Author: Heather Robinson

The Mistral winds have been blowing strongly for the past three days, something that is unusual bordering on odd for this time of year. We shall see if the Provençal myth that they last three, six or nine days is right after all. And while I have shaken my head disdainfully at that theory in the past, I am secretly wishing it to be true today. I usually take the dust rustled up by them gracefully, knowing that with the wind comes clean swept skies and diamond bright stars. And yet this batch has gotten to me a bit, as they can do – mercifully not making me grumpy – but just a little fuzzy all around. 

And so I was especially delighted when my friend Anthony arrived with a surprise gift of not one but two bouquets of one of my very favorite flowers, peonies or les pivoines. Oh, the parfum – so heady with a bit of pepper and smoke. I buried my face into the blooms, inhaled deeply and then passed them over to Anthony to do the same. This back and forth went on for a few minutes while our conversation darted around and in-between. It was nearly a childlike exchange that brought not little joy as did the flowers, a gift I find better than bijoux. There are many reasons that I adore Anthony – he is a fellow redhead (and so is a member of “the family” – other redheads will know what I mean by that), has incredible taste, is funny, charming and kind. But on top of all that, he always has le bon plan pour tout – really, he has the scoop on where to get the best of everything and has shared this secret address for les fleurs, now that I no longer have my flower man* to go to at the Arles market.

By the next day the peonies, one batch white and the other soft pink, had sighed open from their tight-fisted forms. The hearts of the flowers seem protected by a burlesque fan of outer petals. Such a romantic flower with just the right bit of swish. I swirled slowly up the staircase to the top floor to retrieve my camera and then, squinting and breathing low, tried to find the focus that the Mistral had chased away.

Try and resist the charm of this book. Go ahead, try. See? I told you it was impossible (French-accent required)…and that is only the cover!

Hudson in Provence book trailer – HD from Jackie Mancuso on Vimeo.

Published by La Librarie Parisienne only four days ago (!) – you should find “Hudson in Provence” in all quality bookstores in the US (a-hem) or through Amazon by clicking here.

To discover more about Jackie – her books, paintings and blog, click: here.

To see a photo of the real-life Hudson and get some cooking tips from Jackie, see the fabulous Ann Mah’s post: here.

Feeling lucky? You can enter a giveaway for both “Paris-Chien” and “Hudson in Provence” at the equally fabulous Kristin Espinasse’s blog: here (and it is one of my favorite of her posts to boot).

PS. No, of course this isn’t a sponsored post, I just find this book wonderful. 🙂

Do you remember how I finished up my last post by saying that I think we all have a bit of magic inside of us?

Well, I wasn’t just spouting greeting card sentimentalism – although, hey, of course I am mighty capable of that 🙂 – no, I believe that with all of my wobbly heart and so many of you proved me to be right in your beautiful responses and emails. As you can see, I am still taking those in. 

So, today is not going to be about me…or Provence (save for the eye candy)…or funny stories about the dogs. Instead, I want to keep focusing on the magic…because there is gold in them thar hills.

I believe that I have mentioned Glennon Doyle Melton and her website, Momastery before. It probably was in reference to one of her hysterically funny posts that are so effective in shifting one’s “perspecticals” by appreciating all of the good around us, especially in regard to one topic that is also a favorite of mine here, finding the Big in the Little. Good stuff.

But…but…and here is where I lose my words, those that I am trying to coax out of my fingertips at this very moment…She is doing something far more important than that.

With only a handful (literally) of partners, she formed a non-profit called Together Rising. And while the logo’s graphic puts a focus on the “her” inherent in the name, I have seen this community change the lives of men, women and children in need. As the website explains, “All of our giving centers around one simple idea – that in circling around each other to meet needs, we rise together.” Brilliant, non? Although Together Rising helps individuals and institutions great and small throughout the year, it shines at its brightest during the amazing Holiday Hands project and the fabulously named Love Flash Mobs. 

Remi had lost his glasses. It was during the midst of a hurried photo shoot this weekend that took place in many locations and he was confounded as to where they could be. Not only would it be expensive to replace them but the frames had belonged to his late Father and so held enormous sentimental value. In stillness, he played back the day, moment by moment until he was fairly certain when he had used them last. It was with great joy that when he called the Mas des Barres (more about them another time), he was told that some kind soul had found them outside. Their boutique would close at noon, it was already after 10am. There was no time to lose. We gathered the dogs, put them in the back of the car and headed out into the Alpilles. After having recovered the precious lenses, we turned towards a place that we have always called “La Vallée Secrète” or Our Secret Valley. 

It is off the road on a bended elbow of land that you have to know about in order to explore. Here, it is always beautiful but never less so than yesterday. The poppies were still waving, the olive trees green with promise. Already, the noon day sun was white overhead so we stuck to the shadows, willingly. The dogs were just themselves, Kipling well out in front, tail up and Ben lagging behind just long enough to make sure that I was all right each time that I paused to take a photograph, trying to capture something not at all mine but was mercifully willingly shared. And so I was late to the scene but drawn with Remi’s laughter as he called to me loudly to “Viens, vite!” just in time to see Mr. Ben having waded into the tiniest creek that was pooling out of a near hillside. Apparently, he had, in his way, asked for permission of Remi before sinking into the cool, clear water. He didn’t move then, just smiled broadly. With a bit of persuasion, Remi even coaxed Kipling, the rascal, to join Ben but not for long. Afterwards, invigorated, both rolled in the grass and zoomed some zoomies. We piled back into the car, windows down and I couldn’t help but smiling all the way home. 

For it is the surprise, you see. I never, ever thought that I would be here. Why should I be when there was never an arrow pointing from the Midwest of the United States to Provence? Not to say that all is perfect just because of the location. We are not wealthy people, we struggle. But there are moments of such generous beauty that are here for the taking and are free. Free of charge if we can see them. Well, it is just a thought.

The base of my first memories is of my Mom opening up the kitchen door and out I would skip to play in the woods on the other side of the country road from the farmhouse where she herself had grown up. I would spend hours alone under the trees thinking up stories and creating worlds within worlds. Later on, I would be spared loneliness from moving so often by discovering the world of literature and all of its many characters that were ready to be my friend! So I suppose that it isn’t surprising that I wanted to bring them to life through acting. From age 17 to 32 I put my heart and soul into that career, having attended New York University and then the Yale School of Drama. I auditioned continuously and worked when I could as actors do, I felt alive. Acting was what I was truly good at, my home. But then I met Remi. End of sentence, full stop. I knew that I had to move to Paris to be with him almost immediately, I knew it and so I did. We formed a team of journalist (me, learning on the hoof) and experienced photographer. Doing so, we travelled the world together and saw such things as I had never read, not even in my beloved books.

And now we are in Provence. We moved here on a whim, before the power of the Press collapsed and I later started this blog as a way of keeping my hand in. Staying creative was a way to keep from being lost amidst so many changes. Or trying at least. I recently wrote that telling stories was the through line of my life but I am only just realizing it now. You see, I didn’t long to be an actress, I was one. I didn’t aspire to being a travel writer, I had no choice in the matter. This is how my life has rolled out so far. When I look ahead of me, I honestly see a blank. I have no idea what could happen. Which can be utterly terrifying for I do not have the financial security of my friends and colleagues. But if I am smart and if it is a good day, like yesterday, my vision is as clear as Remi’s is now that his glasses have been restored. For all along, I have been living with something inside of me…something like a little bit of magic. We all have it. And so far – and I knock on wood – it has never let me down.