I have always loved serendipity, and the tales of stumbled-upon happy endings it brings to mind. I find it especially rewarding when traveling. My tour of Provence was twice blessed with adventures that came about because events did not go according to plan.

Normally, spring should have sprung in abundance by mid-May but this year spring has come and gone numerous times already – each time making way for cold, windy weather and even snow. Last weekend there was new snowfall in the Alps and a road in the Jura was closed by an avalanche. Each time we have two sunny days in succession we throw open all the windows, turn our faces to the sun and sigh “at last!” - only to be disappointed again. Yet, some signs point unequivocally to spring, such as our herb garden (a flower box in the kitchen window).

Easter is Feria time down here, with bullfights in the Roman arenas of Arles and Nîmes. These are the traditional corridas where bulls are killed, with picadors on horseback, matadors in their “traje de luz” and all the ancient rituals. For three days in a row, these corridas draw the usual aficionados and tourists, and fill the streets with enormous copper pans of paella and trumpet music and paso-doble dancers.

In late January, we celebrate the Fête de St. Vincent in Coudoux, a village about a half hour’s drive from Aix-en-Provence. This is the annual homage to Saint Vincent, patron saint of the winegrowers, who -- legend has it -- stopped one day with his donkey in a vineyard to chat with the field workers. When he returned to his donkey a few moments later, the animal had chewed a number of vine shoots. During the next harvest, these "eaten" plants turned out to be more heavily laden with grapes than the others. The donkey had introduced the pruning of the vines and Saint Vincent became the vintners’ patron saint.

It's winter in Provence, but that doesn't stop the feasts. Anne-Marie Simons takes us to the Fête de St. Marcel in the small Haut Var town of Barjols.

After a mass said in Provençal, Aix-en-Provence then opens its Marché des Santons. Santons de Provence are clay figurines, either plain or brightly painted, that are handcrafted by local artisans. Originally these santons (little saints) were of biblical inspiration (nativity scene, shepherds, three Magi) but soon the creators began to include their fellow villagers in a variety of trades and professions, such as the miller with a sack of flour, the doctor with his instrument bag, the mayor in top hat and tricolor sash, the shoemaker, the butcher, the baker, the blacksmith.

Since we settled in Provence, we have attended numerous celebrations of one thing or another--saints, foods, animals, summer solstice, etc.--and we hope to keep doing so. But some of the old traditions are in trouble, as witnessed by this headline in the local newspaper: "Avec la disparition du dernier berger, le pastoralisme menacé." In the village of Eguilles, the last shepherd died and there is nobody to take over. For the past 18 years, this shepherd had been taking his flock of several thousand sheep up the mountain until he took a fatal fall there.

The Fête started with a parade of all the animals that would later on be in demonstrations or games. To begin with, there were the Charretiers du Luberon who showed off their horses and wagons, jardinières or fjords or six-in-hand, sometimes stocked with chickens or goats to take to market. There were donkeys and goats pulling children’s carts (Provençal donkeys with huge ears). There were Gardians de la Camargue on their white horses and carrying long lances.

Summer is over, and with it the annual celebrations of some of the villages that surround us. In Saint Remy de Provence, for instance, they hold a feria in mid-August, where cowboys from the Camargue compete in groups of five in running a small herd of bulls through the streets and trying not to lose one.