It's that intoxicating time again...

Every May when the wild thyme comes into bloom in Provence, I lose my head. Poor Denis can't drive 50 meters without my yelling at him to stop, leaping out of the car, and taking pictures or breaking off a few branches of farigoule, the local wild thyme. Then I get back in the car, calm for a few moments with my nose buried in the delicate pink blossoms. I breathe in their extraordinary mix of resinous, peppery thyme with distinct notes of lemon and lavender. This fragrance seems to tranquilize me...until I see the next splendid spot of plants. Denis, stop!...and on it goes.

To understand my bee-like attraction to flowering farigoule, you must know that thyme is my favorite herb; that being a native of the midwestern U.S., I'm used to coaxing a single plant through severe winters; that thyme when it is in flower is at the peak of its fragrance. The thyme you gather and dry when it is flowering will have much more flavor than any "fresh" thyme in plastic box from the supermarket purchased during the winter. Is your garden thyme in flower? Then harvest and dry it now!

In a book on the ecology of our local "white oak" (Quercus pubescens), I'd read about a superlative thyme lande--or moor--on the outskirts of the village of St-Etienne-les-Orgues,
only about 15 or 20 kilometers from our house in Haute Provence. I was determined to do my main annual thyme harvest there this year. Sure enough, we spotted this gently sloping, rocky ground, covered with tufts of pink flowers, from our car. Interestingly, a long hike I'd taken with my son Jesse last August had emerged in just this spot. But I hadn't paid it much attention, as during the dry season, it seemed rather desolate--almost desertic. Nothing was in bloom, and the thyme itself was in its drought-adaptive state: its leaves shrunken down, curled in on themselves (but not dry!), and almost purplish in color.


But now, not only was the thyme in bloom in every shade of pink imaginable, but a host of other wildflowers were as well. In many spots, the thyme grew intermingled with other plants, some of them aromatic, such as the perennial or winter savory or sarriette (Satureja montana) on the right in the photo at right. Sarriette will bloom in late summer and early fall and is the herb of preference for embellishing our region's superb goat cheeses.

Besides the sarriette, I found a species of sage which I haven't yet been able to identify, as well as the violet-blue spikes of meadow sage (Salvia pratensis), a highly adaptable perennial which is easy to grow in almost any well-drained soil (below left).


I love to "collect" wild plants by photographing them, and I added several new plants to my collection. One pretty little item had silvery white, felted leaves and scrolled inflorescences of small, melon pink blossoms. I was surprised to learn that this was Myosotis officinale, as I usually think of members of this genus--the forgetmenots--as being moisture lovers. I found a lovely little plant whose name is practically bigger than it is: Astragalus monspessularius. No more than 6 inches high, it had pretty compound leaves and swooping spikes of bright rose-purple blossoms (below right).







A superb perennial morning glory--Convolvulus cantabrica (below left)--was ornamenting the rocky gray soil with its funnelform flowers of dainty pink.





One of the reasons--beyond simple passion--that I pay so much attention to wildflowers is that I am educating myself about local ornamental native plants with an eye to developing the gardens around our house. With water in scarce supply, I plan to populate our landscape with as many drought-resistant natives as possible. Besides, what better way to remain faithful to the vernacular of this spectacular Provençal landscape?

One of the most peculiar wildflowers of our region wasn't in bloom yet, but the dried flowerhead from last year was still present, only now beginning to disseminate its seeds.

The carline (Carlina acaulis--right)
is related to the artichoke. This member of the thistle family is an emblematic plant of Haute Provence. The wide flat flowers have white to pink bracts, with brown to purple "tube flowers" in the center. The blossoms have no stems at all but are borne "sessile" (stemless) right at ground level. This plant is sometimes referred to as the "barometer" in French because in Haute Provence, it is customary to cut a flower and attach it over the main door of the house. In rising humidity, the tubes forming the center of the flower contract and close, while in dry times they open and lie flat. I suppose "hygrometer" would be a more accurate name. But at any rate, the blossoms can serve as a rough gauge to the approach of stormy weather.

Besides all the flowers, Denis and I quickly began noticing all kinds of old iron and glass debris mixed in with the stones. Spots like the one in the photo at left below made it
apparent that this area had historically served as a dump! I suspect that a big of scrounging and digging could turn up some treasures of a different sort (than plants) here! Anyway, Nature was busy transforming the unsightly traces of human carelessness into a floral tapestry. Here and there--everywhere!--I could see tufts of our ubiquitous Montpelier aphyllanthe (Aphyllanthes monspelliensis--photo below right) coming into bloom with its characteristic starry sky-blue blossoms. This tough, drought-resistant plant flowers for a good 2 months and provides an important source of fodder for our local herds of sheep (which don't, incidentally, like to eat

thyme). The aphyllanthe is also the nearly constant companion plant to our local white oak. I wonder if its appearance here is a sign of a progression toward white oak forest.

In spite of the intense aridity of this area, a low spot harbored a lovely stand of purple iris (Iris germanica var. florentina) that one sees all over Provence. These provoked Denis to confiscate my camera. He spent at leat 10 minutes capturing the perfect blossom.



Should you ever have the good fortune to find yourself in Haute Provence in early May, you can find my thyme moor on the D951 just southeast of the edge of the village of St-Etienne-les-Orgues. This is the departmental road that connects the village with nearby village of Ongles (about 200 inhabitants and two restaurants!). Look for this old abandoned chapel with its remarkable roof in lauzes of stone (seen below right from the back). Pull into the dirt path behind the chapel and start walking through wonderland.









Make sure to bring a basket and a pair of shears with you, for remember, this is a harvest outing! The entire year's thyme harvest depends on it. I don't think the drug-sniffing dogs at your port of US entry will confuse the wonderful farigoule fragrance emanating from your luggage with that of--well, other substances, do you?





Legend has it that if a young man hangs a bouquet of flowering farigoule over the bedroom window of the girl of his dreams, she is bound to fall in love with him. Well, you may not believe this is true, but I'm willing to bet it's a foregone conclusion that any girl would fall head over heels for the guy who did that. Call it French romantic silliness, the magic of Provence in spring, or a young bachelor's wishful thinking. Under the intoxicatingly pink spell of farigoule, love could burst into bloom!

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Products of Interest:
Average to dry soils--Meadow sage
Thyme--Provence strain