The Longest Day of the Year In Provence

the summer solstice, the fruits of the season

Artwork: The Basket of Apples, Paul Cézanne

The longest day of year moves slowly in Provence. It’s been one week since we traveled south from Paris and it feels like the moment we arrived we fell under the spell of the sun. She is our metronome and everything slows to her cadence—the blood thickens and the constitution readies itself for the dense, sugary fruits of the season. It’s no wonder that so many stalls at the market are made of fat—cloudy green olive oil and aged saucisse; they must live alongside the orange flesh of the summer melon.

Market days in Provence

Midday—a time when there is no other god than the sun—offers nothing but the sounds of the cigales in the fruit trees and bodies slipping into cool water. Perhaps the birds find the heat too intense as well, for their song is put away for the day. My son asks for a snack plate and I feel sleepy as I carry the tray down to the pool: fresh apricots, cucumber, fat orange carrots, more baguette, dried beef, and green olive tapenade that elicits a sense memory so strong I feel like searching for lost time. But I’m not tired, really, just warm to the bone and deeply at ease, a feeling you get from living by the seasons of the sun. A ripeness, I suppose.

In the evening we drive up the windy hillside to Gordes, as magical as they promised it would be, where the town is getting ready for La Fête de la musique. Expecting something grand and American, perhaps, we can’t find the party at first and so we sit down at the edge of the walled city and have cold rose and cheese. Eventually, we discover the fête, tucked behind the city and shaded by trees and the walls of the famous chateau. My son navigates to the playground immediately and runs and slides with children who have no need for a common language. Families crowd around tables drinking cool things and eating from beautiful paper boxes. Even the chicken curry is served cold on a day like today. Our hot bodies sway to familiar songs until late in the day, as even the sun can’t let go of this feeling.

The particular magic of Gordes on the longest day of the year

Thanks, as always, for reading. More on Provence, Paris, and Mallorca coming soon.

xo
Meghan