. Slowly, with time, he taught himself and even jumped off the side twice! He would literally shiver with joy while swimming, grunting as he paddled. Such joy is, of course, contagious.

In the evenings, Ben and I would make one last visit to the pool side to watch the sunset spread across, reaching towards the night with willowy fingers. A family of miniscule bats would come to drink, barely touching down on the waters surface, dancing all around us. Again, trust that their radar was working, that they wouldn’t splat into us (something that actually did happen to me once pre-dawn at Angkor but that is another story). They did not and as night took its victory we would amble up the hill towards the light beckoning on the porch.

So here we are, already drinking in the last rays of summer. Let’s toast to them while they still shine on.

A few more and then one more post and then I will be off on to other things–I promise!

We are back in Arles after our eleven day stay in the country. Every day was the same and yet each were unique. The light, the wind or lack of it, the emotions as our nerves fritzed their last buzz before settling into peace. I am still in vacation mode but wanted to share. I’ll leave it to you to imagine my scrabbling over rocks in thin-soled espadrilles, Ben, our Golden turning back to wait for me with a big smile. The afternoon doing the same. The olive trees, the whispering pines. As always, the scent of rosemary and thyme. But you know all of this, it is the stuff of Provençal legends. I am so incredibly grateful to have had this moment a part in such a beautiful home, private enough to feel good in my skin again. The Alpilles singing their own song–this time of the year it is the castanets of the cigales but also, if you really listen, some sort of exhale. Although that might just be what I wanted to hear. 

I’ll divide the photos up into three posts so as to (hopefully) not overwhelm or bore. Am wishing that you find the scenery as phenomenal as I did…

Thank you again for all of the kind birthday wishes. In its simplicity, it is one of my very favorites. Sometimes we don’t need to work so hard to faire la fête! 

Isn’t it gorgeous? We had a bit of rain, most unfortunately the evening when our friends Frederique and Mathilde stayed over (with the owner’s permission of course) but it was lovely to huddle under the umbrella on the terrace while the first pats came down. We stayed up talking until 2am, literally burning the candle down low. I would have imagined after such a night to awake to zephyr skies, but no, still a hulk of gray. That didn’t stop my girlfriends from donning their bikinis to plunge in. And they were right, yes, the difference between the water and air is less shocking on a cloudy day. Real Provençal girls, these two. Certainly wakes you up quicker than a café!