THE LANTERN by DEBORAH LAWRENSON

In her new novel Deborah Lawrenson tells us two histories entwining, taking place on the same old farmhouse in the Luberon region, but decades apart. There is a young, foreign couple that just met and bought the crumbling farmhouse. They spend a long, hot summer trying to fix the place while the young girl starts to wonder if they really know each other that well. And there is a French family, trying to make a living on the farmstead in the beginning of the 20th century.

Critics praise and rightly so Deborah Lawrenson’s way of conveying colours and sounds, flavours and smells of Provence. She also gets behind the scene, past the « touristy » stuff, the cliché images of Provence and shows the life after the visitors who only know it’s summery face are gone but which I know so well. The quietness of the streets after the summer’s buzz, the mistral howling on the hills and the old houses creaking, the frosty mornings the sun tries to warm with its hesitant rays.

But I must admit that what touched me most personally reading her book is the research Deborah has done about life and labour, history, customs, hardships and poverty of the country in early 20th century, before it became the playground of the rich and famous, the Parisians and the foreigners.

If you like a good thriller that keeps you awake the whole night you will do well with this book. Or if you like to immerse yourself in other cultures and know about other countries, it will do the trick too. In any case it’s a good read and gives a good image of Provence.

The Lavender Distillery

A guest post by Deborah Lawrenson

Small lavender fields are woven into the landscape all the through the hills around the town of Apt. These are not the huge commercial concerns of Sault and Valensole, but smallholdings tended in the traditional way. When the sheaves of mauve flowers are picked in July, the distilling begins, sometimes in the field itself, and a heavenly scent is carried on warm evening breezes.

It was this perfume in the wild that provided the first, tentative descriptions in the notebook that evolved into my novel set in Provence, The Lantern. The book tells two interweaving stories, one in the present and one in the past, of the inhabitants of a crumbling farm hamlet in the Luberon. At its heart is a mysterious fragrance, Lavande de Nuit, created by a blind perfumer.

I tried to imagine what it would have been like to work the lavender fields seventy years ago, when the process of picking and extracting the essence would have changed very little for centuries. Then I discovered the Distillerie Les Coulets, near the village of Rustrel. As you arrive down a narrow country track, time stands still, and you enter the world of Jean de Florette and Manon des Sources. Although Pagnol’s enduring stories were set further south towards the coast at Marseille, the same rural idyll really does seem to linger in every stone and corner.

An old still, once used to extract the essence from the lavender flowers, stands proudly outside the farm. This is a tiny, family-run business: Christian Borde & Fils. The lavender is grown in the surrounding fields and brought to an unassuming barn for the magic of scent distillation to begin.

The water in the still was bubbling merrily. At the table, one of the much older women known to us simply, namelessly, as Madame, was thrashing the head of a sheath against a box to break off and collect the flowers. Then with one deft sifting motion she showered the ground with any remaining remnants of stalk and leaf and an even more intense cloud of lavender scent exploded into the warm air.

From The Lantern

The alembic still is heated. Then, when steam has risen through the lavender flowers it is pushed up through the pipe that comes out of the top, and then down through the cooling cylinder full of cold water that coils round and round. At the end of the process, the liquid contains the essence of the flower, its oil and scent.

With this essential oil, the Distillerie les Coulets makes different strengths of lavender preparations, from the pure essence which must be diluted – with almond oil, perhaps – before it comes into contact with the skin, to soothing massage oils that Madame Borde makes up and labels in her workshop, which is barely larger than a garden shed.

It’s a truly charming enterprise, and the resultant natural oils have a deep and sweet, almost honeyed aroma, a world away from synthetic mass-produced fragrances.

In the lavender fields…

 

Men with pitchforks were throwing the stalks and flowers up like hay. Another stood on top of the shaggy load, shouting. Then, when it seemed not another petal could possibly cling on, and the mauve tassles were dripping in every direction, the order was given to sway off to the corner where the alembic had been pulled in by a donkey.

From The Lantern

More lavender, and a glimpse further into the past, can be found in the crossroads village of Coustellet, best known for its Sunday morning market, stands the Musée de la Lavande, the lavender museum, where these evocative old photographs from the 1920s and 30s hang on the walls.

It was back-breaking work, on an arid landscape and under an unforgiving sun at harvest time at the end of July. There were no mechanical aids for the cutting and gathering of the stems, just a hand scythe and a cloth bag worn over the shoulder. Here’s the kind of clothes the women would have worn:

I was given a bag, a small sickle and a starting place. Although he asked my name and nodded, he did not introduce himself. For several days afterwards, until I got to know some of the other girls and exchange information, he would remain simply the man in the waistcoat.



‘Watch out for the bees, and the vipers,’ he said.


‘Vipers?’


‘They hide under the flowers.’


I put on my apron and pulled my cotton scarf up over my head. My eyes were already hurting from the relentless sun.


Nervously, I began. It was tiring work but I was keen to prove myself. The bag grew heavier and bumped against my legs. The scent was heavenly, all around in heavy fumes, so intense that after a while it seemed to pulse.


from The Lantern

Musée de la Lavande: Route de Gordes (D2), 84220 Coustellet
For their website click here: http://www.museedelalavande.com/

INDIAN SUMMER

Mornings are already frosty but daytime is still very warm and lovely and the golden sun lightens up the atmosphere. I am a daughter of the Autumn, I was born in September. And I do love to walk my dog in the vineyards that are slowly turning red.

Je suis une fille de l'Automne, j'adore me promener dans les vignes rougissantes avec le chien.

NATURE IN PROVENCE: THE OLIVE TREE

What could be more symbolique of Provence than the olive tree, Olea europaea L. subsp. europaea? Of course it grows all over the Mediterranean region, but for me what the cypress is for Toscana the olive tree is for Provence.

I don't much care for the olive fruit on it's own but I use a lot of olive oil, so important to the Mediterranean diet, and I love to spread a true recipe from Provence,  tapenade, a paste that is a mix of olives, anchovis and capers, on a slice of bread. Delicious for a snack or an apetizer.

Our very young olive tree

Le symbol de la Provence: l'olivier.

A LOVELY SUNDAY AT ETANG DE BERRE

Dimanche nous sommes partis au petit port de Istres, au bord de l'Etang de Berre. On y tenait un marché aux puces nautiques. Encore une journée printanière et magnifique, à se bruler au soleil, à manger sur la terrace au-dessus de cette vue et admirer le ballet des bateaux à voiles dans l'eau.

Sunday we went to the small port of Istres. We visited a nautical flee market, soked in the sunshine of a lovely day, ate at the terrace over this vue and watched the boats dance in the water.