A Captured Moon

Jonas loves to take the camera from my hands. Jonas sees. He was the first to see the moon as we drove home the other evening. And though I was permitted the first shot, he begged the camera (my I phone) from my hands and started handling it like a pro. He used the magnifying option (I didn't know there was a zoom on my I phone???) And later he showed me that he knew how to brighten and darken photos too. Where has he learned this? 

It doesn't matter much I suppose. I'm living one of those, "goodness, my child knows my tech equipment better than I" moments. No doubt to be followed by many more. (Leo's now a master of Skype, on computer and phone...)

But how wonderful to have a child with such an eye. T'is not the first time he has excitedly joined me on a photo expedition. He too was in awe of the mist floating upon the Rhone and the bridge just barely in view through the haze. 'A Foggy Morning on the Rhone'

water and reflections

For those who are interested, these images were taken at the ancient fountain in the village of St. Bonnet du Gard -- a starting point for an easy hike to the Pont du Gard.

A foggy morning in Avignon

As Leo worked on his book summary for school Jonas and I headed out for a bit of shopping. The boys are back with me after a week at their father's, and the cupboard, if not bare, is pretty empty. I can survive on whatever's here (rice, lentils, green tomatoes from the garden, some snippets of mâche from the garden, an apple or two gleaned from the neighbor's orchards...) but they need their milk, eggs, cereal, ham. The basics if you will. I can only serve them pasta and sauce so many days a week...

As we drove out the world was in a fog. Mist lay upon the Rhône, clothing all in gray, moist dropplets, darkening the trees. We just had to stop the car and get out to photograph this mysterious world. We shared the camera back and forth. I photographed the barge, barely visible through the trees.

Jonas photographed the seaweed moving languidly in the water, a few leaves swirling on the surface above.

We both photographed the Pont d'Avignon, with and without a foreground of fall leaves.

my shot with foreground.

Jonas quite impressed me. He was seeing, attentively, looking at this world with eyes of wonder alongside his mum. Be it himself, or the Waldorf school education, he is extremely sensitive to the physical world. He is also a gifted sculptor of clay and beeswax. Okay, I'm a proud mom, but I think also one that sees clearly.

I'll be printing out some enlargements for him to bring to school and hang in his room.
Jonas' photo of the bridge

Meantime, Leo did some beautiful writing back at the house. Somehow, somewhere, a floodgate has been opened. Is it the new teacher? A new confidence in himself? I adore that the teacher encourages poetry and somehow has communicated to him (I think it is he) a pleasure in playing with language. As Leo described an evil character in his book, he used a phrase unique to himself (I do believe) 'du miel empoisonné', poisoned honey. Fascinating... I don't know that he intellectually gets all that he has communicated, but the phrase was absolutely 'juste' for the character in question. An evil woman who hides behind a slippery, sweet-voiced exterior... hm.

T'was a fruitful and artistic morning.

Spring in Photos - What's up at the Winery

Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this site are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel.

Spring is most definitely here, and the first flowers of spring are bursting out at every turn. The almond trees have already passed to leaf, but the large orchards of apricots and plums cover the landscape in various shades of pink.




At the winery, JP has a wonderful mimosa tree just by the balcony, a joy to behold as we take our post-lunch coffee and chocolate on the terrace. In the vineyards, the tiny four petaled flowers in yellow and white make a gorgeous bed beneath the vines.

However, with all this growing greenery and plant life, the next stage of the winery calendar is in full swing. It is time to pull out the tractor, with its special hoe that uproots the weeds around, between and amongst the "souches" (roots/individual vines/feet of the vine). JP is a master of this art. And truly, an art it is. For anyone contemplating switching from regular or "reasonable" agricultural practices to organic, he/she must first of all cease using Round-Up and other noccive plant killers, and begin working the land physically/manually. And in the place of a couple visits of chemistry sprayed from a vehicle, there is a minimum of six passages through the vineyards to uproot the weeds.




The art lies in the timing - tied closely to an intimate understanding of the plant life growing in your vineyards--, and the manipulation of a sensitive machine that must be adapted precisely to the spacing of the plants, and, which cannot work without the guidance of a person walking behind it. For many, this is a lost art, and even contemplating the physical labor necessary is a deterant to working organically.

To this end, JP will be offering hands-on classes at the Mas to his ever more numerous colleagues who would like to attempt working organically (and who are being encouraged to do so with special financial incentives from the European Union). With more than 25 years of experience under his belt, and a deep and abiding love of nature and the rich bio-diversity that is present in his vineyards, he has much to share.



You have to look closely now to tell the difference between organic and reasonable agricultural vineyards. In general, the latter are identifiable by the lack of weeds at the feet of the plants. However, it has become general practice to leave greenery (that they mow) between the vineyards rows. This is definitely better than killing all the weeds, but it also tricks the eyes. The organic vineyards are those that probably still have some weeds at the foot of their vines, and that also have the clear presence of actively turned dirt. So, salute your organic neighbors when you see them, and nudge the others, or suggest they come to Provence for a lesson or two, hm?