Monday’s Leftovers: August 21st

Monday’s Leftovers is a series that recaps the moments of a Sunday lunch along with the memories that mark the day.

Summer came without warning.  The mild days that filled June and July were quickly replaced with cloudless skies, still air, and temperatures soaring into the 90s.  I enjoy summers, but the drastic change took me by surprise.  Tired from a sleepless night, I woke up late and found Christophe in the kitchen waiting for me with coffee in hand.

“How about something simple for lunch today?”  He asks once I shook the grogginess off.

“What do you have in mind?”  I ask.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all taken care of,” he replies with a smile.

With morning chores completed, I meet Christophe in the garden.  We sit down with a beer in hand under the shade of the hazelnut and pear tree.  Getting up, he finds a rock and some ripe hazelnuts. 

“I don’t know how many tons of these I’ve eaten since I was a kid,” he says.  Taking the rock, he strikes the nut quickly on the table and the shell falls to the side.  A mat, pale brown nut is left in the wake.

“Here”, he says smiling.

We shift around as the sun passes through the sky trying to keep in the shade.  Christophe lights the barbeque and I feel the still air get even hotter.

“The sole won’t take long to cook,’ he says.  “I also made taboulet.”

“Awesome,” I think to myself.  “I don’t have to turn the stove on.”

We sit down for lunch, once again shifting to keep in the shade.

“Do you want to go to the river to cool off?”  Christophe asks.  “I know a gorge we can swim in that has a waterfall.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say.

Pointing across the valley, Christophe shows me where it’s located.  “It’s kind of a long walk, but I promise it’s worth it.”

I agree enthusiastically and dishes are put aside until later so we can start out right away. We pass under gigantic ferns taller than us, across rocky outcrops, and pass the white birches and the ancient chestnut trees that dot the view from our terrace.  We stop a few times for water and to admire the view of the village from across the valley.  I dripping in sweat and every once in a while Christophe promises “It’s not much farther now.”

I’m exhausted, soaked to the bone, and am starting to doubt the existence of the gorge. Finally, ninety minutes later, we arrive.  Surrounded by towering trees, a cascade jets down a fall into a pool followed by another and then another.  All my doubt and frustration vanish as we stripe down to our swimsuits and jump in.  The water is glacial, but refreshing and all memories of my hot, sleepless night melt away.

View of the village half way to the gorge.