Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
High summer meant hornets but also bounties of fruit. We discovered the joys of eating
berries directly off the trees. Ellie, who regularly refused fruit indoors, would happily posi-
tion herself inawell-stocked, shady spot andshovel fistfuls ofjuicy delight into hermouth.
We moved from cherries to early plums, blackberries, early grapes, figs, more plums and
finally the wine grapes. I made jam and compote until the shelves were groaning.
The market in Gardonne, our nearest town, every Wednesday and Sunday was held in the
parking lot opposite the
supérette
(minimart). It wasn't a beautiful market like Issigeac but
it was real. Most of the stallholders were local producers rather than resellers. Among the
producers was a strawberry man, and over the season he offered different varieties from the
earlyGariguettes tothelate Charlottes, succulent andflavourful,asfarfrombland,factory-
farmed strawberries as you can imagine. The melon man was similar, offering a superb mix
of melons in all manner of sizes, no doubt unacceptable to supermarkets, for tiny prices.
Matched with Parma-style ham, they made the perfect starter. Alongside the melons he had
piles of tomatoes topped with large sprigs of fresh basil that reeked of summer.
One late afternoon I rode the bike down to Gardonne to collect the car from the garage
where it was in for a minor fix. The vines on either side of the road were loaded with ripe
merlot, purple-black and velvety. The
vendanges
were getting close. A little further on, a
plum orchard engulfed me in its cool shade and rich fragrance. The air was heavy with the
smells of summer. I was in heaven.
BythetimeIdrovebacktoGarrigueitwasevening.Thecarbeamslitupthedirttrackand
the vineyards. There were no streetlights or sirens, just the shadow of a hare disappearing
into the brush. As I got out of the car the warm night air enveloped me in a dark embrace.
The huge sky, spangled with stars arched over me and I felt a deep sense of ease. It was so
familiar, so right. Despite living more sparsely than we ever had, not knowing if we would
be able to earn enough to feed our children, and the ongoing tension in our relationship, I
had a deep sense of being where I belonged.
A week later we attended our first Saussignac producers' annual tasting and dinner at
Château La Maurigne (pronounced 'more-in-ye'), a neighbouring vineyard. An old army
tent sparkling with lantern lights was set in the garden. Inside were seated our fellow pro-
ducers tasting golden wine from delicate glasses.
Thierry Daulhiac, the president of Saussignac appellation and in charge of the evening,
came over to welcome us and greeted me with the obligatory
bisous
, kisses. Thierry was
wiry and energetic, a winegrower who was a mechanical engineer at heart, farming land
where his family had tended vines for at least seven generations. He was open-minded,