When a Book and a Holiday Beautifully Collided in Saint Montan

When I picked up Diary of a French Herb Garden by Geraldene Holt in my local Oxfam book store I had never heard of either the author or the village of Saint Montan.  It was the pretty cover as much as the premise of the book which drew caught my eye.  It had been languishing on my to be read pile for some months. At the last moment when packing for a holiday to Southern France I decided to add it to take it with me.

It is to my shame I had not come across Geraldene Holt previously.  She is a recognised authority on the food of France and has been described by the distinguished American author MFK Fisher as one of the only three English women she knows who can write comparably well about food – Elizabeth David and Jane Grigson are the other two.

I had been in the Ardeche a couple of days before I picked Diary of a French Herb Garden up again.  When I did I found myself sucked into this story of a year spent restoring the Jardin du Curé , an overgrown curates ancient walled garden in the medieval village of Saint Montan. I could barely put it down and probably quite annoyingly regularly read out extracts to my husband.

Month by month Geraldene tells the story of the love she poured into the soil and the plants as she carefully rebuilt the garden.  Her story is of a village coming together to donate plants and seedlings to fill the garden.  It is the story of labour and dedication to bringing back to life an important part of the villages history.  She charts her steady progress, detailing the challenges of the dry mediterranean climate. She describes the bitterly cold days of winter and the days of summer when it was so hot that gardening of any kind could only take place before 10 am and after 6pm.  Her words are scented with the fragrance of the herbs she grows and her devotion to the regrowth of this tiny forgotten place in the Rhône valley.

“Sometimes, early on a July Morning, the village is blissfully quiet.  The stream is mute, trickling slowly over the stones, in places disappearing from view to emerge in a small pool where dragonflies swoop low……….A bee arrives to collect nectar from the rosemary flowers.  I hear the distinctive screech of my neighbour Monsiour Reynaud’s metal gate as he sets off to the village for his daily baguettes”

I was fascinated not just by the garden but by her story of living in France, and the blissful picture of Saint Montan I had conjured up from her words.  I finished the book incredibly curious about this little garden but unable to find out little about it online. I knew I really wanted to try and visit it.   My husband is always up for a new discovery and I had talked to him so much about the book, it took very little to persuade him that with only the smallest detour as we headed west to Avignon we could visit Saint Montan and try and find the garden.

We drove deep into the french countryside approaching Saint Montan by quiet lanes lined with lavender fields and bees drunk on pollen.  We crossed a stone bridge lined with hot pink and rich red geraniums. Laid before us was a small village, with a river running through it. A few cafes and shops, but mostly a maze of narrow streets, tiny alleyways, covered terraces, pots of geraniums and hidden doorways.  On this Saturday in late June it was uncrowded, sleepy and hazy with sunshine.  Lunch under the shade of a parasol was irresistible as was the plate of charcuterie and  lightly dressed salad with some local wine we gratefully feasted on.

It took a little while to find the herb garden.  There is minimal signposting and it was through my memory of what I had read which lead us to it.  Eventually finding a small plaque naming the garden on the edge of the village, we crossed the small stone bridge to the entrance. We found the garden overgrown and disappointingly neglected.  The carefully created thyme carpet, the pink garden, the rose island, the exotic island.  All of these areas I had read about appeared lost.  We could not distinguish the different parts of the garden so lovingly created and beautifully rebuilt.  We walked up and down, stroking rosemary and running our hands through lavender. We knelt down to search for the flowers and the myriad of herbs I had expected.  Instead, what we found was a garden overtaken by time and the natural world.  We left the Jardin du Curé initially saddened by what we had seen. This was not what I had expected.

Feeling a little heavy hearted and discussing what could have led to the gardens demise we slowly wound our way up through the village towards the strong walls of the castle. As we walked, we noticed many of the buildings appeared to be undergoing some restoration, with many showing signs of building work.  We walked alone. It was after 2pm, the sun was hot and there was little signs of life until we rounded a corner to find a gentleman sitting on the steps of a doorway.  He approached us and quickly establishing we were English invited us into the cool of the museum he was guarding tucked beyond the wooden doorway.  Inside, he showed us model of the village depicting what it had once looked like.  He told us that the by the end of the 1960’s, the village was barely inhabited.  It was overgrown and had been progressively deserted and almost abandoned, until 1970 when the Association of Friends of Saint Montan was formed.  Since then, thousands of volunteers from all over the world have come to the village to  help rebuild it.  Traditional techniques and materials have been used so that it has been restored in keeping with its former glory. We asked him if he received much financial support or many visitors.  His response was a rather wistful no to both.  We bought a guide book, thanked him and made our way back down through the village

Geraldene Holt concludes her book by saying

“That I am not the proprietor of this French herb garden matters not a jot.  Indeed this aspect has enhanced my joy.  Working here has not been solely self gratifying, it has also been a shared pleasure, carried out for others with a result, that I hope, will survive for some time.  Creating this garden has been inspired by gratitude for the happiness that France has always given me.  My work has been quite simply a labour of love”

The restoration of the village just like the restoration of Jardin du Curé is a labour of love, and we were so glad to have found both.

We went in search of the herb garden but what we found was a beautiful French village, nestled into quiet countryside, surrounded by the scent of lavender.  We found a place that is loved and cared for and has known the work of thousands of people who patiently seek to restore it.  The evidence of this love is etched into the sun bathed walls and driven into the dry baked earth.  This is a village steeped in history, and Jardin du Curé however it now looks to us is a tiny part of that.

I was disappointed not to see the carefully laid out borders and terraces of which I had read, and run my hands through thyme and marjoram or pinch leaves of mint and rosemary, or look deeply into the garden pool. But, I am deeply thankful for the serendipity that allowed me to pick up this book all those months ago and to then unknowingly travel to the very place it was written about and for.  Saint Montan has gently lodged itself into my memory and my heart.

You might enjoy some of my other French posts

Chamonix in the summer

Trekking the Tour de Mont Blanc