An American Provence

8. La Cheville (The Ankle) Incident

150 H I k I n g sun and the obvious religious metaphor. But at Sénanque this part of the church has to face north because of the narrowness and orientation of the valley—there was no room to turn the structure ninety degrees. While on the hike that took us to the abbey overlooks, we kept hearing chainsaws from various directions as we walked through the dense oak growth of the garrigue. It was a Sunday morning, and we wondered what was going on. We found out later that this is an area of intense harvesting of scrubby oak trees for making charcoal. Most of the charbonnières do this as a sideline to their normal jobs, so weekends are most convenient for collecting the wood. The Abbaye de Sénanque as seen from the path along the cliffs above the small valley. 151 H I k I n g One of the pleasant and interesting surprises about hiking in the Luberon region and the North Fork Valley is the similarity in the vegetation of the two places. I have discussed the parallel nature of the major ecosystems—the pines and oaks of the garrigue and the mesas. But the wildflowers and shrubs are equally related. A vibrantly colored blue flower caught our eye on the French hikes, and we realized that this flower is almost an exact replica of the blue flax found all over Colorado. There is also Colorado’s fireweed, which gets its name from being a pioneer after a wildfire. It was once referred to by its Latin name, epilobium angustifolium—a species very akin to the épilobe à feuilles de romain that grows on the many cliff faces of the Provençal gorges. Both places have lupines, wild iris, delphiniums, and common juniper. The ciste cotonneux reminds us of the sticky geranium in Colorado. This is just a sample of a list that could go on and on, reinforcing the idea of how close these two places really are in certain ways. But the best flower display by far in the Coulon Valley and the Luberon more closely resembles what one might see in the golden hills around the Central Valley of California. The field after field of red (not orange, as in California) poppies that lie among the orchards and vineyards scattered on the valley floor are almost too gorgeous to believe. From high up on the hills you see the nearly random patches of deep, vibrant red, like a kind of natural Jackson Pollock painting. The spreads of poppies often cover entire fields and are so dense that no other flowers are part of the scene. Finally, one of the critical (maybe the most critical) parts of French hikes is the lunch. The meal is almost always simple, 152 H I k I n g with bread (of course), maybe a piece of fruit, and often some local goat cheese. The most essential part, however, is a bottle of the local wine. This should not be a grand cru vintage that costs a day’s salary but rather a local, inexpensive one because all wine tastes like a grand cru drunk out in the open, sitting on a convenient rock after two or three hours of strenuous hiking and climbing. Just remember the corkscrew; glasses are optional. We love to go to the North Fork in the autumn. It just feels right to be there when the Gambel oak is in full chromatic splendor and the year’s crops are being sold in all the local markets. It is also time for the grape harvest and the feeling of being a part of the rich rural life of the place. One recent October we made our pilgrimage to the valley with hopes of eating, drinking, and hiking in the invigorating fall weather. On the drive to the western slope we started to encounter some clouds, fog, and a few flurries along the route just before we reached Crawford. As we approached Hotchkiss, the weather was turning nastier, but we had not planned on hiking until the next day anyway, so we had no real worries about taking to the trails—we would simply see what the next day would bring. We awoke the next morning to one of those sparkling, crisp, clear days that make Colorado Colorado. We decided to try the Crag Crest Trail up on Grand Mesa since...