18. Countryside Gardening and Remembering Majorelle Magic
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It started out as two short stories and ended up a bit longer than expected…..
Countryside Gardening
Inspired by every moment of Monty Don’s French Gardens and the luck of marrying a French man whose family owns a house in the countryside with enough land and patience for the creative freedom of an overbearing slightly controlling thinks she can garden Canadian who still can’t speak French (moi). Nico and I try to spend some time in this generational nugget of campagne a few weeks each year, it does not always work out, but for the last couple years it has been a nice respite from covid news scrolls.
An abundance of blackberries last summer:
As the birds get louder and the branches begin shuddering blossoms, I start poking Nico about what our plans for the summer will be. This year, it is looking like we will finally be able to visit Canada after a solid 5 years away and so our campagne fever dream might be put on hold until next year. Wishing to pay it some homage, here are a few moments from the last couple years:
During the majority of covid lockdowns, Nico’s cousin was able to stay there and build up a variety of makeshift potagers and test out different herbs, such as this beautiful flowering Echinacea.
And these courgettes with their tender blooms:
Harvesting hazelnuts from the trees on the property, which you can watch fully on my instagram if you wish:
Last year, I worked on a collaborative project with Artists for Plants and planted a European version of an Azotea - an elevated garden. Looking back, I would probably design it a bit differently, possibly hanging it elegantly from the trees in an effort to look more avant-garde. Azoteas traditionally house edible herbs used for medicines and cooking in the Chocó region of Colombia. I sourced a few plants from a local nursery and brought a few (a lot) with us from Amsterdam in the car, much to the bewilderment of airbnb hosts along the way. Some of the plants included: pineapple sage, amaranth, yellow and white radish, olive herb, white sage, cavolo nero, and more.
Upon leaving, due to fear of storms, I placed the top tray of plants delicately on a sheltered part of the garden next to the house. Surprisingly, some of these plants thrived, with my mother-in-law mailing over some harvested verveine and enjoying the radishes when they were ready. Since it did not frost up here this year, I think it should have survived winter in the Midi-Pyrénées. Whomever visits there next - I am expecting a picture, even if it is devastating.
Harvesting grapes and their leaves for snacks and yebra à la Uncle Nicky (Nihmeys know):
Foraging bouquets:
Last summer we finally unlocked the elusive Angelique’s Gardens, a.k.a. a woman named Angelique who grows the best vegetables in the area at her home. She opens up shop twice a week and Nico and I learned early on that it’s best to arrive 20 minutes beforehand and shoot the shit with the retired folk who actually arrive half an hour before she opens. Best way to learn the local gossip while pretending to read from the stack of agricultural magazines on the outdoor table. Cheaper than any supermarket (my soul dies when I walk by an Albert Heijn or Carrefour, truly), and with the flavour only achieved by labour of love, we visited her twice weekly to stock up on provisions. If any of you are ever in the Figeac area - DM me and I will send you the coordinates since I do not believe she has an actual Google Maps location.
Literally nothing beats the perfect sun-ripened tomato, sliced open and drizzled in a bit of olive oil, pinch of salt. Maybe a leaf or two of basil if you so desire but really these hold their own. My love for these heirloom babies knows no end, and my eternal odes to them might possibly revisited again during the height of this summer. Angelique grew a few different types, every time we visited we asked again what the names were but forgot the moment we hopped back into the car. They are easily decipherable if you are a wannabe tomato nerd like myself but I’ll let you click that way only if you wish.
I spent most days making tomato confit to serve with every meal and trying to regrow them from the sticky seeds I saved from the pulp.
Remembering Majorelle Magic
For years the Majorelle blue haunted my dreams. It’s vibrant hue coating my Pinterest boards, and sandy paths of cacti gardens filled my garden goal daydream quota. A few years ago, finding some dirt cheap flights and a bit desperate to avoid any family drama (love you guys) for the winter holidays, Nico and I flew south on the worst Ryanair flight of our lives. We left Elvis in the care of three separate people, each feeding him twice a day and not communicating with each other, we came back home to a very fat cat with abandonment issues.
Landing in Marrakech we divided our time between medinas, tajine, Essaouira, fish markets, Sidi Kaouki, and the best corner of kefta restaurants I have ever visited. We spent Christmas Eve strolling through an organic cheese farm, meeting the owner who had actually studied at the University of Ottawa randomly enough. Afterwards we tested every single wine at one of the few vineyards in Morroco, this one is to die for.
It was a magical holiday, made even more magical by capping off the trip with a visit to the Majorelle Gardens. I am a huge fan of Pierre Bergé, although I am not sure why, the biographies I have read said he actually was not a very nice person. Possibly it is due to his and Yves Saint Laurent’s impeccable taste and surrounding creatives with even better taste, enter Jacques Majorelle and Madison Cox. I truly do obsess more about women garden designers and I promise, in the future I will include more stories of fascinating garden artists in the feminine realm. But I felt I should mention these two keepers of the Majorelle land.
Despite the million tourists trying to grab a shot without any other tourists, as per usual with insta-worthy spots, it really is as impeccable as it looks in the photographs. The vibrant colours and deep textures of the garden, haunted forever by the ashes of YSL, it is an aesthete’s dream come true.
For those unfamiliar, the Majorelle Gardens are a small piece of botanical gardens located next to the YSL museum in Marrakech. Only a portion of the gardens are made available to the public, allowing the rest to thrive with a bit of wildlife and elite flair. It was first curated by French artist Jacques Majorelle in 1923 and the cubist villa it contains designed by architect Paul Sinoir was added in the 1930s. Majorelle and his wife Andrée Longueville, lived there until their divorce in the 1950s. The property was purchased by YSL and Bergé in the 1980s.
The shade of cobalt Majorelle blue was given his namesake due to his love of using it freely across the gardens, though it was inspired by the shades of Berber homes and coloured tiles Jacques spotted across Marrakech and its outskirts. This garden was a financial strain due to its required upkeep and Jacques opened it to the public at one point in attempts to fund it, but ultimately had to abandon the property during his divorce.
YSL and Bergé took great care in restoring the garden upon purchasing the property, turning it into a foundation and ultimately a museum to immortalise YSL’s impact on the fashion world. Following Bergé’s death a few years ago, his later in life companion, landscape designer Madison Cox, now oversees the operations at the Majorelle Gardens. But Cox has been there, advising garden restoration and design since the 1990s from his throne in Tangier (possibly my favourite city in Morocco - that story will be saved for another time). This article makes me want to hop on a plane and visit again soon.
Walking through the gardens, again, despite tourists, is an amazing experience, which I would definitely repeat. It contains over 200 varieties of plants including more than 20 types of bamboo. There is also a Berber museum to discover, filled with indigenous artwork, jewellery, clothing, the first of its kind in Morocco.
If you happen to be a guest at the Four Seasons Marrakech or La Mamounia Hotel, you can visit the Villa Oasis, YSL’s private residence, which is still in tact and buried in the restricted section of the garden. Beautifully updated over the years by French decorator Jacques Grange (who worked on numerous residences owned by Bergé and YSL) and American architect Bill Willis, Villa Oasis was originally built by Majorelle in the 1930s. I thought I had seen, when researching our trip years ago, that you could stay at the Villa Oasis, but for a debit-inducing amount. However, this past week when I tried to find proof of that, I could not, so maybe this was never the case. One can dream.
Some things nourishing me this week:
Finally nailing coq au vin after failing and giving up a few years ago. I combined three recipes, marinated overnight, lit the whole thing on fire with whisky and accidentally set the stovetop ablaze. But truly, it was delicious. I recommend following up with the same dessert I did: Avocado Chocolate Mousse and a Nancy Meyer movie marathon while Eunice raged outside and Nico judged me for watching It’s Complicated for the third time this week.
New growth on a couple of my citrus trees, I think it’s the recent abundance of sun (kind of) and frequent fertilizing, despite hearing you shouldn’t do that. Elvis has peed in this one so many times, knocked it over and shattered the terracotta, but it is still coming back to life. Plants are amazing, cats not so much.
Sitting in a restaurant in Amsterdam without a mask or anxiety about covid regulations for the first time in a hundred million years. If you are in Amsterdam, go to A Volo for lunch and order whatever Francesca feels like making that day.
Valentine’s love <3
I hope all of you affected by Storm Eunice Friday night and apparently Franklin upcoming on Monday? So great…I hope all of you were safe and sound through the chaos. I was up a bunch with Lulu who did not appreciate the howling winds, our neighbour had to carefully axe through one of her beautiful trees that had fallen into another neighbour’s yard and nearly toppled the wooden fence, and we woke up with a tarp? tent? reusable garbage bag? covering our front balcony. But feeling lucky to have a safe home to hide out in and no real lasting damage on our front. So much gratitude to you all and I’ll see you next week!
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Feeling generous this last bit of February winter slump?
