We arrived back in southwestern France after a long day of travel, made longer as it was the end of the Easter weekend. A dry spring had the skies blue, the air warm. The purr of our gravel driveway comforted the fatigue, and as is our habit we went straight across the way to see Suzanne, whose loving embrace confirmed we were home. With in minutes she had us out in her garden, already thriving in perfectly ordered sections of green shoots and small growths.
She walked us directly to three rows of what we knew to be strawberry plants, low and yet already full in leafs. With a delicate hand she reached under the protective netting, the sole effort made to preserve as there is never any "drugs" on her plants, and cupped
la premier fraise. A light tug, a rub on her apron, we were presented this small perfect gift of which we each ate half, the deep earthy smell hitting my nose before the tart-sweet met my palette. She will eat these raw, make
confitures and tartes from now until the end of summer, because it is the time. And it began with this, the first one, as we stood in the late afternoon light.
Retrieving our small bags from the car, Katie and I went about opening shutters and windows to let in the air and birdsong. In little time Katie had pots of lilac and lilies of the valley placed in nearly every corner of the house, a greeting in each room you entered. We went about our separate tasks (turning on the water, pulling off linen covers, making the bed, etc.) before meeting again with a
pineau blanc on the terrace wall. It was good to be back.
(http://www.chez-gautier.com)
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