Friday, August 12, 2011
Actually, as I'm sure you guessed, a lot about the Pyrenees made me happy. But the gardens. They floored me.
Flowers. Veggies. Juicy little currants. Winding pathways and the fresh smell of turned earth. The buzz of bees. The smell of parsley after the rain.
Our lovely hostess Noemie allowed us to roam her garden (which included - by the way - a magic apple tree). We had handfuls of fresh herbs on everything. Zucchinis overflowed our baskets. A head of lettuce as big as this tabletop appeared at our doorstep. We ate beans as they were, because who needs to cook food like that?
But I couldn't stop there. No, no, no. Noemie's garden only piqued my curiosity. Did everyone in France have a garden like this? And so I found myself peering over walls and through hedges - camera in hand - to see what everyone had in their gardens.
I tried not to look too creepy.
And I discovered that - oh yes, yes, yes. French gardens are expansive, and well-tended, and productive.
Inspired enough to reclaim my own garden bed. To dig organic chicken poo into its dry, crusty earth. To carefully, gently, set amaranth and lettuce and broccoli and pea seedlings into the newly-fertile, watered soil.
(I may or may not have spoken French to them.)
Voilà. Bon week-end, my friends.
What makes *you* happy?