Les Amandiers

By the end of January, Provence already delivers a glimpse of spring. The almond trees confer the first sign. February is a month of brutal winds and colder temperatures - it may be the most "wintery" of all the months. The blossoms seem to appear at the least likely moment. Then spring comes quickly, March feels balmy and April can be hot. Everything else blossoms in a rush - the apricots, the cherries and the apples. The vineyards and the olive trees in their turn. It all starts with the almonds though.



I took the girls and drove into the nearby valley of the Alpilles mountains (Eygalières), rich with olive and fruit groves. The early blooms of the almond trees happen first here. Earlier than our town. I am fascinated by the Alpilles and haven't spent time in them, as they are slightly further away than the Luberon range or the Calanques sea cliffs. Every movement on the map in this region reveals a totally different contour of land. It remains a total thrill to drive to a town I don't know or a field in the middle of no where.

Istres poppies

Lavender + Provence, right? Honestly, I am so taken by these fields of May poppies, I think they might be in direct competition with the lavender. May is the better time to come to this place! Perfect weather, very few tourists, water to swim in, it is a dream.

I faithfully go to a yoga class about 30 minutes from my house in Saint Chamas where an American friend teaches at the studio she has created at her house. Her clientele are all local French women. I admire them - they are beautiful and fit and generally between 40 and 50 years old. (I will add that French women seem to truly inhabit their bodies - they stay in them through childbearing and years of living and eating. These women anyway). I deliberately place myself next to one woman in particular - her energy spreads to my mat. After an inspiring class recently we were talking and she mentioned a field of poppies that is just remarkable - different from the others. It goes beyond itself over and over, she said. I wanted to go. She said to go beyond Saint Chamas on the road to Istres (which is a beautiful drive). She said I couldn’t miss it.

So on another drive, after a hike in the wild land around l’Étang de Berre, Xavier and I drove toward Istres from Saint Chamas. The field smacked us in the face as we drove around a curve. We entered the field and waded up to our knees in thick poppies. We kept wading and I was so glad Xavier encouraged us to keep going because the first field was merely a tiny fraction of the whole. The field extended back 10 times on itself. The red was more overwhelming than any green. I ached to just keep going. When we did go back to the car and start driving it became clear that we had only seen one direction of the field. It actually extended out in every direction in the same way. Marvelous. I dare say this is the best poppy field in all of Provence.









And just one pink poppy in the flock.

Provence poppies

We can't help ourselves - we are out picking poppies almost every day. Whole fields that look like they're covered with spilled blood. Or so Colette says. Growing by the side of all the little roads around, then growing in vases in rooms all over our house. We pull the bike or the car over just to stand witness to the phenomenon. I can't imagine ever feeling unmoved by these fields of flowers.



I recently went and got Colette at school for a lunch date. As we were heading to the little village where we had decided to eat we drove past this field. Colette begged to stop to pick a bouquet for her Maîtresse. With a serious expression she worked to pick just the right ones for her beloved teacher.





Another day, another field...

Our cherry tree

When we visited this house for the first time a year ago, this tree was in full glory. Like this: a sign. Every day since the first blossoms appeared, Romy and I have walked out in the morning to look closely. We all go to it at the end of the day to breathe in its air. The girls gather flowers from its hem and leave me 'bouquets' on my nightstand (heap of wild daisies). Pleased that we could be so wrapped up in wonder for one tree.

Spring

The end of February/beginning of March signal spring here. The almond trees come first. They start to reflect the amaranthine white flowers in the vineyards. Now the other fruit trees are starting to blossom. Our apricot tree and soon the cherry and pear. Provence is a region of fields and fields of fruit trees - buds swelling and bursting. Our girls are thriving too. They make their ’nests’ in the fields, traipse through a baby olive grove, explore the orb around our house in the evening glow. Plead for another push on the swing - heading straight into the slanting sun.

I've become attached to this garden.

Pedaling along here still soaking it in. Conservatory Garden | Central Park (north at 105th Street and Fifth Ave)

Petals.

Petals in mass.

Spring fever.

Dizzying.