produits de mon exploitation
Last week, I selected a ride from my new “Toulouse by Vélo” book and
insisted we hit the road for an afternoon of calm, rolling lanes and pastoral
landscapes. With my limited language, however, I couldn’t really read
the entire introduction, where the authors warned about a road often crowded
with cars and lacking sufficient shoulder. And the part about how one’s calves
would surely be crying out after the very challenging hilly section. Toulouse
the city, flat as a glassy lake, hasn’t exactly demanded a lot of us in this
department.
So we set out and I was determined, because it really was pretty; but by
the time we arrived at our umpteenth steep hill we were all forced to dismount
and walk a ways. What began as a march slowed to a dawdle as we first noticed
wild raspberries, and then — mmm — figs.
one definition of Heaven
Figs have fast become one of my favorite things about living in this part
of France. Abundant and luscious, they are at every farmers’ market and marché; they grow all over the place; the owner of the store
round the corner has them on his counter and gives them away like candy. Le petit
garcon loves them too, and I love our shared passion.
I came to figs later in life, unexpectedly, in New Jersey. My then-copain
was the son of Sicilian immigrants who came bearing cuttings of trees from
their homeland, concealed in suitcases. Gino, his father, nurtured his fig tree
with great care and elaborate winterizing rituals. In New Jersey and New York, figs’ arrival in late summer and early fall is like a miracle. We would
sit on the swing underneath the tree, peeling our ripe figs and marveling at
each bite: the tree survived another winter, against the odds, and so did we.
un enfant
But here they are everywhere, thriving almost maniacally, in backyards and
on roadsides. It’s such a beautiful aspect of travel and cultural exchange: something
abundant, maybe taken for granted or even resented for its ubiquitousness in
one place can be scarce in another, and precious. I recall the jade and
rosemary plants I saw in California, growing like hedges, whilst mine struggled
to survive a Utah winter.
Since I take this blog Seriously I set out, later in the week, to conduct an
informal but rigorous study on the preponderance of wild figs, just to back up
my claims. I was a woman on a mission. I present my evidence.
along the Canal du Midi, the motherlode
les fruits de mes travaux
