these little temporary homes have me thinking about home, and what makes a home. our daughter is “coming home” here tomorrow after her first quarter at college. i think we have achieved something like home here in southern france, even though we do not own a house here. we feel a part of things. i think our fellow villagers think of us as belonging in some way that goes beyond tourism and vacations. steve says he’s his best self here. and yet, we could live here for the next twenty years, and we would never be from here. we would always be “les estrangers.” so…where is home, when you’ve fallen in love with more than one place on earth? is it where you live at the moment? where you are originally from? where you are your best self? where you feel most secure? where you are most at ease? where you are most inspired? where your most formative memories were made? or wherever your closest love ones are gathered around you laughing? where do you call home?

five nests from the vineyards

autignac, languedoc, france

“hang in there” might just be my motto for 2017. i think i’ll make a print of this image and tape it somewhere where i’ll see it often, to remind myself of the toughness and tenacity of these tendrils. it’s going to be a rough re-entry for me this time. far worse than any previous trip. we arrive home right after the inauguration, and in the middle of winter. it’s going to be…a challenge. i hope these syrah tendrils will remind me to be flexible and creative, and reach for support when i need it.

p.s. happy solstice. i love this day, and all that it signifies. make an offering, light a candle, feed some wildlife, and be grateful to be alive.

syrah grape vine tendrils

autignac, france

the quince this leaf was attached to was ripe a month and a half ago. the green of the leaf has slowly disappeared as if it were dripping out the stem. soon it will be all brown, and winter will be here. on the bright side, winter around here means more than brown quince leaves. it also means duck fat, and slow red wine stews in the oven all afternoon long. i can take it.

quince leaf

autignac, france

our first visit here in 2010 was full of wind and cold weather in december and january. but because it was 30 degree (F) cold weather, and not -25  degree cold weather, we told ourselves, and anyone who would listen, that we were from minnesota, and that this was still paradise. no, no, said our neighbors. this is terrible weather. this is not normal. we mentally patted them on their behatted heads, and said sure sure, sunny december and january days without jackets, we believe you. of course that’s normal. fast forward six years to december 18, 2016, which featured a 50 degree (F) sunny day in béziers, where we drank a coffee on a terrace against a sun-warmed stone wall, in the broken shade of a thriving palm tree. ok, citizens of autignac. you were right, and we were wrong.

palm branches

béziers, languedoc, france

i was bent toward the stone wall near where we park our car in the village, and our neighbor asked from across the street if i was interested in renting the house on the other side. no merci i said, and showed him my camera. ah, he said, and we both smiled. i’m not sure i could have explained, even in english, much less french, that i was photographing this perfectly cracked agave leaf, and that in my head leonard cohen was singing, there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in, and that i was maybe not very far away from tears over the beauty of the agave leaf and the sadness of no longer having leonard cohen on the planet. my neighbor lifted his hand. good continuation of the day, he called, and walked back into his house.

scarred agave leaf

autignac, france