There is a line on the front of the church that indicates the height of the 2002 flood waters. In front of the church is a small paved area that, based on my personal observations is designed specifically to house a large bonfire fed exclusively of old vine wood, a choir singing carols in French, a table behind which a kind man is selling vin chaud and galette de rois, and a fireworks dislplay that would give any small American town a run for its July 4th money. At the back of the paved square is a pedestal and an ornate iron crucifix overlooking the Gardon valley and the garrigue spreading out in front and beyond.
We only noticed the sign by chance... taking the kids on a quick swing through the village square in hopes of seeing a few more Christmas lights for Ellie to scream out... "look... I see some lights!!" There was the sign. Tied to a signpost... promising fireworks at the church in town... with a "concert, galette de rois, and boissons." Clearly, not to be missed.
So we drove up, and saw the bonfire in front of the church and saw the gathered crowd, and thought... "wow... we're really not going to be able to have a meaningful conversation with any of those people." We actually thought about turning around and heading home. Thankfully, the spirit of adventure took over and we parked the car and ventured towared the gathered mass.
Immediately, our assimilation was given a boost when Ellie spotted one of her classmates, Lucy, walking with her family towards the church. They hugged and then proceeded to walk the rest of he way to the eglise hand-in-hand... allowing us the cover of walking in with other people. As we walked in, the "choir" was singing some sort of carol and Ellie had already spotted another friend... or should I say, he had spotted her. We soon found our friend Amy -- the mother of Ellie's friends Owen and Noah, had a cup of vin chaud, and were settled in for the festivities.
This being the first Sunday after the Epiphany -- that twelfth day of Christmas, when the Magi reached Bethlehem to view the new born King -- it was a time to celebrate. A few "Jingle Bells" and "Rudolphs" (in French) later, it was time for the fireworks. The village spared no expense... being fortunate enough to have a Choir Director who was apparently trained in pyrotechnics and soon we were all huddled behind a metal crowd-control barrier whilst the choir director ascended the 17th century church in rock-climbing helmet and harness to queue the celebratory display. Much... *much* to our surprise, the fireworks were legitimate professional quality and enough to send Ellie's hands to her ears and to make even the adults take a step back in awe. Of course there might have been a slight aspect of self-preservation involved as several of the explosions seemed as though they were aimed directly at us.
It wasn't quite the same class as a Boston 4th of July but given the imminent risk of immolation it certainly was on par in terms of excitement and adrenaline.
When the final ember had faded we said "bon soir" to Ellie's friends and headed off into the cold, bright, full moonlit night. As we drove home and the immense orb crested the hillsides to the East, casting a noonday light over the vineyareds, Cole, looking out his East-facing window, announced, "Ball! Ball! Ball!"
Yes Cole, that is like a giant ball in the sky... isn't it? I only wish I hadn't left my camera home... so it wouldn't be left to me to remember the image of a curtain of fireworks erupting above and below the twin-belled steeple of an ancient French church on a hillside over a deep river valley, or the sight of an impossibly giant moon rising though the orange-hueing, light bending smoke of a thousand fires burning bright and warm in so many Provencal chimineys on a cool January Sunday night.
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star.
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