When Nature Bites Back

I'm once again doing a re-blog, but have full intention to be back on Monday.  Work in the house ran into an unexpected hiccup in the form of a broken water pipe.  Need to say, it needed my attention along with a bucket, a mop, and lots of rags.  Details to follow soon, but until then, watch for these in the garden.

Orignal post July 1, 2011



Ever reach down to pull out a weed in the garden and think you’ve just got bitten by a viper?  If so, then you know about stinging nettle, or ortie, as it is called in French. It grows in the region and some has found an unwelcomed home in our vegetable garden.  I’ve never seen it before, so I was very unpleasantly surprised when the weed I unearthed bit me back.  I found out the little hairs that cover the plant act like tiny hypodermic needles and injects chemicals into whoever touches it and that is what causes the burning, screaming, swearing, and oh, yes, blistering.  Christophe chops it down each year with an industrial size weed-wacker, but it keeps coming back.  For those who are crazy enough, certain varieties of stinging nettle can be eaten painlessly, but I’m not willing to take that risk.  We have, however, have found it to be a good fertilizer.  The weeds ferment in water for two weeks, are removed, and then the green mixture can be diluted with water for occasional use.  It does work, but the smell of the fermented mixture is not for the weak stomached.

Stinging nettle: a new experience for me, albeit, an unwanted one.  It makes me pine for the poison ivy summer filled days.  Oh, how I miss thy.

Pleasures of the Season: Line Dried Sheets

This post is initially from Jum 15, 2011. Given what's going on around here, I'm lucky to even get to the computer.  I'll explain more later, but enjoy one of my favorite things about living in sunny, Southern France: year round line dried clothes, and more importantly, lined dried sheets.

 

“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.  In some cases, the season is quite short, other are longer, like the post below.  The posts are sometimes food related, sometimes not, but highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

Up until last year, we did not have a clothes dryer.  This is nothing special for the region; in fact, most people in Southern France don’t have clothes dryers.  Those who do are English.  Most of the year, we can dry our clothes outside, but we were getting fed up having our living room filled with drying laundry on rainy spring days.  So, we finally broke down and decided to buy a dryer, and we quickly discovered our living room is much bigger than we thought.  We were thrilled.  In the course of a single day, we could wash and dry our clothes just like much of the civilized world.  This was great until we tried one thing: sheets.  Sure, they tumbled softly in the drier and no longer cluttered the laundry basket just like everything else, but something was missing and it took me several turns in the dryer to figure it out.  They no longer had that outdoor smell -  it’s not even a smell, it’s more of a perfume.  I can never really say what it comes from, but I’m guessing it’s from all the blooming flowers and trees and it is clearly more pronounced in the spring and fall.  I don’t get that when I put the sheets in the dryer, and ‘Mountain Breeze’ scented fabric softeners don’t even come close to it.  It sounds crazy, but I really, really love that smell.  I love the day I change the sheets and get excited about going to bed early.  I even plot out my day so I can.  I take this small thing as a luxury, even though I’m sure many people would see it otherwise.  It is a lot easier to simply put things in the dryer, but I’m willing to work a little more for line dried sheets.  Don’t get me wrong, I am still thrilled with the dryer, the clutter free living room, and the almost empty laundry basket.  I didn’t think I would revert back to line drying anything, but the sheets convinced me; line dried sheets really are a pleasure of the season even if it means stepping back out of the civilized world momentarily.

Greater Expectations

New Potatoes no bigger than golf balls.

It doesn’t look like we’ll be bringing home the wheel barrels of potatoes that we happily found ourselves with last year.  Half of our crop is already done.  We planted two varieties of potatoes, Charlotte and Rosabelle, and we are discovering the Rosabelle potato plants are sensitive to mildew.  They’re already done growing, even though it’s 3 to 4 weeks earlier than last year.  We always dig some up early and enjoy “new potatoes”, but this year’s crop will solely consist of them.  Potato plants end up wilting away by mid to late summer, signaling it’s time for us to dig to them up and see what we’ve got, but it looks like this is not the year for us to stock up on potatoes.  The Charlotte potato plants are still growing, so there is hope, but until then, it looks like we’ll be feasting on small new potatoes for some time.

It doesn't take a trained eye to see what plants are the Rosabelle and what plants are the Charlotte potatoes.

Cool Stuff We Found in the Dirt

I’ve always dreamed of finding some hidden treasure buried deep in the dirt; something of value and something with a story to tell.  I didn’t grow up near the sea or the ocean, so finding a hidden pirate treasure was impossible, but I still imagined that I could.  I dreamt up some far-fetched story of how the treasure chest would make it to suburbia and somehow not catch the eye of anyone until I came along.  I remember finding a fossil when I was younger and thinking I was great explorer.  That is why I liked the film The Goonies; it built upon that fantasy and took it a few steps even farther. 

As we are clearing the field I wrote of the other day, we are finding a lot of things, no gold, but some pretty cool stuff.   None of it is ancient or of real value, but there’s a story behind each thing, even if we don’t know it yet.  I have to leave that part to my imagination.

Here’s a quick look:

This looks to be some type of harness; it’s heavy and properly made of iron.  The pieces were found in different parts of the field.  I imagine an old mule shrugging off the pieces on his very last plow before he collapses from exhaustion.



This could be part of the harness too, but this is hand forged.  Its surface is bumpy and irregular.  Since it is hand forged, it might be older than the harness.

A bottle.  It stands about 4 inches high and has verre perdu or “lost glass” etched on the bottom.  Like the old 8 pack of Pepsi, glass bottles required a deposit.  Verre perdu dates sometimes after deposits were no longer used and before recycling was common place.  It is now sitting on the chimney mantle holding three roses.

Another bottle.  It looks like a 7-Up bottle and it too has verre perdu etched on the bottom.  This bottle is about 6 inches tall.



Bones; more specifically, animal bones for the morbidly curious.



A small pail.  It’s been crushed, but this looks like something used on a farm.

 



Some funky glass pieces.



L’épierrage



The rock pile as of June 20th.



The rock pile on May 10th; notice the large vertical stone is longer visible.



L’épierrage (French, noun): To remove stones or rock from the soil.

That is what we are doing: l’épierrage.  We are transforming a field that hasn’t been cultivated in over a generation.  The parcel is hot, very dry, and the dirt is compacted down from years of neglect.  The field had to be cleared, fenced, tilled, and then tended to; we’ve been working every spare moment on it for over a month.  Up until now, we were in a fight against time as rising temperatures would soon make the land too hard to till.  We made it, but we are still in the “tending stage” before anything else can be done.

Part of the “tending stage” is removing the rocks, more specifically, slate rock.  Our garden was once filled with them and Christophe meticulously removed and built a terrace wall 6 feet high and 30 feet long.  Now, it’s my turn.  So far, we’ve removed over 3 ½ tons of rocks, one bucket at a time.  Christophe thinks this is one of the hardest, most tedious jobs in agriculture, that is, expect le déssouchage.  That means to dig up tree trunks once they’ve been cut down.  But I knew that already, I did that before I started on the rocks.

Rocks are removed one bucket at a time.

Cheese: Chaource

Chaource

Given the abundance of cheese France produces, I’ve decided to tackle the subject once a month in a series of posts that bring some of the lesser known cheeses, (at least outside the France borders) into focus.  Some cheeses have a complicated history which I try to boil down to what makes them unique and notable, and others simply developed from “farm cheeses” made to be consumed where they were produced.  Either way, “Cheese” gives me a chance to explore one of the gastronomic delights of France and justify my excursions to a cheese monger as “research”.  And the research can be oh, so grueling…

Spring and summer are usually the season for fresh cheeses, particularly those made from goat or sheep’s milk.  Many cow’s milk cheeses are better in the fall and winter months, but one cheese I’ve had is ideal for summer: Chaource.

Named for its village of origin in Northeastern France, Chaource’s first noted history is in 1531.  One legend notes that monks from the Abby de Pontigny taught local peasants how to make it.  Originally destined to be consumed on the farm it was fabricated, Chaource acquired its notary during the 19^th Century when cheese connoisseurs would resell the cheese in the local markets of Paris or Lyon.  

Exclusively made from cow’s milk, Chaource takes long to fabricate and is aged between three weeks and two months.  It has had the title AOC or l’Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée since 1970 which means it has a controlled designation of origins and must be manufactured within a certain region.  Chaource is cylindrical in form and is fabricated in two sizes: petit (between 250 and 380 grams) and grand (450 – 700 grams).  It has a very thin eatable rind, is extremely creamy, and develops a slightly hazelnut flavor as it ages.  Produced in the Champagne region, Chaource logically is paired with Champagne or other local wines such as Chablis or a Rosé.

The Last Day of School

As a child, I remember waiting, with great anticipation, the last day of school.  The wait until that day was exaggerated by “the last day countdown” which always seemed to stall before finally dipping into the single digits.  It generally consisted of going to school for an hour to get my report card and then riding home on a school bus full of over joyous hooligans.  I remember enthusiastically throwing open the back door and running down the yard to play.  Two months of freedom with nothing more than lightning bugs and evening rounds of ‘Kick the Can” ahead of me.    

As a teacher, May always flew by and June arrived in a flurry of paperwork.  End of the year activities flooded the schedule and an occasional movie was popped in to keep the kids entertained.  There was not enough time left to correctly pack up my things and clean the room.  At the last minute, things were thrown into the closet haphazardly, and keys were handed over in a flurry as the staff merrily walked out the door.  Calm awaited me once home with two months ahead of me that begged not to be scheduled.

The end of the school year always brings back a wave of memories.  It’s a special time and everyone’s got some memory of one year or another, but it’s the idea of having the whole summer free that is the driving force behind the excitement.  The whole summer.

Ahh, the poor French kids: they don’t get out until July 5^th.  That’s right, July 5^th, after the 4^th of July; after the sparklers and bottle rockets and one more special night to stay up late.  It’s the hurdle that brings us into the second part of summer; the part where some people start to think summer is almost over.  Today is June 15^th; American kids are running through sprinklers, chasing after the ice cream truck, and taking swimming lesson.  Some kids have been out already for an entire week!

July 5^th is three weeks away, three long weeks.  I’m so glad I’m not a French kid.

Moving into the Last Rounds of Planting

One of four crates of tomato plants waiting to be planted.

The garden: it’s all I seem to write about lately, but it really is somewhere where we spend a lot of time.  I planted the potimarron and butternut squash last week and we are moving into the final rounds of planting for the summer.  So far, spring has been pretty cool and that delayed earlier planting, but the tomato plants our neighbor has given us have gotten too big to ignore anymore.  Christophe planted them all this morning and this weekend we will finish with my seedlings and the rest of the garden.  The “rest of the garden” also comes from our neighbor, who grows everything from seed.  Apparently, she has such a green thumb she can make anything grow just by willing it.  Thanks to her, our garden will soon have all different varieties of peppers, zucchini, eggplants, cucumbers, and pumpkins.  All in all, the garden consists of hundreds of plants, a somewhat monstrous undertaking.

In the past, we used to plant everything in one day.  We would wake up early, get the plants from our neighbor, and start right in on the garden.  We worked throughout the day, but we often didn’t finish until after dark and we would drag ourselves back to the house and collapse once inside.  We didn’t do it this way by choice; Christophe used to work in a sawmill far away and returned home late and exhausted; there was no way he could have tackled even part of the plantation on a weekday night.  As for my part, it was my first few years here.  I never had a garden larger than a kitchen table; I was overwhelmed and unsure.  I didn’t want our neighbor’s hard work to go bad just because of me.  Christophe wouldn’t have let me anyway; even though the work is long and exhausting, there is a satisfaction in looking back at a job well done, and he revels in that moment.

We still have that moment, but thanks to a few changes, we’re able to spread it out over a few days.  We’re still dirty and tired at the end of it, but at least we’re enjoying it and the garden better for it.  I know we are.  So, this weekend, we’ll do the very last round of planting for this summer. I don’t know how many plants are awaiting our attention, I imagine a lot, but I’m pretty excited about it and will finally be able to look back at our completed work without squinting my eyes through the twilight.



Christophe planting on the upper terrace.



The (Unknown) History of the Garden

The vine

The other day, near the strawberry patch, Christophe spotted something a bit peculiar: a vine, as in a grapevine.  We didn’t plant it and grapevines just don’t blow in with the wind.  It was planted there many years ago and most likely, was part of a vineyard.  This is the first vine we’ve seen, so it’s funny that is would finally decide to show itself in a garden that has been cultivated for over 10 years.

We don’t know the history of the all the land we own, but this is a clue to a parcel (or lot) we know little about.  Currently, it is part of vegetable garden, but at one point had a different proprietor than the rest of the garden.  The land is poorer and rockier than the rest, which indicates it was never cultivated previously as a garden.  We’ve seen a fair number of vineyards, some with tremendously rocky terrain, which adds to our speculation.  There is an old stone wall dividing the garden in two, which was once used as a property line.  Parcels of land where divided from generation to generation which explains why part of a garden was from one owner and part was from another.  The garden itself is made up of several parcels; property lines are never rectangular, but run along ridges, water sources, or forest edges.

We have met several old inhabitants of the village who shed light on some of the forgotten history.  Many attest to seeing a garden on the other side of the dividing wall, but none have ever spoken of a vineyard where the vine was found.  We’re going to leave the vine, not necessary for what it will produce, if anything, but for what it represents: history, with hopes that one day we will find someone who can explain it to us.

View of the garden with the stone dividing wall. Old inhabitants of the village recall a garden on the other side.  The vine is growing in front of the water can.  (The bushes are black and red currant bushes.)

The Truth About Planting

What the plants look like after planting:

What we want the plants to look like right away:

What we really got:

Fruits of Labor

Taken in July 2006.
 This is less than half of the garden, which extends past the stone wall and over doubles in size.  Only part of the upper terrace can be seen.

This is the time when things start to get busy in the garden.  Some of the garden is planted, some already needs weeding, and some, like the strawberries, is already giving fruit.  This is our goal, but it means I have to be prepared for making jam that night, and sometimes I’m not always up for the task.  That’s life with the cycle of a garden, and while sometimes it means making jam late into the evening, it also means having a plethora of things to keep us busy and bushels upon bushels of fresh food to eat.

Besides having great produce at our fingertips all summer long, the pleasure of working and accomplishing something with our own hands is something to find pride in.  We like watching the garden grow due to our hard efforts, and believe me, things from Nature here don’t come easy.  Forget the romantic idea about Southern France, not all of it is a cake walk.  There are lavender fields, botanical gardens, and some of the best honey you’ll ever eat, but there is also the daily reality of life in a Mediterranean environment.  The dirt is rocky and poor.  The sun beats down hard and days are long and hot – and there is no air conditioning in a 600 year old house.  We water the garden in the evening so the plants get the most out of it, and the watering the garden is all done by hand – when there is water, that is. 

The work is hard, but we do it willingly; we don’t need the garden to survive.  We do it because we want to.  We want to feel satisfied after a long day and see the fruits of labor.  These fruits, which we conserve to get us morally through the cold and windy nights of winter, are why we toil and do what we do.  Some have asked why we make things so difficult when there are easier routes: don’t mend a stone wall when cement will do; don’t build a fence with string will suffice; don’t grow a garden in a land so hard.

Making jam after the sun has already set is not always my idea of a fun evening, but it is time well spent.  I see the fruits of my labor and I get to go to bed happily knowing it will be there on the table in the morning waiting for me.  I have accomplished something, and I also get to join in its spoils.



This is one of my favorite views of the garden.  It's taken fron a wall on the upper terrace.  The hoses seen are not used to water with sprinkers, but rather to fill up the zinc tub seen.  We plunge watering cans into it and water all the plants by hand.



Monday's Leftovers: Garrigue

1st course with Fennel Sprouts

In France, Sunday lunches are sacred.  They are a time for family and friends to gather together, put the work week on hold, and come back to the table to the things that inspire.  Monday’s Leftovers is a periodical series that recaps those moments, the lunches, and the memories that are left long after the dishes are done.

One of the amazing things about where we live is what it offers botanically.  We literary walk out the door and find seasonal uncultivated cooking herbs.  Most of these have pretty short seasons, so we try to make the best of them when we can.  These Mediterranean herbs are called Garrigue.  They grow wild and are only found in dry, hot Mediterranean climates.  They can’t be found just over the crest since the micro-climate changes dramatically.  For lunch, Christophe used thyme flowers, rosemary, and fresh fennel sprouts.  There are numerous species of thyme that grow locally, and while most are available throughout summer, the one used has eatable flowers that bloom for a short time before summer’s heat kicks in. 

Menu:

Wine: Domaine de Pezilla, Chardonnay

First Course: Salad of Coeur de Sucrene, Sautéed Cucumbers, Tomato Coulis (from last season’s garden) with Fresh Fennel spouts, collected immediately before serving

Second Course: Thyme Flower and Rosemary Marinated Grilled Steak, Tomato Coulis, served with Roquette Spring Salad (cousin to dandelion greens)

2nd course with Thyme Flowers and Rosemary

Happy Mother’s Day!

Yes, I know Mother’s Day was two weeks ago, but I have a confession: I forgot.  I called my mother two days late, but I stand behind one defense:

Mother’s Day in France is not on the same day. 

I did not have Hallmark commercial in front of me, nor television ads telling me to send my mother a bouquet of flowers.  I somehow even sidestepped every internet mention of it, so I completely forgot about it – until it was too later, or shall I reiterate: two late.

Mother’s Day in France is this coming Sunday, June 3^rd.  It has American roots, which goes a little like this:

The concept of Mother’s Day was imagined by writer Julia Ward Howe in 1872.  The idea built stem and then in 1907 a teacher by the name of Anna Jarvis asked for authorization to organize a day to honor mothers.  In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson made it official and declared Mother’s Day to be on the second Sunday in May.

The idea of a “Mother’s Day” was brought over with American soldiers during the First World War.  It was acknowledged in 1950 by French President Vincent Auriol.  Later, General Charles de Gaulle moved the date to the last Sunday in May, unless it coincides with Pentecost, which is a national holiday.  When this happens, Mother’s Day is moved one Sunday back.  Thus is the case this year, placing it in the month of June.  So, not only does it not fall on the same date, sometimes it doesn’t even fall in the same month.  I know I’m still wrong, but I somehow feel justified.

So, allow me to be two days early in wishing my Mother and all the Moms out there, a very bonne fête des Mères!  The flowers should arrive shortly.