Autumn's fruits

This is a photo I took in the garden today.  That’s right, it’s late October and I still have tomatoes.  We live in the middle of the Pyrenees Mountains and I can still go out a few times a week and load up a small bucket.  Tomatoes this time of year are sweeter than summer tomatoes and generally have a thicker skin, which we remove, but they are still amazingly good.  It’s hard to believe, but we’ve had tomatoes as late as December.

The area in which we live is a Mediterranean climate; it may not be right next to the sea, but we’re not that far.  Our summers are generally very hot and dry, autumns are very windy, and winters temperatures can vary from day to day.  We’ve had 3 foot snow storms just after days in the 60’s.  It is overall warmer, sunnier, and drier than the weather I knew growing up.

About 5 miles away from here – as the bird flies – the climate is quite different.  There is another village on the other side of the mountain range that is very similar to one in which we live, but it is quite cold and damp.  We have watched storm clouds roll in and follow the mountain crest that circles us all while never receiving a drop of rain or a single snowflake.  The mountains create a climate that is extremely localized, either trapping warm air or creating a mini freezer, so the weather report for the nearby city cannot be generalized. This is quite different from the flatland of the Mid-West United States where I grew up.  Yes, there might have been more lake –effect snow in one area of another, but never have I seen such variance within such a small area.  It has taken some adapting, like getting used to hurricane force winds, and realizing that tornedo warnings have been replaced by forest fires reports, but such localized temperatures is something I’ve never experienced before.  And I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would ever grow fresh tomatoes so late in the year.



Just to show the single tomato above is not the sole tomato still growing



How wood heats twice

arranged woodpiles in the garden

            There is an old saying that wood heats twice: once when its cut and split and the second time when it’s burned.  I agree with that.  Christophe cuts and split the wood and I arrange it into piles.  It’s something to do on cool fall days because the work is too strenuous to do in summer’s heat.  There is something quite sensory about it. Split wood can be smooth, often has a slightly damp feeling, and there is always a lingering perfume from it that fills the air.  It epitomizes the smell, touch, and labor of autumn.

As I have learned, there is clearly defined method to putting together woodpiles.  The split logs must be placed in a certain pattern, straight lines need to be maintained, and it is imperative that 90 degree corners are established.  It looks easy, but it’s not; a well-made structure keeps the pressure balanced, no matter how tall the pile.  I know from experience what happens when these three elements are not respected: the piles crashes to the ground.  The fallen wood takes seems to take twice as long to pick up and reorganize, and while this is the annual work for heating the house, I hate doing the same work twice.

Pleasure of the Season: Lighting the poêle for first time of the season.

“Pleasures of the Season” is a series of posts which appear from time to time.  They focus on something special that occurs only seasonally, often fleeting, and something we anticipate.  The posts highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

We turned the heat on for the first time last night.  For us, this is not adjusting a dial on the wall, but rather, filling the poêle with wood and putting a match to it.  We heat by wood, and that surprises a lot of people.  Our poêle is a Norwegian cast iron heater which is efficient enough to comfortable heat the house all winter long.  For many, this might be archaic, but the truth is it is growing in popularity.  Wood heat is efficient, eco-friendly, and cheap.  And for those like us, who cut their own wood, the price of heating the house is close to nothing.

We bought our poêle a few years ago and every autumn we look forward to lighting it.  It’s quiet, provides ambient lighting, and is more engaging than most television shows.

The lighting of the poêle signals an undisputable seasonal change.  Our evening chore of watering the garden is replaced by bringing in wood.  The nights fall early and day’s light dwindle.  Owls call not far from our window and the crisp night’s air unveils a magnitude of stars.  Wisps of smoke spiral up from distant chimneys and mixes with the smell of fallen leaves.  Autumn is here, our daily rhythm changes and life move to inside the house, around the poêle, light for the first time last night.

Autumn's Arrival

            After a brief reprise, autumn clearly announced itself this morning with its hollowing winds and overcast skies.  Autumn is a wonderful season here (hunters aside, of course), but it is quite different than the falls I knew in Chicago.  I loved the reds and yellows of the changing maple trees and the quiet calm of the early morning as I left for work.  Bright blue skies would appear as the day unfolded and the leaves poetically floated down to the ground.  Idyllic, I know, but there were days like that, even if they were rare.  I recall the other fall days too; the cold rain, bare trees, and hard frosts.  Those days announced the arrival of winter, and even though I grumpily scraped the frost off my car and waited impatiently for the heat to kick in, I look back with nostalgia on those days too.

Living in the middle of a forested mountain range, I expected the foliage to rival Vermont with its waves of color on an endless flowing landscape.  I was wrong.  Some of the trees here, like chestnut and popular, do change color, but most do not.  They are only small yellow specs in a sea of green and brown.  Some trees, like the fig, simply drop their dried leaves, and many others, like the white oak, do not lose leaves until the spring.  I get glimpses of color, but it’s something I search for.

The wind is another issue.  It almost sounds comical coming from “The Windy City”, but the winds here are ferocious.  Fall is a very windy season, and it is not uncommon to have winds at 100-110 kilometers per hour for days on end; that is, day after day of wind at 65 miles per hour, just 10 below a level 1 hurricane.  The wind whips through the trees, creating a tremendous amount of noise which often ushers me quickly back inside.  Everything here grows or is constructed with the wind in mind; the trees bend at an angle and no window faces north.  I didn’t know this force until I moved here and still cringe when the weather announces strong winds.

But, like I said, autumn is a wonderful season.  It’s the season of gathering, of preparing, and of harvesting the rewards of hard work.   It’s about change, transition, and acceptance.  Autumn does have something amazing to offer.  It shows what nature can do; the changing colors, the violent winds, and the adaptability of all living things.  And for that, I am still in wonder of the season.

The downside of Autumn

The tinkering of bells, the soft baying of dogs in the distance, the crack of a shotgun breaking the morning calm; yes, it is hunting season.  Hunting is a needed activity in the area.  Without hunting, wild boar and deer would decimate the vineyards and fruit orchards.  I’ve got nothing against the sport, but the problem I see that it is not treated as a sport.  Hunting season runs from mid-September to mid-January and any short walk in the summer months will reveal corn scattered on the side of the road or in particular fields.  The local hunters bait the boar and deer so they can be easily found later.  Sounds like shooting fish in a barrel, doesn’t it?

Here, hunters hunt in battalions so they can flush out a boar and often use the only road to the village as a parking lot and general meeting place.  Therefore, the gridlock of trucks must be moved before anyone can drive by and, what’s worse is when the hunters take their post on the road.  Then, when the traffic jam is finally cleared, they turn and watch us as we drive by, unaware their cocked and loaded rifle is pointing directly at us.  Did I mention the sign they hang to warn us of their presence?  It reads:

We hunt; we have guns; YOU be careful.

No, I’m not kidding.  I love autumn, but this is one element of it I can do without.

           

            The hunters also a very bad tendency of leaving a dog behind if it doesn’t return from the hunt when it’s time to leave.  Overall, if you’re not a boar, hunting dogs are very gentle, and after a long day of running after a beast as its master stands on the side of the road, it’s generally very tired and hungry too.  On several occasions, we have found one or more waging tails outside our door which suspiciously coincided with dinner time.  We’ve taken them in, but promised “never again” after too many times calling the hunter who promised to come get the dog in a day or two.  Yes, a day or two and rarely with a thank you.

            The second half of January has just gotten a whole lot more appealing.

Monday’s Leftover: September 18th

Monday’s Leftovers is a periodical series that recaps the weekend moments, the menu, the tasks, and the memories left long after the coffee is finished.

Menu:

Champagne: Marie Stuart, Brut - Grande Reserve

First Course: Great White Beefsteak Gazpacho “revisited” with Grilled Langoustine and Fresh Fennel

Main Course: Rabbit Confit in sauce Marchand de Vin, Cream of Potimarron, Sautéed Russian Tomato, topped with Potimarron Chips

Dessert: Yellow Raspberry Cake with Meringue Cream, Coffee

We’ve been wearing jeans and long sleeve shirts as the summer passed with little trace of the season, but September brought hot and humid weather that had us temporarily break out the shorts and sandals.  Family came to visit for the weekend, so all chores were put on hold to welcome them, and Christophe and I bartered for kitchen space in preparation of the meal.  They arrived as the Autumnal winds started to kick up and the smell of fallen leaves welcomed them.  The weather was still warm, but quickly changed.  The evening brought the promise of rain, which arrived sporadically throughout the night and continued through the next day.  The temperature dropped dramatically and open windows were quickly shuttered close. The warmer clothes shed for the last few days were re-found as we fronted the brutal seasonal change.  Autumn arrived overnight, unwelcomed with summer’s promised closure.