Picking Olives and Other Winter Excursions

First there were grapes to be picked and now there are olives. Olive trees blanket the area around Cotignac including several around our house. We’ve had a front row seat as the olives have developed. They started in the spring as tiny, little blooms developing into little, bitty olives like elfin grape clusters. They grew over the summer with the first touches of black appearing in October. First they were black and shiny and are now beginning to shrivel – perfect for picking.

In the last couple of weeks we saw people in the olive groves with small baskets, but we couldn’t imagine that these vast groves would be picked by hand. Periodically, I’d see someone with a net under a tree apparently gathering olives that are shaken off the tree. But for the most part, the picking was being done by hand. We learned that many of the trees died several years ago in an unusually hard freeze. But, the roots were still alive and small trees grew up from the original trunks. The effect is sculptural with clusters of small olive trees encircling an old stump. Groves and groves are like this.

Our rental agent, Ruth Teale, knew that I wanted to pick olives to add to my catalog of experiences. She graciously offered to let me help her with the trees in her yard. How very nice of her! The date was set for December 3rd - if it didn’t rain.

I arrived at Ruth’s house mid-morning on a beautiful, sunny, but cold day. Frost was on the ground and crunched as I walked across her yard. I was greeted by a very enthusiastic Toby – with a pink ball in his mouth. Clearly, I was there to play with him! Ruth warned that whatever I did I should NOT throw the ball or else that’s how I would spend the rest of my day. So Toby followed us around carrying a red ball, or an orange ball, or a black chew toy. He seemed to think that he would eventually find something to entice a throw.

Ruth gave me a basket for olives with gaps in the sides and bottoms so that errant leaves would fall through. I’m not sure how well that worked, but it sounded good. The basked had a long ribbon tied to the sides so that it hung around my neck leaving both hands free for picking. Ruth did the hard part. She spent the day on a ladder reaching the olives in the upper branches. Only the blue of her sweater was visible inside the branches. Because of the cold I quickly decided that the olives on the sunny side of the tree needed to be picked first! There’s really nothing to it. Just grab a branch and pull off a handful of olives and drop them in the basket. If you’re good, the basket will be directly under the branch so that the olives drop right in – hopefully with few leaves. We picked and chatted for two hours. There was never a lull in the conversation as we compared notes on living in France. Ruth, originally from the UK, has been in this area for 20 years, living first in Cotignac and now in Varages, an even smaller village. When she’s not throwing balls to Toby she manages house rentals. Mike and I are thankful every day that we found Ruth. (To contact Ruth, see www.chezdomaine.com)

With frozen fingers and toes, we stopped for a wonderful, warm lunch which Ruth prepared – cream of mushroom soup, shepherd’s pie, salad and fruit. I was sorry there weren’t more trees so I could get another hot, hearty meal like that! We dawdled as long as we could before tackling the last two trees. This time Toby changed his strategy. My basket was on the ground while I picked a few low hanging olives. The next time I looked, Toby had brought a small stick, put it in my basket in the hopes, and was looking at me in the hopes that maybe THIS time I’d throw it. He was great entertainment! By the middle of the afternoon we were frozen again. Black clouds hid the sun making the cool temperatures feel cold and edgy. Fortunately, we finished the trees and had two boxes of olives to show for our efforts. After a warm cup of tea, we set out for the olive mill in Varages as splotches of fat, wet snow flakes fell. We weren’t the only olive pickers that day. Along the road, cars were parked, one after the other, from people working in the olive groves.

So here’s how it goes. Each little village has its own olive mill – the cooperative. The mill opens about 4PM after that day’s picking is done. We arrived early and were the third car in line. Ruth said that in the past she has waited an hour or more to deliver her olives. When our turn came, we unloaded our two boxes and dumped them a larger box with everyone else’s olives. They weighed the difference and found that we’d picked 22.5 kilos that day – not bad. And, a friendly gentleman with scruffy hair and a plaid, flannel shirt gave us a tour of the olive mill.

We were shown to the side entrance and warned to watch our step. The floor was covered with oil and water. They are not allowed to use detergents to wash anything while olives are pressed so that there’s no chance of contaminating the oil. The air was pungent with mashed olives and it was thankfully warm inside. We watched our olives go through a washer and into a large vat where two stone wheels rolled over the olives – pits, stems and all – to mash them into a pulp. This is the traditional method which isn’t used in all the mills these days. This cooperative won a prize in Paris for their high quality oil.



Each batch is tested to ensure that none of the trees were treated too close to picking time. If the tests indicate an inappropriate treatment, the staff go through each person who contributed to that batch, checking trees to find the culprit who can be fined for this infraction. The pulp is slightly heated and used to saturate round pads that are stacked like donuts between metal plates until they are about three feet high. The pads and plates are put into a press that squeezes out olive oil and water. The water is separated and the oil stored in vats where the sediment settles over a three month period. A final machine screens out the smallest particles leaving behind clear, green olive oil – Voila! Ruth will return in February to collect bottles of oil that equate to the kilos of olives that she brought in. She’ll have olive oil from her very own olives!

Olive harvesting isn’t our only cold weather activity. We’re making an effort to be out and about in the sun even if the temperature is chilly. For months we intended to hike Mt. Sainte Victoire – the mountain outside of Aix that Cezanne made famous. Finally, this week we made it. What a journey! It was 12 kilometers long and 600 meters up…up…and up. It was a steady climb with no flat spots. The trail was very rocky with small pellets of frozen snow between the stones. Pine trees lined the trail and rocky cliffs were visible all around. The higher we got the frostier the shrubs became. Even Mike’s hat developed frost on it! The Alps started to peek out, snow covered, in the far distance. They made a stunning ring of white across the horizon. But the higher we went the colder we became with a slight, freezing wind blowing up the mountain side. The climb ended at the ruins of a 12th century priory on top of which a chapel and monastery were built in the 17th century. Just a few meters above the priory, is the Croix de Provence – a large cross that is visible from the autoroute far below. We’ve driven past it many times never dreaming that we’d see it up close. But we didn’t see it for long. When we finally reached the top, we quickly snapped some photos, grabbed a few dried apricots and raisins with frozen fingers and headed back down….fast. As Mike said, the bottom would feel like Miami by comparison. In reality, our “Miami” was only in the high 30s. Those heated seats in the car never felt better! We were proud of our accomplishment, tired and ready to go home. But –

Our washer is broken. Yep. The code d’erreur says that the motor is broken. Ruth is dispatching someone to fix it. They came last week, but, in typical fashion, it worked fine for the repairman. Of course it did. Now it’s broken again. So on our way home, we stopped at the Cotignac laundromat – Le Laverie. We had to laugh as we hauled dirty sheets and laundry out of the trunk of the Mercedes and into the laverie. It felt very Beverly Hillbilly-ish. We were in the real French Laundry! After translating the instructions and starting the wash, we skedaddled to the Café de Cours for warm coffee and tea. We piled wet laundry back into the car to take it home to dry. Not exactly what I was hoping for at the end of a long day of hiking – but, we fell into bed on crisp, clean sheets. Now, that’s the perfect end to a satisfying, frosty, winter day in France.

Giving Thanks for Friends

Mike and I have so many things to be thankful for particularly this year. We continue to have wonderful experiences in France, plus, throughout the year we’ve had the opportunity to share those experiences with friends who have come to visit. Some friends were veteran travelers and others enjoyed their inaugural trip to Europe, but this week was the first time we had two friends visit who didn’t know each other before they arrived. None of us knew how that would work but, as it turned out, it was perfect. And I received yet another gift just in time for Thanksgiving – the joy of watching my two dear friends become friends with each other.

Dan arrived first. I’ve known Dan for years, first as a consultant, then as a co-worker, and ultimately as a friend. We’ve gone through several job and career changes together and through it all, he has been a constant source of inspiration and a voice of wisdom. Plus, he can fill the room with laughter!

Felicia arrived a couple of days later and stayed for a few days after Dan left. I have literally known Felicia all her life. Our mothers have been friends for decades. Although Felicia’s family lived in Chicago, we saw them regularly when they visited her grandparents in Smithville. Somewhere along the way, Felicia grew from being the youngest kid among our families into a wise and happy woman who also happens to be a successful designer in Chicago. While we’re not related, it feels like we are. Her mom, Kay, even let me see their basement!

And so, it was the four of us, me, Mike, Dan and Felicia, who spent Thanksgiving week together in Cotignac. We traveled through Provence together but it was the evenings sitting around the table next to the wood stove laughing and talking that will be my favorite memories of the week. It was so much fun to watch these two friends connect with each other, swap stories, exchange advice on life and love, and laugh long and loud.

Dan had not traveled in this part of France so we loaded he and Felicia in the car and hauled them through village after cute village. We went to a Marche de Noel (Christmas market) at Chateau de Berne outside Lorgue. We went once with Dan and again with Felicia. None of us bought much – well, except for food, of course – honey, chocolates, macaroons, and jam, but it was fun to see the people, hear the happy chattering in French, and soak up the festive atmosphere. Even the dogs were dressed for the occassion. Felicia had the added treat of going to the Christmas market in Flayosc. It was a tiny event filled with handmade crafts. I bought a cookbook assembled by the local grade school children. It has a watercolor cover with gold star stickers made by the children. The kids were selling them as a fund raiser for their ski trip. How could we pass that up? I discovered later that the book is filled with their moms' favorite French recipes. I think this may be a winner! There was another fund raiser at the entrance door just past the mulled wine. This one involved guessing the weight of a huge loaf of bread - like guessing how many M&Ms are in a jar. Mike took a shot but we haven't heard anything about our winnings. I think we'll have better luck with the recipe book!

When we collected Felicia at the airport, we drove to Cannes for a lunch overlooking the Mediterranean. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we sat outside soaking up the sun. We watched the wanna-be beautiful people stride by looking neither right nor left but clearly expecting the rest of us to watch them. We giggled at the women with orange hair, artificially puffed lips, and needle-thin 4” heeled boots (how do they walk in those?). We window shopped at the high-end stores along the promenade – Gucci, Chanel, Bulgari, Hermes. Sorry, no one received Christmas gifts from Cannes!

In a shopping extravaganza that was more our speed, we hit the market in Cotignac. The market is much smaller now and many of the souvenir vendors are gone for the season, but it is still our favorite weekly event. The market is busy but in a casual way. The locals are out early, carefully selecting chard and pumpkins while they visit with friends. It is a leisurely amble down the street buying as we go. We’ve been here long enough that we have our usual vendors who know us, so we are part of the neighborly ambiance, too. I love that. We loaded up on food – you’d think we had an army to feed! But it all looked so good there was no point in trying to resist. Plus, Felicia – who lived in Milan for six years – offered to make salads for both lunch and dinner (endive with egg for lunch, baby artichoke with parmesan reggiano for dinner). We ate VERY well!

With all the eating, we had to do some walking, too. Mike and I toured them through the sites of Cotignac – both in and around town. We walked over roots and rocks to the waterfall – always a beautiful stroll. It looks different this time of year; lit by more sun due to the now-bare trees. The chilly temperatures didn't stop us from a morning walk along Lake Carces, bundled up with hats and gloves, with hard, brown acorns crunching under foot. We choose a warmer excursion for the afternoon and drove through the beautiful gorge outside the village of Correns. We stopped to admire the unusual, moss-covered fountains in Barjols, too. They both exclaimed over the sites – which made us feel good. Dan particularly loved St Paul-de-Vence – a perched medieval village outside of Nice. We visited there the day we took him to Nice for his flight home. St. Paul is charming with its narrow winding streets that form concentric circles until you find your way to the church at the very top of the hill. In summer, the streets are so packed with tourists that you have to push your way through. This time of year it was blessedly empty. The shops were still open and proprietors were VERY happy to see us. Mike and I were there twice before, but we saw more this time than in any previous visit. It’s hard to see vistas and notice the details of the jumbled, stone buildings when you can’t see around the tour groups. While Dan continued his explorations of St. Paul, Mike, me, and Felicia went to the Foundation Maeght – a modern art museum outside the town walls set on a hill among the tall pine trees. Vistas of hazy hills are visible between the trees and provide a stunning backdrop for grand-scale sculptures.

After Dan left us for home, Felicia and I continued our art and architecture theme by driving to Marseille to see Le Corbusier’s Unite Habitation. Felicia discovered that the building was close by, and since neither of us had seen a Corbusier building “in person” we set off to explore. It was exciting to drive up to a building that we’d both seen in architecture books – Felicia more so than me. On the wall were the classic symbols of Corbusier. The “Corbusier man” guided his proportions so that all was designed for a human scale. The building, built in 1952, was clearly aging and in need of restoration but the forms retained their sculptural quality and the textures were still evident. Felicia is particularly drawn to textures so much so that we teased her for taking photos of manhole covers for their stamped-iron patterns. Even with the classic architecture, it was our constant chattering and laughter that I will remember most from our day together. We share a similar sense of humor and it was the perfect therapy to spend hours laughing. And, I’ll remember the snow. Yes – snow! It snowed in Provence. On our drive home, the vineyards were coated in a layer of white – a thin layer of white. The pine trees along the narrow road into Cotignac were lightly frosted as if for the holidays. It was unexpected and beautiful – and gone the next morning.

Of course, the highlight was Thanksgiving Day. The French don’t celebrate Thanksgiving so it was just us four who knew there was a special something in the air that day. For everyone else the special something in the air was the scent of truffles. It was the season’s first truffle market. It seems this part of France is the center of the truffle industry – if “industry” is what you call it. Truffles are harvested in the late fall and winter and auctioned in nearby Aups. We had no idea what to expect, where to go, or what time the market started. We headed for Aups mid-morning and arrived at exactly the right moment. A cluster of people were huddled around the small square in the center of Aups bundled up against the chilly air. They were politely listening to barely audible speakers–the local politicians and truffle association president – standing on a stone porch, using bad microphones, but providing the necessary preamble to officially open the market (some things are the same everywhere!). About a dozen little tables were set up around the square and on each sat a small scale and basket – both empty. Once the officials welcomed everyone and thank whomever needed thanking, they blew a shrill whistle and the place was suddenly hopping with activity. The truffle farmers poured bags of rough, dirty, black truffles into their baskets and buyers began frantically pawing over them. Piles of large and small truffles were carefully arranged on the scale as 50 Euro notes were whipped out. Every little table had a crowd around it. The truffles were going fast! We had to get in on the action. Mike and Felicia picked out a tiny truffle which turned out to be 6 Euros worth – so we got another one! With our two little bags of truffles in hand, we exited the market for the warmth of a brasserie, coffee and tea. The bags of truffles ended up in my purse so that each time I opened my bag the aroma of truffle rose up. They soon went into the trunk of the car! We browsed around the main street of Aups taking in yet another quaint village. Two local men out for their daily baguette accidently ended up in one of Felicia’s photos. They thought she was photographing them but and they wanted their picture with her. Nothing like a couple of “French kisses” to get Thanksgiving morning off to a good start!

Once we returned home and warmed up, we took a stroll through Cotignac to burn off some of the food we would be eating later. Mike stayed back to start preparations for dinner. He got the ball rolling but everyone got into the act. After a round of phone calls to all our family and friends, everyone ended up in our compact kitchen. Felicia had the honor of cleaning the truffle that would be used in her famous risotto. She stood in the kitchen stirring for 45 minutes and then personally grated the truffle onto each of our servings of risotto. It was superb! (Later in the week, she taught me to make her risotto with porcini mushrooms. Yum.) Dan helped me peel apples for dessert that we popped into the oven just as Mike took out the roasted duck. Wow. A fruit and nut stuffing, pumpkin puree, and broccoli rounded out our Thanksgiving in Provence.

Yes, we all went to bed that evening feeling stuffed from a wonderful meal, but, at least for me, I was even more full with feelings of happiness for the friendships that I enjoy, the richness that they bring into my life, and the wonder of love and laughter. It was indeed a Thanksgiving filled with thankfulness.

Out and About in Provence

I never knew how magical the autumn could be. Each day I’m thrilled to feel the change of season. The air has a hint of musty leaves and wood smoke, and leaves drift off the trees casually – like lazy confetti. The linden tree on our patio was covered with bright yellow leaves when we left for Austria. When we returned there was a thick carpet of yellow on the patio that rustled as we tried to push open the back door. The once tree-shaded patio is now flooded with sunlight giving us a full view of the valley beyond and its changing colors.

Fall has been such a stunning surprise that I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before. Then I realized that if I were at home I would be commuting to work in the dark, sitting inside a sealed building all day, and commuting home in the dark. That’s a sure recipe for missing fall! Now, I see each day as a gift.

And we’ve been taking advantage of those gifts over the last several weeks through an assortment of activities. For example, we have been to several movies. That’s not normally noteworthy except that here each time seems to offer something new. Mike and I drove to Aix-en-Provence for an outing to get my hair cut and see “The Social Network” at an English speaking cinema. We loved the movie and the other five people seemed to like it, too. It wasn’t exactly packed! Going to the movie is a different experience in France in part because the French don’t eat in the theater. They sell very small containers of popcorn and candy but it’s not a focal point of the experience. It’s kinda nice. Oh – and they were putting up Christmas lights. We’re looking forward to our next trip to Aix (Harry Potter) so we can see the city lit for the holidays.

As I continue to learn French, I decided that I should see a French movie. There’s a very small theater in Cotignac which is on the second floor of the Le Grainage, the local meeting hall. Des Hommes and Des Dieux was showing. If you’re not familiar, this movie won one of the top awards at the Cannes Film Festival this year. The dialog seemed slow paced so I decided to give it a try. The movie was playing at 9PM on a rainy Sunday night. So, in one of my less astute moments, I reasoned that no one would be going to this particular screening….a foreign film, on a Sunday night, late, and in the rain. Well – first of all, this is NOT a foreign film in France! Plus, it turns out that the movie is a national hit. I arrived a few minutes before the start to find it completely sold out. Even on my second try and arriving early I only barely got a seat on the front row. The film was very well done and the dialog (of which I could follow a little) was not necessary to the plot, thankfully. There was NO food of any sort in the Cotignac theater, and you could have heard a pin drop during the screening.

The theater in Cotignac is very nice. It is small with plush, red, upholstered seats and a pleasant young man selling tickets at the door. He also runs the projector. Mike and I went there to see The Town – in English with French subtitles. The audience included me and Mike, Catherine (my French teacher), Irene and a friend of theirs. We were chatting away so much so that the projector guy had to ask us to quiet down so he could start the film.

Lastly, I went to see Eat, Pray, Love – in French. It was not crowded at all – but, this time I didn’t do so well. The dialog was very fast and was essential to understanding the message. Luckily I read the book and could follow along but it was clear that I have a long way to go to understand a movie in French. I'm just sure it was a good experience for me!

We’ve been doing a lot of walking now that the weather has cooled down. We made an excursion to the Calanques, the cliffs outside of Cassis on the coast. We visited there with Bobbie and Robert and saw the Calanques by boat, but this time we wanted to walk the trail that skirts the water. It was a beautiful fall day with a clear blue sky. The trail plunges and climbs along the white rocky cliffs. The water has cut dramatic formations into the cliff face so that there was an ever changing vista. The hike was more like a scramble over rocks and boulders, large and small, rough and smooth. And when we reached the overlook, it was worth every step! Sheer, vertical, white rock faces drop straight into the blue Mediterranean. White sailboats and tourist boats puttered along below looking up as we looked down. Birds swooped into their nests inside the rock face and bent green pine trees provided a delicate fragrance and softness to the rocky scene. Families and kids were everywhere out for a walk on a pretty day in France. We hope to go back - with a picnic this time - to soak it up one more time.

Along with the change in season there’s been a change in the available foods, too. We discovered, for example, that we have a pomegranate tree in the back yard! We saw the trees around town but it took a while for us to realize that we were seeing pomegranates. I’ve only seen them stacked up at Whole Foods. Unfortunately, by the time I scrambled up to our tree the fruit was dry and had split. Oh well. Then we noticed trees with large, round, orange fruit - like shiny oranges. The fruit was easy to see since the leaves had fallen and these orange globes were left. It looked like a Halloween tree. They were persimmons. Persimmons! What does one do with a persimmon? You eat it. We bought one at the market and it was very yummy! I’m looking forward to the next one. And rose hips were the other thing we noticed on one of our walks. I'm sure we have them in Annapolis, but here they jumped out at us with their bright red color against the blue sky. It looked like a precursor for Christmas.

And, of course, there are always the wines. We were in the Spar yesterday and the nice, young men invited us to the release of the Beaujolais Nouveau. It was our first invitation so we couldn’t refuse! We trotted down to the Spar in the late morning (how early can one drink red wine?) and the place was buzzing. There was a tent in front of the Spar with a large crowd of people. Everyone shows up for free wine! Plus they had meats, pate, and cheeses, too. Beaujolais was the centerpiece and there were four types to taste including the Georges Duboeuf that we have in the US. I tried them all and we bought a bottle of a type not available in the US. It was an investment of less than 4 euros! Mostly, it was fun to see everyone in such an excited mood. And the Spar guys were selling wine as fast as they could put out the bottles!

Our visit to the Spar wine tasting was on our way to lunch with our rental agent, Ruth. She took us to an authentic French restaurant which is also a bar which is also a tabac! They prepare one item each day and you eat whatever they have. We had roasted pork in a garlic sauce that was excellent. On our way there, we passed a vineyard that was filled with a herd of sheep busily mowing down the grass. There were beaucoup of cute, fuzzy lambs. They were running and romping with their transparent pink ears flopping. We watched them play until we were late for lunch!

While the fall weather has been a delight, we have also taken advantage of our proximity to the Mediterranean. The temperatures are usually warmer there with a greater likelihood of sun. So, on our way back from Milan we stopped for the night at Menton. Menton is barely over the border from Italy. We’ve seen it each of the six times we’ve driven to and from Italy. The landscape along the coast is very hilly with deep ravines that drop down to the coast amidst a backdrop of blue from the Med. Each time we droven by we wondered about the towns long the coast. They looked so charming from the Autoroute that runs high above the valley floor. Here was our chance to find out. We booked a little room in Menton and arrived very late with barely time for dinner and bed. But the next morning the sun was out and so was I. What a treat to run along the promenade by the water and climb the steep hill to the church that overlooks the village and harbor. Blue water, sunny skies, yellow-gold buildings and cozy sailboats tucked into the harbor….ideal. Mike and I spent the morning wandering through the streets and visiting the former summer palace of the Grimaldi (rulers of Monaco) family. It was a lovely little palace. I told Mike that if he was looking for a palace for me this one was just my size – Versailles was just too big. The summer palace is set among an extensive citrus garden. There was row after row of trees - lemons, clementines, mandarin oranges, limes, pomelos, grapefruit, with multiple varieties of each. As we learned, Menton is known for its lemons. They have an annual lemon festival in the late winter. Guess that’s one we’ll have to miss. After browsing their market and buying a sack full of clementines, we headed back to Cotignac.

We’re preparing now for our next guests who will join us for Thanksgiving. More to come on that. In the meantime we send all our love to our friends and family as you celebrate Thanksgiving across the pond. We’ll be thinking of you all!