The name of our village, Eus, comes from the word ‘yeuse’ meaning ‘oak’ as this area was once richly coated in hardy oak trees. These ancient oaks have long gone.
Even before the monks of the twelfth century moved in to add their bit of destruction to the forests, the Romans and tribes who came before, felled the native oaks mercilessly, burning their timbers to beat metals for sale. Over the centuries they helped strip the land clean to build roads, strategic hill towns, stone terraces to cultivate vines, and to lay endless hectares of valley flats to produce grain, fruit and vegetables.
Add to that centuries of grazing horses, sheep and goats ripping out roots what has grown in place of that natural forest is this man-made scape, called garrigue: a mix of tufted, scrubby vegetation consisting of stunted oak and juniper bush, underbrushed with woody clumps of rosemary, lavender, thyme, and such like.
Not that it is unattractive, it isn’t. And on a moist gentle breeze it is headily aromatic. But it remains a constant and highly visible reminder of our ferocious need to consume. And more so now than ever.
We can drive for hours yet the hill vegetation remains fairly consistent: stunted garrigue. Also while we watch the valleys are currently being harvested of tons of nectarines, peaches, haricot beans, potatoes, pears, apples, grapes, figs, and rockmelons. To name but some of the produce on offer, this very month.
As with the wine on tap, we can stop and buy our fruit and veg direct from the producer out of practically any barn door or opened shed that backs off a farm on to a roadside pullout. These are often attended by Portuguese workers; and, as we can see the occasional temporary caravan parked in nearby fruit fields, we wonder if they are here for the season as cheap labour: fruit pickers and farm helpers. It certainly looks like that.
We have to be super-careful when we do stop for produce, as, not only are the roads narrow, but on both sides they are bordered by deep open inground canals, gushing with irrigation water. Even after the slightest rain, water plunges down these surrounding mountains where it is channelled under every hill top village path – you can hear it run as you walk—then it is diverted into these open irrigation concrete channels carved deep to both sides of even the narrowest roads. If our camping car landed in one of these ditches we would be trapped to our axle, and it would be no fun trying to get it out.
No matter how green the irrigated valleys, how high the mountains, how little rain is needs to bring water gushing down the roadside verges and all the uncultivated bits of land seem always to be dry, crusty and parched looking. A drought could wreck much havoc in this valley: could quickly cripple this local economy.
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| The shop owned by the Mairi is open most mornings |
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| Garrigue cover on every hill and valley |
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| Produce for sale everywhere |
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| Produce is often for sale at the local warehouse if you know where to look |
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| Water gushes down these hills |
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| Overseeing it all |
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| View from on high |
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| Lavoir under the arch |
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| Houses tumbling down the hill |
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