in search of a wall

we are just starting to think about packing up here (we leave in two weeks), so today i paged through all the books into which i had diligently tucked leaves since our august arrival. i spread them across the dining room table, and said, “there must be something i can do with these.” from across the room, steve said, make wallpaper. so i did.

assorted pressed leaves from languedoc, france

2020 vision

i am feeling optimistic about 2020. partly because i like the symbolism of numbers. 20-20. perfect vision. clarity. the long view. focus. insight. a room with a view. i’ll take more of all of that in 2020, along with more of your company. thank you for being a part of another year of STILL blog.  with love, mary jo.

broom and vine leaf; autignac, france

et tu asparagus?

after months of gingerly handling sawtoothed briars, blackberry canes, and thistle stems, i reached for this gentle-looking asparagus fern, which i felt a little bad for, in the way that you feel bad for the charlie brown christmas tree, and like wounded dog you’ve taken pity on, it turned and bit me! i don’t know if you can see it clearly, but those little bristly branches, which back home are soft limp fronds, are actually thorny here. really, languedoc? asparagus? i can’t even touch asparagus?

wild asparagus: autignac, france

art and agriculture

i am in france with my husband, a food lover, which is in many ways a wonderful combination, although things can get a little food-centric around here, as a result of his boundless enthusiasm. that, i will admit, is not much to complain about, but it is sometimes too much, when i would rather be walking the countryside noticing the infinitesimal daily changes of color in the wild scrubland around us, or working on a new composition instead of wiping the kitchen counter after one of his passionate culinary leaps. on the other hand, what i do have going for me is the fact that art and food are never separated by much, here in the land of food, and art, and food-as-art. today’s exhibit: ail rose de lautrec. rose garlic from lautrec, which not only sports the obvious name of a great french painter, but is, almost intrinsically, a work of art. a beautiful rose streaked head of garlic, from which all but the final layer of papery husk has been removed, so that the tight pink cloves can be seen through the last translucent layer of skin. these are then tied into braids like sleighbells, and sold in fall markets, with a shelf life that lasts through to the following spring. they happen to taste strong but not overpowering, and as a result, i think of them as a sort of minor agricultural masterpiece, combining taste, tradition, terroir, art history, and simple beauty. three or four of these cloves will feature tonight at our table, in a daube de boeuf, or provençale beef stew, and there i am again, talking about food when i wanted to talk about art. still, the smell coming from the oven after five hours . . .

rose garlic/ ail rose du tarn (ail rose de Lautrec)

definitely thorns

in plant morphology, thorns, spines, and prickles are hard, rigid extensions or modifications of leaves, roots, stems or buds with sharp, stiff ends, and generally serve the same function: physically deterring animals from eating the plant material. in common language, the terms are used more or less interchangeably, but in botanical terms, thorns are derived from shoots, spines are derived from leaves, and prickles are derived from epidermis tissue. who knew?

thorny winter branches from the garrigue