Driving up to Imlil along the twisted road I become nostagic. The wild fig and caper branches growing out of solid rock give me a sense of place. I know soon that I will see Berber women tending their cows and young girls tending even younger children. The cows are always close behind, or ahead, depending on the temprament of the girl, or the cow. A halo of sticks bound to the old women's backs bend them low. The valley becomes more fertile and the stream more full of promise. It's coming from above. The Kasbah is full of old friends and often new. They want to talk. Everthing seems close to the heart.

spring morning's walk

White apple blossoms next to white snow on mountains~ green wheat with purple irises – girls walk with baskets of bread on their heads – the wood fired ovens bake not only the bread, but heat the hammam. Mothers and children come out from the hammam all clean with red cheeks. Heads are covered, mismatched patterns match stone walls and washing. Chickens hide in corners, cows bellow hello. High up at Hassin's we drink tea on the roof where we can see the whole valley and stand face to face with giant mountains. Coming down through terraced gardens to cross rushing streams and awe at the magic of the walnut forest.

Berber Bread

Up over the Haoz plain, we leave the ramparts of Marrakech headed towards the Ourika valley. We pass the kings gardens full of olive and orange trees and find ourselves driving straight towards the high Atlas mountains shining bright with snow. A welcomed sight in 85 degree weather.

We pass through the village of Tnin, to find the gates of Nectarome, my friend Jalil’s aromatherapy garden. Berber woman are busy baking bread in the traditional Tasalhit bread ovens. Stooped over, they bend from the waist and gracefully and straight legged as a yoga pose, pull bread from off the hot rocks. Corn and olive, barley with nigella seeds, wheat with fennel seeds..we eat it hot and dip it into an array of aromatic oils such as toasted argan, un-toasted argan, sesame, olive and nigella. The bread goes down easy. I know this bread will not boast or bloat, but satisfy in the most delicious way. Followed by a cup of steaming
herb tea from the garden, I feel once again at home in Morocco.

The winds of marrakech

It was snowing in Colorado when I left. I hopped a plane to Marrakech and felt the warm winds descend and envelope me, stripping coats, shoes, and winter blues right off my body as if they dissolved into thin air. Quiet stars and flowing palms
rocked me into dreaming. I am in the bosom of Jnane Tamsna, at home in the gardens and all is quiet well.

In the kitchen with Bahija we made a new tagine with chicken and pear. Some new recipes to follow. It's quite hot. Tomorrow we'll go into the mountains, but not before stopping at Jalil's aromatherapy garden. He's made a museum of Spice. The first one in any Arabic country.

I look forward to the air of Imlil; the smiling faces of Abdul and the Mohammed, the lovely Berbers who manage the Kasbah and the mystery of Toubkal.

bluedream

i wish i were fishing

happy spring

it happens to be second day of spring and here is a new spring lamb..
little judah, my new grandson.