Dear reader,
This morning, I woke up to the soft chime of the church bell in our village square — seven gentle rings echoing through the still, lavender-scented air. The shutters creaked open to let in the first golden rays of sunlight, and with them, the familiar rhythm of another day began.
I am Camille, a third-generation soapmaker in the heart of Provence. My family has been crafting savon for over 60 years, using olive oil, ash, and seawater, just as it’s always been done. People often think artisans live a quiet, romantic life. They’re not entirely wrong — but it’s a life of precision, patience, and deep love for the craft.
By 7:30, I’m in the workshop. The scent of lavender, rosemary, and citrus clings to the stone walls. Today, we’re preparing a batch of lemon verbena soap. The olive oil is slowly heated in our old copper cauldron. I stir it by hand, watching it thicken as it transforms, little by little, into something useful, beautiful, and uniquely ours.
My cousin Éloïse prepares the molds, while my brother Jean-Luc labels the previous batch, each bar stamped with our family name and the city it was made in: Aix-en-Provence.
Mid-morning, the boulangerie next door sends over warm croissants — a small village habit we’ve never grown tired of. We take a quick break in the courtyard, sipping strong coffee and talking about the weekend market where we’ll showcase our soaps, alongside the cheesemaker, the potter, and the old beekeeper from the next valley.
At noon, the bells ring again. Lunchtime is sacred here. We head home where my mother has made ratatouille and a fresh tarte aux abricots. Everything smells like summer. We eat slowly, under the shade of the olive tree, with the cicadas humming in the background.
In the afternoon, I walk to the local post office with a box of orders — some going to Paris, others all the way to Canada, maybe even to you. I always smile when I wrap a bar of soap, thinking of someone across the ocean who will open it and get a little whiff of our village, our sun, our life.
By early evening, we clean the workshop and leave it ready for tomorrow’s batch. The light is soft now, stretching shadows across the hills. I take a moment to sit, breathe, and feel grateful.
This work — it’s not always easy, and it’s never fast. But every bar of soap we make carries our story, our hands, our heart.
Thank you for supporting small artisans like me. When you choose handmade, you choose tradition, passion, and a slower, richer kind of beauty.
Warm regards from Provence,
Camille
Artisan Savonnière
