Plums cooked in sugar with Cointreau Orange syrup
Rowena’s lovely blog, Rubber Slippers in Italy, captures a truth many of us feel: “You can take the girl out of the island but you can’t take the island out of the girl.” That idea resonates—no matter where life takes you, parts of your origin stay with you.
I feel the same way, but with the countryside: “You can take the girl out of the countryside but you cannot take the countryside out of the girl.” The memories of growing up outdoors, among orchards and fields, remain strong and shape who I am.
- Dear mum and dad,
- Thank you for letting me roam the fields,
- In our orchard full of trees,
- Plum trees,
- Apple trees,
- Cherry trees,
- Mirabelle trees,
- I remember climbing those very trees,
- While other girls played with dolls,
- We climbed and laughed,
- We giggled among the branches,
- And we ate the fruit—plums, apples, cherries…
- I love plums!
To celebrate that love of plums, I baked—stay tuned for the next installment: Histoire à suivre.
Linguistic note:
English plum = French prune (feminine) → la prune
English prune = French pruneau (masculine) → le pruneau
It’s confusing at first—this is a classic example of a false friend (un faux-ami) between languages.