Walking along the streets in the neighboring Provencal village, I was happily surprised to find an olive tree surrounded by pansies. The pink facade added a prefect touch.
Midday and the shutter is half closed. Shutters in Frnace speak a language all their own.
Almond Green or "Amande Verte" is a popular color for shutters in Provence.
A classic 1800s Provencal water jug. These were carried out to the well then wrapped with a large wet dish towel "tourchon" to insulate the water jug keeping the water cool.
A piece of glazed pottery .... over an hundred years old and intact, usable, practical ... antiques are recycling at its finest.
The hike up to the clock tower gave me this perspective.
Tiled roof tops called "Tuiles."
..."ERIE" is on the end of many French words. This one has me stumped. And as soon as someone says what it means, I am going to say, "Oh Course!"
A facade with the old advertisement painted on it. Shopkeepers often had their business on the bottom and their living quarters in back or in an apartment above.
Up above the city, looking out from one church tower to another.
The foothills of Provence. Garlaban in the distance.
Marcel Pagnol wrote stories of his childhood memories of these foothills.
Stories that echo the same sentiments, weave the same scenerios of family, life in a small town and living in Provence... Where Pastis, boules, and the blue sky pave a road ahead.
I wanted to ask the man above if he sold wine. But then thought, he might think I was flirting and ask me up. As I walked away, I thought I should have asked.
Looking up at the stone clock tower with a clock face that I would love to hang in my house.
Can you imagine waking up to that chime!
The facade next to the town hall, called "Hotel de Ville".
The massive, century old, olive pot, now used as a plant holder.
I love the old facades, I love how the paint is peeling, and the old sign peers out. I love how things are left as is, given history a chance to show its face. I love how France has the "look" without trying. I love how the look has lived, weathered, become, and is. I love the roots it lets me feel, how it shows me a soul.
The sounds of running water from natural sources, not pumped in water. Fountains that speak. Fountains that people have gathered around and measured the seasons of their lives by....
Running water a source of daily life we taken for granted.
Old streets were I imagine life being lived.
Were Santons Nativity characters are believable.
Imagine these on your key chain. Yes, iron keys like these, that open many a front door in France.
Yet another thing I love, keys, locks and doors that don't change with the mood.
Just alittle tour and some of my thoughts as I walk around the neighboring village.
What do you love best about where you live?