As I contemplate writing about the awesome cigales (cicadas) of Provence, I’m concentrating on the sounds around me that I hear consistently every day or in a particular season. Since I live in a small town, the noises surrounding me are different from the ones in a city. Before we moved, my ears acclimated to the sounds of traffic, sirens, children playing, dogs barking in back yards, and doves.
Now, I hear birds, frogs, trains, dogs, wind in the trees, rain, distant interstate traffic, and silence. My ears tend to get used to my surroundings. I’m glad. Otherwise, the trains would render me sleepless!
On our road trip through France in July, we continued our journey from Andorra to Carcassonne and on into Provence to the village of Rousillon. On a narrow country road, we heard a loud, constant raucous, a rhythmical din, a roar as bold as any train. Actually, we thought it was a train or a roaring river hidden behind the trees. After rolling down the windows, my daughter suggested it was coming from a thousand insects! Mesmerized by the sound and the possibility, we determined to find the source. No, not by traipsing through the woods. We waited to ask our questions, but not for long. Rousillon gave us all of our answers without asking anyone.
The cigale was on many postcards and posters. A postcard explained that the cigale (cicada) is the symbol of Provence, France. We began to see them everywhere, except alive in the trees. In high summer (in July), the insects perform their symphony for hours on end. To me it sounded like a harmony of millions. I guess it could have been. I loved every minute of it, and as with anything heard for a period of time, I became used to it and less disturbed. But I wanted to know more, because the cigale had made it into art forms like soap and paintings and sculptures.
Here are a few facts about these amazing insects of Provence:
- There are about 15 species of cicada in Provence. The provençal cicadas live for four years.
2) The males make the noise to attract females to the tree where they are sitting.
3) The cicada is one of the world’s loudest insects, recording sound of up to 120 decibels.
4) Cicadas are on pottery and fabric, in paintings, sculpted, immortalized in song and novels and drama.
5) In Provence, there are restaurants called La Cigale, but the insect is not a delicacy on the menu as in other countries.
I hope you enjoy these little tidbits about the cicada. I was pleasantly surprised to find an insect receiving so much attention.
Do you have cicadas where you live? I do but nothing like those of Provence.
I love finishing one stack of books and starting another. I always have another group to fill my hours and captivate me with some interesting plots and historical adventures. The books I share here are all print copies. I have another list of eBooks and audible books. Needless to say, I’m never without a good read.
If there ever was a planner, I am one. I believe half the fun of a trip is the planning. But on my recent trip to France, my daughter and I had two nights we had to insert to travel from the Mediterranean coast of Italy to Paris. The only planning was a map and mileage. One night in Geneva, Switzerland and one in Dijon, France. We were tired after leaving the mountains of Switzerland and needed to rest. Little did we know Dijon would become one of the highlights of our trip. Unexpected. Charming. Interesting. Perfect.
One of my favorite things to do is to find a tower to climb. My daughter acquiesces to my wishes with a smile. Tour Philippe Le Bon was erected in the middle of the 15th century and offered a wealth of historical information about Dijon as well as spectacular views.
suspense, and time-slip novels including Catching the Wind and Chateau of Secrets . Three of her novels have won Carol Awards; Love Finds You in Liberty, Indiana won Best Novel of Indiana in 2010; and The Black Cloister won the Foreword Magazine Religious Fiction Book of the Year.
The search for the statue called “Melancolie” began when I received an emotional, moving text from one of my sisters about a statue in Geneva, Switzerland with a gripping image of alloys meshed together to form a model of a human being suffering in the midst of great loss. The image itself was mesmerizing as I understood the gaping void in the chest to symbolize emptiness, complete loss. Ever since we as a family (especially one of my sisters) lost a 19-year-old (son, nephew, grandson, brother), each of us has struggled in our own lives with melancholy, this feeling of pensive sadness or sorrow, gloominess, misery, depression. The passing of a loved one is not something forgotten or set aside. Grief takes many forms. Occasionally, something like this statue puts a new meaning or image on the loss.
I didn’t know if we could find the statue or if we were meant to find it. I just knew excitement and purpose in the mission. My thoughts were far from melancholy and sorrow. Sometimes God puts things in the pathway for us to find as signs and reminders of our loved ones and of His love. This was one for me. As our trip had only just begun, we had two and a half weeks of travel before Switzerland even entered our minds. The mountains of France, Spain, Andorra, and Italy posed unconquerable, much less Mont Blanc and the entrance into Geneva.
I had just conquered my mountain, Mont Blanc and didn’t know what kind of energy I had for exploring Geneva. After all, this was really only a stopping point on our way to Paris. As a rule we knew if we wanted to see anything of this city, we had to bypass a rest and hit the city in order to see a few sights. Quickly we found Geneva to be expensive and a bit confusing. Once we found the old town we relaxed and wandered. Still there was nothing we HAD to see. We found our bus stop and waited for our transportation to our room.
On the Quai du Mont Blanc, there are three parks. And in one of those parks, “Melancolie”. My heart was racing. Why all of the sudden did I HAVE to find the statue? Because it was so close. I needed to touch it. For my sister and for me. As we searched park #2 with no luck, we turned and my daughter said, “There it is!” Across the street in a park by the lake.
I cried as I approached it, as I’m crying now as I’m writing this. On a bench with his (her) back to the lake, the figure is bent over with his arms on his knees, head bowed, with a huge empty circle where his chest and heart should be. “Melancolie.” I stared at the heartbreaking image of grief and emptiness while a peace filled me. Peace mixed with the power of love. A mother’s love. A sister’s love. A father’s love. Love!
In July on vacation with my daughter, I included a two-day research option in Bordeaux, France. Family oral stories relate that Louis Lestarjette (the male protagonist in my Revolutionary Faith Series) sailed from Bordeaux to South Carolina around 1770. Also, one oral source remembered seeing Lestarjette on a storefront in the city. It was a place to start since my internet research had come to a halt.
Another family story places Louis’s mother under the guillotine’s blade, beheaded during the French Revolution. I didn’t want to find her name on a list, but I knew I must research it. At the Conciergerie in Paris–the prison that once housed thousands of people facing executions during the Revolution including King Louis and Marie Antoinette–a room has been designed with all of the names of the executed on the walls and in a hands-on computer data base. We searched and found no Lestarjettes. I’m glad. Yet, people all over France were executed outside of the Conciergerie.
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