Winding Down and Gearing Up

Change is in the air around Cotignac. I feel it more each day. Summer is beginning to wind down with days that are noticeably shorter. The outdoor theater has completed its series and we attended the last Friday night mussels and fries (moules and frites). At the Tuesday market we’re still enjoying flavorful, yellow and white peaches and purple figs even as apples, pears and deep, russet-orange pumpkins appear in the stands. There are fewer tourists downtown. We’re able to walk through the market without too much jostling and easily find a seat for a cup of coffee. Gardens around town are largely empty except for a few remaining tomatoes, onions and squash. Hay and wheat fields have been harvested leaving pale yellow stubbly stalks sticking up like pin cushions. Mike pulled up his tomato plants but he still has peppers that are producing. My petunias are finished for the season. We have a quince tree with five quince. I look at them each day trying to determine when they are ripe and what to do with them if they are. Almonds are falling off the tree now. We tried to shell some but ended up crushing all but a few. I’ll leave almond shelling for others.

Even though the atmosphere is changing as fall approaches, the weather continues to be wonderful – warm days and cool nights. Mike and I are trying to take advantage of every moment and this week we packed in a hodge-podge of activities, all beginning with "c" - canoes, clarinets, cars, carnival, cabaret and canning.

We heard about place that runs canoe trips down the l’Argens River which sounded like fun. The French are more laid back about this sort of thing than river trips in the US. We arrived, were given paddles, and vests. We loaded into a bus pulling the canoes and went to the put-in point. All as expected. That’s when things changed. We unloaded, they pulled the canoes off the trailer, pointed to the river and wished us well. That’s it – no guide, no instructions, nothing. They assumed that we would find our way back through the rapids and over the dam – yes, the dam. And, we did! It felt free to be on our own without having to keep up with anyone else. We got stuck on the rocks - a lot – but always managed to work our way out – a little wetter, but fine. The river was small by Maryland standards and flowed along under tall trees – oak, silver leaf maple that glittered above us. As we paddled along, water striders skidded across the surface in front of the boat, and blue dragonflies circled around. It was a fun time but my body is still recovering from the 3+ hours of paddling.

We also went to a chamber music concert in Flayosc. I’ve not a huge chamber music fan, but the program sounded good and it was a new event to try. The performance was in the local church – high vaulted ceilings and warm, honey-colored stone walls – a perfect setting. The group consisted of two violins, a viola, bass, cello and clarinet. They were young - the women in slim black dresses and the men in tuxedos, – and very accomplished. Their first piece, featuring the clarinetist, took me by surprise it was so exquisite. I grew up with clarinet music – my dad played and taught me – but I haven’t heard anything like this in years. My dad would have said that this young man had a tight tone, precise fingering technique, and excellent breath control. While all that was true, it was better to let myself get caught up in the sound - like thick, rich liquid pouring out of the clarinet. He ran up and down all the registers and I was captivated. He even played a piece by Carl Maria von Weber, my dad’s favorite composer for clarinet. Dad and I spent many long hours practicing von Weber together; he counting out beats and humming as I struggling with the notes and fingerings. All of it rushed back as I listened, and while it was fun to remember all the work and technique that goes into playing, it was also great to simply let the music wash over me. The violinist furthered the experience; her music soared into the old church as she poured out pure emotion from the strings. The entire performance was enthralling and I’ve never seen Mike clap so hard.

Earlier in the week there was a benediction service at the Sanctuary Notre Dame for antique cars. The streets in town were filled with old European cars, most of which would not typically be seen in the US. It was fun to look at the polished, well-loved old cars – but we skipped the benediction service!





This weekend was Cotignac’s local festival. A carnival is in town – literally set up in the streets – and concerts were held every night in the Cours accompanied by fireworks. The local boules association is holding a week long tournament along with an aioli lunch. We attended the lunch to see what exactly aioli is. It satisfied only our curiosity – not our stomachs! Lunch was boiled cod, potatoes, a carrot, beet, and hard boiled eggs – all served with a bowl of aioli (garlic, oil and egg yolks whisked into the consistency of mayonnaise). Everyone but us cleaned their plates. Now we know. Don’t have to go back for another one of those! We also attended a "Cabaret" in Montfort that wasn't our best effort. We opted to skip the dinner before the performance only to discover there were no seats for non-diners. I ended up sipping wine from plastic cups sitting on a rock! We left early.



While all of these events help wind down the summer season, the vineyards are gearing up for the grape harvest – les vendanges. All summer the grapes have been quietly growing in the Provencal sun. Now, the grapes, smaller than table grapes, are a deep blue, purple hanging along the bottom of the vines. During my morning walks, I’ve noticed increased movement of farm equipment. It appears that preparations are underway for the harvest. This is an active and tricky time for the producers – organizing loads of workers to pick the grapes when at their peak while watching the weather – a dilemma common to farmers worldwide. We’re anxious to watch this process as it unfolds in the coming few weeks.

If we were in Annapolis, the end of summer wouldn’t be complete unless Mike canned tomatoes. I assumed that this would be his year off, ….but nooooo. He couldn’t resist the boxes of lush, red tomatoes. Off we went to the market and returned with three boxes of these beauties. After one more stop to buy jars from Frank at the hardware store, he was ready. The smell of fresh basil and warm tomatoes filled the house and heat poured from the kitchen as he boiled, blanched, peeled and canned his tomatoes. He didn’t have his normal equipment so he rigged up contraptions to pull the hot jars from the boiling water. He’s very ingenious! We now have lovely jars of red tomatoes interspersed with green basil to help us wind down the summer and gear up for the his homemade pasta sauces and soups this winter. It enough to make me look forward to fall and winter….well, almost.