Final Days Under the French Sky

Mike and I stood on the patio last night looking up at the full moon. It glowed round and bright behind the bare branches of the tilleul tree. We both knew that it was our last full moon under a French sky. We are sad but there’s not much time for sadness as we sort through clothes to give away, return borrowed items, parse out remaining food in our pantry to friends, and clean the house. We are to the point where we're counting rolls of toilet paper, dish washing tablets, and, for me, glasses of wine. But with all that preparation, we love each remaining day. And the days have been glorious – blue, sunny skies, temperatures in the high 50s, lunches on the patio, and long walks through vineyards along back country lanes and across the hilltop behind us.

Come along on our walk today. It is not anything particularly special and yet, it is everything that is special.

As we leave the house, our narrow, stone staircase curves steeply down to the road below. One wall is covered with ivy. We pass our tall cypress tree and a rosemary bush that threatens to overtake the outdoor light.

Down the road into the village, the sun hits the side of the church tower and the rock cliffs behind. The relief is so striking that it looks like a 3D movie without the funny glasses. We meet the owner of the Café de Cours on his way to work. He sings out, “Bonjour, Monsieur-Dame! Ça va?” In town on the Cours, all is calm. The shop owners prepare for their day, sweeping and serving coffee to the early risers. The plane trees, empty of their leaves, look like they did when we arrived. The lack of leaves accentuates their patterned trunks of dappled white, grey and tan.

Today, we’re walking up the hill to the Notre Dame Sanctuary and across the ridge line of hills behind our house. The Sanctuary is one of my favorite places to walk. It is a lovely climb, there is a wonderful view over the valley with the distant hills beyond, and the vineyards laid out in their organized rows below. Mostly, though, it is peaceful.

On our way up the hill, we run into a charming, elder gentleman who I affectionately refer to as “my little man.” When we first arrived, I saw him almost every day as I walked the hill to the Sanctuary and he walked, with his cane and sometimes his black Cocker Spaniel, into town for a baguette. Eventually, I said hello and did my best to introduce myself. Over the months, we continued to speak as I told him where we traveled in France. He is always gracious and polite. I have no idea his name. I am told that he is typical of the old-style Provençal gentleman. He will always be pleasant and I will always be a foreigner to be kept at a friendly distance. At Christmas, we gave him one of our homemade Christmas cards with the note inside thanking people for their hospitality - our best memory. Today, we meet him on our walk. This time, however, a smile lights up his face, he says, “ma belle American!” and I get a kiss on each cheek. How special is that?

We continue on our walk where the stone pathway in the hillside leads up to the Sanctuary. We pause to look out at the view and soak up the calm. We continue along the gravel road across the hilltop. The hills are covered with tall pine trees that whisper in the wind. Short oak trees grow between them and the underbrush is wild rosemary and thyme. We had some rain which seems to make the rosemary sprout pale, gray-blue flowers. The road becomes narrow with low stone walls on either side. The ground and walls play host to bright, green mosses and lichen. The stones are covered with these cushions of green that, on close inspection, are made of tiny stars. It is the perfect compliment to the rough, old stones, carefully stacked. A few birds twitter overhead but the only other noise is the occasional, distant gunshot (it is still boar hunting season).

We walk along the gravel road until it intersects with the path to St. Joseph’s Monastery. Today, however, we will turn onto the paved road that takes us past the glacier, the Source St. Martin (a natural spring under two, huge plane trees), and past Chapelle St. Martin. The small vineyards in front of the unoccupied chapelle are quiet and bare. They have been cut back to the main branches in preparation for new growth in the spring. The trimming is done by hand, gradually, over the winter months (yes, by hand).

We go down a slope, back along the road to where we can see a waterfall that feeds the stream and the better-known waterfall below. This time of year, without the leaves, the waterfall is more visible and audible. It is a sight that always causes us to pause for a few minutes.

No matter how many times we do this or another walk, there is always something to surprise or delight. Today as we return through town in the bright sunlight, we notice someone drying their sweater.....four floors above, hanging on a beam. I guess, you use whatever space is available!

At last, we walk along the steep road to the house (Mike will NOT miss that road!), and back up the narrow staircase. And, so goes our day in Cotignac. Like I said, it's nothing particularly special but, then again, every day is special under the French sky.