Yesterday was a really crappy day, weather wise. Grey, cold and pouring. It was the perfect opportunity to sit down with a good book. For a single afternoon inside the warmth of my own small house in New Jersey I was transported to the south of France with it’s impossibly clear light, stone buildings and centuries old traditions. French Dirt, Richard Goodman’s memoir about making a garden that would exist for only one season is a wonderful read. Short, just over 200 pages, it paints a vivid picture of people, a place and the birth and death of a garden. I am not a literary critic, so I simply say–read it.
Normally I don’t read gardening books just for pleasure–they’re work–but this one came highly recommended by Debra Lee Baldwin via the wonderful blog Gardening Gone Wild so I ordered it–thank you Debra, your tip gave me an afternoon somewhere else in the hot sun in a distant village and a garden when I was really in the rainy winter in New Jersey.