Lavender Harvest
It’s late July and has been exhaustingly hot like much of the world these days. Because I water every morning, I’ve become aware that the tall French lavender wands that fill my raised flower bed have spilled over its sides. Water and heat have made them heavy with bumblebees atop purple flowers fully popped open, and ready to be harvested. Not a day to waste if I was going to have a glorious crop of Lavender ‘Grosso’ to dry for sachets to keep drawers smelling fresh and closets moth free, as well as glass jars of dried lavender calyxes for a surprise ingredient added to pies, cakes, and muffins.
With scissors in hand and a laundry basket lined with a white pillow case, I headed out to the garden to harvest my lavender while it was still cool and I was alone with my thoughts. Before long, the perfume emanating from the abundance of lavender blossoms set in motion a journey of remembrance—one still fresh after a trip to the south of France over a quarter of a century ago. Such is the power of lavender and the timeless beauty of Provence.
From my garden in California’s Sierra Foothills, I slipped seamlessly back in time to the day I stood awash in sea of lavender fields harvested by monks at the Abbey Sénanque (founded in 1148) where it remains tucked peacefully into the Luberon Mountains. Later that day, I traveled to the mysterious spring-fed source of the Sorgue River in the lovely town of Fontaine du Vacluse. There I dined with a small group of writers at the Café Lou Fanau at the edge of the crystal clear Sorgue—my mind still filled with images of the ancient Abbey and its impossibly lush mounds of lavender.
Next, my thoughts wandered to Les Baux, a perched village in Provence lying on a natural embankment of the Alpilles Mountains—a parallel range that sprang up from an ancient seabed under the combined pressure of the Pyrennes and the Alps. Limestone sediments deposited in the shallow sea gradually lifted up, forming the plateau upon which this ancient village stands. In the tourist district of Les Baux, I found shops selling hand painted pottery and baskets of lavender bouquets—tall wands of lavender like those I was busy harvesting in my own garden.
My thoughts then returned to the task I’d begun that morning, and I found my basket was full. While daydreaming, I’d harvested my entire lavender garden, leaving a few wands for the bees to turn into honey. My lavender harvest is now drying on a clothes rack in a dark space with air circulating to help keep the color of the blossoms from fading.
Back inside, I’ve found a recipe using lavender in Robert Kourik’s book, The Lavender Garden: Beautiful Varieties To Grow And Gather. The recipe is one chef Tess McDonough served at Sonoma Valley’s Kendall Jackson Winery. Her “Lavender Lemon Shortbreads” made from butter, sugar and flour call for two teaspoons of lavender sifted in with the flour, with a few flowers saved to decorate the cookies after they’ve been baked and allowed to cool.
From memories of lavender fields in Provence recalled while harvesting my lavender bed, I’ve been inspired to try this lemony lavender shortbread recipe with roots in England, Scotland and Ireland. It’s one I plan to share with my longtime friend Larry and his Scottish wife Heather. I will also share this story with friends Pat and Gary who harvest lavender from their garden in Los Angeles every summer to make sachets that they share with me. Because lavender is about remembrance and deeply rooted friendships that last a lifetime.
