Quiet at Malérargues

Friday, May 16, 2008
Last winter, the mountains around Malérargues were dry and cool and the air smelled like the thyme, rosemary, oregano, and sage that grow wild here. But now in the wet spring, the air is redolent with blossoms—the holly trees, the buckeyes, and the beautiful white acacia blooms, looking very like bunches of pearly white grapes ornamenting the trees. The air smells sweet and ripe like peaches.

This morning while I was sitting outside in the rain waiting for a ride to town, I became aware that the air around me was alive with the buzzing of bees. The sound is everywhere, as they do their little bee business, even with the rain falling. At night the nightingales sing until early in the morning—it’s a breathtaking chorus of song that reminds me of childhood fairy tales. Yesterday afternoon I even heard a cuckoo. I had to look around to make sure I wasn’t hearing someone’s clock!

The gardens are really coming alive here. Everywhere you look there are iris, poppies, and roses. Pink roses trimmed into little round tree-shaped bushes, yellow roses climbing up the stucco walls, red roses towering above you as you walk. I saw clematis climbing in the mountain brush and thought, “surely someone planted this here once—it can’t be wild.” And all across the open fields little red poppies bloom, the ones made famous by Flanders Fields.

It is quiet here—very few people have come to the chateau for the summer as of yet. There is a group of mostly American students taking a workshop, and a lovely professor from Brazil inhabits my old space, “Venice.” It’s been raining steadily for the last two days and so I’ve spent a lot of time indoors. I just finished “The Killer Angels,” a very good historical fiction about the battle of Gettysburg. (Which, by the way, I saw the battlefield when my father dragged me across it on a trip when I was 10 or so. I vividly remember the “Devil’s Den,” [one of those names that when you are ten is so scary it feels like you’re getting away with something saying it] and was creeped out to think of all the dead bodies that once lay upon the ground I was treading.) I’m also working on a play that takes place in the American 19th century and the long hours with no TV or DVD afford me a lot of time to write.

Marie Paule helped me make my reservations for the beach in two weeks, and I’m looking forward to a Mediterranean adventure. We start teaching our class next Wednesday, and we’ve formed a nice plan for the workshop between her skills and mine. Today Jay took the Centre secretary Bé, a local actress named Elizabeth who specializes in Clown work (you can do that in France), and I to the restaurant “La Grange de Labahou” in Anduze for lunch. Jay ordered me an aperitif Kir made of Bordeaux white wine and peach liquor—very lovely. My stomach was a little off, so I ordered a chicken tejine, which was just perfect with its Moroccan spices. For dessert I ordered a little pot of what seemed like a cross between chocolate cake and pudding, with almond ice cream. Elizabeth ordered meringues and vanilla ice cream, and we kept passing our plates back and forth over Jay so we could share the two. Very good.

But that noon meal was plenty, so for dinner I made a vegetable soup of onions, garlic, carrots, tomatoes, asparagus, and endive with bouillon. And a little green salad with fresh tomato and balsamic vinaigrette. The produce here is so fresh, it makes a meal taste quite different from what I buy at home. But maybe anything would taste good when you’re in the Cevennes mountains in France.

For a breeze, I only have a front door and one window in the loft area to open, so I leave the door open when I’m in the flat. Ivan’s four cats next door love to visit; they leap up and down the diagonal wooden ladder that climbs to the loft. When they’re docile and purring on my lap I really don’t mind. “Orange” especially, who has a very sweet, patient quality, like an old soul. But currently it sounds as if they’re tearing the place apart behind me, so I suppose I should go on duty and route them out.

Au demain.

Saturday May 17, 2008

Again rain this morning. I had a breakfast of bread and apricot jam, read some, and took a nap on the loft futon with “Orange,” who likes to visit around noon nap time. Then I had lunch with Paula, the Brazilian Professor. We had a lovely visit commiserating as outside professionals posing as students at the Centre. Soon Jay and I will be off to shop in Anduze.

I feel a though I've come to France for a rest cure. Due to the rain, I sleep, fix meals, eat, read, and write. It is very peaceful and probably exactly what I need right now.