what’s that

believe it or not, steve and i did not know what a fig tree was the first time we went to the languedoc. it is hard to image that now. but it is true. even though we were veteran travelers, and regular visitors to france, we had never spent enough time in the mediterranean to become acquainted with the fig tree. so the first time i saw one, in jean-luc’s garden, with its uniquely lobed leaves and dramatically veined undersides, i thought it was one of the more exotic trees i had ever seen. little did i know that it is ubiquitous there, and so resourceful that it is almost an unwanted invasive, growing our of every nook, and cranny, and hedgerow. it’s like mulberry here in minnesota. growing unwanted along every sidewalk and alley, and dropping its staining fruits on parked cars and sidewalks. ubiquitous or not, i’m still in love with fig trees. and the incongruously moist and fleshy fruits they manage to produce our of dry and stingy soil.

figs

allée of plane trees

the allées of plane trees that line the roads in and out of towns in southern france are one of my favorite things in the world. although sycamores are plane trees’ north american cousins, we don’t really have sycamores in the north, and so i find everything about these trees extraordinary–their patterned bark that looks like camouflage, their majestic size and long lives, their broad maple-shaped leaves that create such refreshing shade, and of course, the whimsical pom-pom seeds that dangle from their branches in fall.

plane tree seeds (Platanus)

en route to autignac: day 4

the mediterranean isn’t really a desert but it is very dry. agaves grow in people’s yards, occasionally sending up center shoots the size of trees. in the courtyard of the house we rent, next to the olive tree, near the grill, just outside the garage that used to be a family winemaking cave, there is an aloe plant, that, despite its reputation for healing powers, aims these needle sharp spikes at us at the height of our middles, and has created many more wounds than it has healed.

aloe tips

en route to autignac: day 3

there were so many things we didn’t know when we first arrived in the languedoc in 2010. we could more or less recognize olive trees with their green and silver leaves shimmering in the wind, but we were a few visits in before we realized that there aren’t species of “green” olives that are different from other species of “black” olives. rather, every olive left long enough on the tree will turn from green to black eventually, like sweet peppers and chili peppers that start green, and eventually mature to red. to those of you who grew up with olives as neighbors, this will sound laughably ignorant. but, to a northerner who had only seen olive trees in photos, or through car and bus windows, it was entirely new…

olives in varies phases from green to black

en route to autignac: day 2

olives define our region, not just culturally and culinarily, but, quite literally, geographically. the shortest and most accurate definition of the mediterranean region is, simply, wherever olives grow. that includes israel and lebanon, spain and italy, tunisia and algeria, greece and turkey, libya and egypt, and, of course france, from the spanish border north along the pyrenees, across the languedoc coast, past the rhone, through provence and the azure coast to italy.

olive tree leaves