I. La Maison de Grand-mère
I learned to read in my grandmother's apothecary in Avignon. Glass-stoppered bottles of rose water, jars of olive-leaf paste, a copper still kept in a corner of the back room. By six I could distinguish lavender from lavandin by smell. By ten I had ruined my mother's silk scarf experimenting with calendula. The instinct to formulate started there.