Time?

As you might have noticed, I'm having a difficult time finding time. I seem to have mislaid it somewhere (or is it mislayn?). Yes, I'm feeling busy, and when I'm not busy I'm feeling like nourishing myself with yoga or a meditation or a walk, or with being active putting the house in order, clearing away dust and debris, pruning the garden.

Yes, the garden is calling to me. Hark, the sun is out, the wind is away, come and play! And so the old tomato plants are at last removed and in the compost. The garlic cloves are planted. The rose bushes are pruned, ditto the cherry tree (very judiciously). The bits and pieces blown about the yard by the many days of Mistral this winter have been raked away. And I'm thinking, I need chickens! It's time!

So, when to find that moment to head over to Cavaillon where they sell chickens? or do I go down to the Arles' market? or do I order them over the internet? Friends with chickens don't have any for me at the moment, unfortunately.

I'm feeling that spring fever.

I've already sort-of Feng Shuied a couple corners of the house (got to keep those money and relationship corners clear and receptive, right?), gone through clothes, shoes, Jonas' kids' books, old games, etc.,

All aswirl, when I'm not being calm and centered and chilling out that is.

And it's only mid-February! Mmmmm

When at the Goat Farm, I took a walk.

The other day I took time to walk around the goat farm. I discovered a dirt road leading toward Arles -- to explore further with my bike on my next visit. I visited the horse, who was in with the goats nibbling away, hiding beneath the trees when the heat became too strong. When Filou ran up to her barking louding, she simply charged him and put him in his place. But, as she didn't really want to come close to me, nor is she truly dangerous, she stopped after a step or two.

Isabelle was sleeping, her new quilt upon her knees. The others were busy in each his own way, and my particular skills -- cooking and cleaning -- weren't really in need at that moment. So, I wandered, I looked, I took in the evolving spring. The fluff along the ground dropped form the polinating trees. The butterflies posing gently upon a bright magenta flower, the rosemary in blossom.

Each spring I see anew. I revel in this beauty, the last spring for Isabelle. As with many who are in the midst of this path towards death, it seems she has stayed with us till this moment. Now that the flowers are opening. Now that the warmth has returned, now that her little grandson can explore this marvelous outdoor world on two feet, she is ready to depart. A last spring lived, sensed, seen, felt.

In the beauty of her sphere. Aware of this magical moment of grace, I am.

Acacia Beignets

What a glorious world this is that provides such lovely possibilities for my kitchen and my table!

The blossoms are coming in on many a tree, and yes, they are edible. A special treat at this time of year is Acacia flower beignet. The Acacia flowers grow like grapes and Wysteria, in hanging clumps. They are comestible and delicious. So, I sent the kids out to gather a few and prepared a simple beignet batter with:

2 eggs
1/3 cup flour
1/3 cup milk
1/3-1/2 cup water

I whisked this all together till it was of a light cream texture. Then I heated up some frying oil (cold-pressed, organic sunflower), dipped my flowers into the batter and began frying. It took no time at all to have a tray full.

I sprinkled them with powdered sugar and brought them out to my hungry crowd.

Oh what a pleasure!

Alongside the Acacia was my elder tree coming into bloom. I gathered the elderflowers, along with a few of the acacia and made syrup as I do every spring. Do see my post from last year on the many possibilities of syrups for the kids from my garden:

Elderflower syrup

What is Sophie up to?

My beekeeper, mon apicultrice, Sophie Berton, is one of my oldest acquaintances in Provence. I met her early in the years of our business, when Leo was still a baby in a backpack, soon to be followed by the stroller. She became one of our first artisan visits, extending the culinary experience beyond the cooking classes. Many were the feasts of honey-laden dishes we enjoyed (and still do) in her wonderful home nestled in the woods off a dirt road running past a chapel from the middle ages (built upon an ancient Roman temple).

At one point, one of my favorite au pairs dated her eldest son, then in the early stages of his compagnonage (journeyman apprenticeship) as a stone carver (tailleur de pierre). I had great hopes of such an alliance -- I would have adored to have my au pair as a permanent neighbor and close friend, and also to be that much closer to Sophie. Ah well, that didn't work out, but Sophie and our friendship have stood the test of time and distance.

Since my move to Avignon, and my shifted professional focus (or simply the blow of the economic crisis and the ensuing dramatic lack of tourists which is happily coming to an end) not to mention the fact that I had been involved most every weekend with my vintner (this relationship now defunk) I hadn't been able to carve out the time to see much of Sophie. While I lived in Arles, we'd had the ease of my visiting her at the outdoor market in Arles nearly every week, and the frequency of my professional visits with cooking school clients to keep us close for most of our friendship. Now, it requires a bit of extra effort to find those moments to connect.

Single, with a weekend before me I snapped at the option of a party to celebrate spring at Sophie's today. And so off I went, dressed in summer attire -- the sun beating down upon us all--covered in sun screen, a straw hat atop my head.

What greeted me was an array of sights, people and feelings. I have always adored her home and her valley. It had often been a refuge for me from the city streets of Arles. A place where the scents of the wild flowers, herbs and trees fill the air, the buzzing of insects is ever present, and the singing of birds is just part of the atmosphere. Cars pass very very rarely on the her road -- and so you can revel in the sensation of merging with the natural world.

I found Sophie busily preparing omelets in the kitchen of her new home, friends working alongside. She has sold the home that used to greet me, and renovated a small ruin not far from it. She kept all her olive groves, and now lives in a tiny space just large enough for herself and the occasional guest (who observes the 3 day rule no more!), easy to heat, cozy and comfy. A bit tight in corners as she still has most of her art collection, library and accumulations of a life time to squeeze in there. But she's reduced her furniture needs to the minimum -- no more would fit in her space -- and exchanged what had been an ancient shepherd's shelter for a warm and far more luminous home. It fits her, if a bit snugly.

And, her projects have taken off. With her boys both grown and on their own, her former home sold for a tidy sum, she had the means to move forth in a way she had never been able to do on what she earned as a beekeeper. She has invested in a traditional yurt in which feasts, meetings, yoga classes and more now occur. She has built a new mielerie (honey house), put up a toilette seche, dry toilet, and is currently installing a lovely outdoor kitchen and area for showers.


She now welcomes visitors to learn far more than just what kinds of honey she can harvest. She is teaching medieval history through the lore of plants, food and tales. She is leading hikes, teaching about the world of bees and medicinal plants. And she is actively excavating and renovating the chapel across the road with an archeologist, historian and skilled stone cutters. Active, and yet seemingly finally at peace.

Sophie had always been someone for whom things came with difficulty. She was a grand complainer. Good humoredly regaling you with the difficulties of her situation (no electricity for 20 years) whenever you visited her honey stand. Was it simply her karma?

What I see today is a lovely woman who is finally approaching a moment of serenity, accomplishment and calm. She is still busy, surrounded by interesting and powerful women friends who tell stories, explore the sacred power of woman, connect with nature and shift the stones of their world. She is in her role as a teacher, a sharer of knowledge and place.

And in this place she welcomed her friends for a fête de printemps of omelets and quiche, salads and bread, cheese and wine and her best spice cake. News was exchanged, lotto played (a means of getting rid of some of her very large library...) and music filled the afternoon. What a lovely way to greet the warm weather!

I don't have Sophie's spice cake recipe for you. However I can tell you what she's told me. She uses a proportion of 1:1 for flour and honey -- thus this is a rich cake! She warms the honey to liquify it, just to a sizzle, no more, before pouring it over the flour. She lets it act on the flour a bit -- apparently her unpasteurized honey has a quality that helps break down the flour and initiate fermentation. Then she adds her other ingredients. She has a liberal hand with anise seed, something that it has taken me years to get used to. Having a mother who hates liquorice-flavored anything can mark you for a long time. (in my case).

Remarkably often, Sophie burns the bottom of her spice cake. A natural multi-tasker, over-extended, always chatting with someone, four or more things going at once, the occasional slightly over-cooked dessert is a standard in her house. But that doesn't stop her. And nor does it diminish the joy and délice of spending time at her table.

The Signs of the Season

My favorite wild rose bush is covered in buds and just beginning to flower. The promise of a wall filled with its deep magenta is there... next week?

The cherry tree is nearly all leaf, its last blossoms hanging on for another couple of days.

The tiny thornless roses behind the pool are bursting into bloom, and stretching across the fence, filling the back garden with their light yellow tufts.

The neighbor's wysteria (glicine) is fully in blossom, a wall of magical purple cascades that I do so wish I could transplant to my facade...


The vegetable patch is coming up, happy potato plants amidst a few weeds, delicate peas.


And a forest of strawberries fit for a storybook tale of fairies and shrinking children playing hide and seek.

The nose sniffles as the fluffy things fall from the trees, filling the ground with their wafting cotton.

And the mosquitoes are happily birthing their babies and sending them to feast upon our blood as we contemplate sleep. A few head slaps before the mind finally shuts down is my new routine. Mosquito screens before the 1st of May? That's what a moist winter and early spring bring. Happily, I hear the frogs croaking away in the evening. Gorge yourselves I pray to them, consume the babes before they reach my window and my ever tender neck.

In the morning, the birds sing me awake as the sky turns slowly gray. Yes, I'm still not sleeping over much past 5AM, but I feel the slump passing, and the beauty surrounding me nourishing me and pushing me forward.

Le monde s'épanouit autour de moi.

Just Spring Flowers

For me, all these books I'm reading and podcasts I'm listening to that underline the importance of living in the present and being grateful resonate with smelling the flowers, feeling the sunshine, and appreciating the beauty all around me.

A Walk in March

Sometimes it's rather nice having a little boy home sick. He can accompany you on walks that way.

Spring? By Hook or by Crook

No matter the cold winds. The freak snow storms, the distressing drop in temperature, the lowering wood pile. Spring is making its appearance with beauty and grace.