Another morning in Provence and the sun is shining as I contemplate the day before me... empty, free to fill with whatever I wish. Such riches have I!

How can life seem anything but teeming with possibility? Knowing how fickle fate can be, I promise myself to seize this day and live it well.

Sunday Drive to Loumarin

The drive from Apt to Loumarin takes you up and over the Luberon Hills, through a deep limestone gorge, and down to the flats of Aix-en-Provence. It's a winding, twisting narrow road; very picturesque and somewhat thrilling to drive. Motorcyclists love it!

Sign pointing the way to Bonnieux...memories of pizza Savoyarde!

One more curve in the road...

And Loumarin appears.

The Chateau

L'eglise

Someone, from somewhere, unmistakably the south of France.

Strolling through the main place of Loumarin.

Café Culture

The end of a delicious lunch... omlette roquefort, salade, rosé, café.

Then, a short walk about the village.

The Village of Saignon, where I sip my morning café créme

and read the journal La Provence.

The owners of Les Claparedes, the place where I am staying, have transformed a former lavender farm into a charming vacation rental property. Out buildings that used to house animals or farm equipment now house tourists such as myself.

A Stroll Through Les Claparedes

Original Farmhouse

La Petite Maison (where I'm staying)

La Petite Maison (back)

Garden

Garden Entrance

La Potager

La Borie

Drive Leading Out

Bye Bye

When I look outside my cottage windows, I see lavender fields, scrubby brush, and the undulating rounded peaks of the Vaucluse mountains in the distance. I also see this horse cart which was once used in the harvesting of lavender.

This is a photo of the cottage that I am calling home for a few short weeks, with my trusty Golf TSI looming in the foreground. Why is it that European cars are so much more of a pleasure to drive than North American vehicles?

In two short months, the entire area surrounding Les Claparedes will look like this.

A heady, tranquilizing scent of lavender will fill the air, the sun will be heavy and hot, and a million bees will be buzzing away, gathering lavender nectar for their hives. Lavender honey is heavenly.

The place where I am staying is called Les Claparedes, which translated means a rocky, arid plateau and indeed, this is so. The property sits high atop of the Luberon, an ancient mountain range that defines the geographical borders of Provence. Les Claparedes was, at one time, a thriving lavender farm with fields stretching as far as the eye could see. Lavender flourishes in dry rocky, sun-drenched limestone soil and the plains of les claparedes provided the perfect environment. Today, many of the fields lie fallow but directly outside of my cottage window are rows upon rows of lavender plants being warmed by the warm Spring sunshine.

Today is my birthday and there is no other place that I would rather be than here, in Provence. There are loved ones I wish were with me but I carry them in my heart.

As with the wisteria that is coming into full bloom, may the year ahead surprise me with many unexpected moments of beauty and joy.

There's a big claw-foot bathtub where I am staying so last night, after an arduous day of travel, I had a long, hot soak then opened my suitcases and started building my little nest, finding places for things. The bed looked inviting so I cozied up with The Gurnsey Literary and Potatoe Peel Pie Society, read for a short while, then turned out the light and fell quickly asleep. I didn't wake until early morning and only because a dog was barking its head off. I dozed on and off for another couple of hours and by then, the sun was fully up, beckoning.

I went out to the kitchen and there was the resident calico cat, waiting at the glass door, crying out. She's a real talker so is good company for me.

The day before, I had stopped in at LeClerc (grocery store) to search out ingredients that would duplicate my eating habits (crazy thing to do in France, a food mecca, but I love routine), so I made myself a pot of tea, spread cream cheese on ryvita, enhanced that with a bit of cherry jam, took a cup and milk and the whole works outside and had breakfast en plein aire... the forsythia and grape hyacinths and rosemary and cherry trees are in bloom as are a ton of small wild flowers that dot the property. I looked out into the clear sky, gazed upon the beautifully textured stone walls, drank my tea, and listened to the song birds call to one another. In the distance, the Saignon village cloche rang out the hour. That's when I knew I was back... back in Provence.

Cherry orchards in full bloom dot the countryside like cotton puff balls,

light and airy and humming with bees.

After a two year hiatus, I have finally returned to Spring time in Provence.