To die for

At the time of writing, the outcome of the 2022 midterm elections is unknown. It may be for a while, and even after known, there are way too many rightwing whackjobs who’ve already served notice that unless their side wins, the election will have been stolen.

So here are some pictures I shot at Alyscamps, in Arles.

“Alyscamps” is the Provençal word for “Champs Elysées”; Elysian Fields. It’s a Gallo-Roman necropolis that was used by Christians for a few centuries after. All that’s left now are some empty stone sarcophagi and a chapel or two, but up until around the 11^th or 12^th Century, Alyscamps was the place to be buried, and bodies were shipped in from all over Europe for interment.

But here’s what I really like about Alyscamps: in medieval times, local farmers took many of the old sarcophagi and used them as troughs for their herds and flocks.

I really wondered about that, because you’d have to really, really want a sarcophagus to schlep it over to your farm.

Also—how, exactly, did they do that? Those troughs must have weighed a whole lot; how did they lift them and what kind of cart was sturdy enough to carry them? Were they that much better than what a farmer could make on his own?

But, also—the French are so pragmatic. “Look at this old empty stone thing, Mathilde. I could make use of that to water the stock. No one’s really using it. Let’s take it.”