Hidden Treasures!

Mercredi le 23eme dawned the dry and overcast day I had set aside for gardening; namely cutting the grass and mauvais herbs behind the barn, before they grew so high, I’d need the brush cutter. 

The recently reconditioned lawnmower, which had lain dormant in our UK shed for some 10 years, started first pull and soon made mincemeat of the grass and (mainly) weeds and I received a wave from a local monsieur tending his allotment next door. Mmm, we seem to have a garden I told the bride so we went hand in hand to confirm this happy fact. Monsieur was still tending, so we introduced ourselves and he introduced us to his four chickens, expertly providing two eggs every day, which he said with a proud smile and proceeded to pull an armful of fresh leeks for us. We know from our little cottage in Normandy that this is typical neighbourly behaviour, yet the friendliness of our fellow humans in rural France still continues to bring us a warm happy feeling. 

Undisturbed for years

Having dispatched the high grass so easily, I next tackled the row of quick growing conifers which had taken over half the width of the drive leading to the hangar slash client parking, so choosing a bow saw and stout leather gloves, I set to work on a little more mass destruction and was soon unearthing interesting things from the undergrowth, some useful. First came a serviceable green plastic rain butt, thankfully empty, so easy to roll out of the way, then a couple of what passes here for 40 gallon oil drums and then a large brass tap, just the sort I’d spent weeks looking for in Normandy for a water feature. Then emerged a hunk of iron, part of something larger which to my delight turned out to be a complete harrow, small enough to be drawn by a horse or couple of small children when Dobin was busy and finally, a truncated conical concrete thingy. Possible the stem of some homeless gnome’s ex-toadstool, or fishing weight for Jaws, not sure which, but it will doubtless feature in a supporting role somewhere in Clos de la Rose next year. 

A bientôt, 

LC

Wildlife and Workshops

20 novembre, not so much a red letter, rather a red squirrel day today, as a lovely chap or chapess with an enormous fluffy tail ran right across the gate and into the rose bush in front of the little house this afternoon. Yet another attraction to mention on the website under wildlife and Monsieur, Madame or Mademoiselle Busy Tail joins the resident ranks of lizards, butterflies and numerous birds who share our space, as well as the large grey and white cat that seems to like sleeping in the back garden.  

We have been thinking how to attract further welcome guests into La Clos de la Rose, through planting and environment enrichment. We rather like the idea of a wild flower meadow, well perhaps a small patch of garden than meadow and a pond which can become home to aquatics and wandering dragonflies. We suspect our two cats will appreciate any fish we may be foolish enough to supply for them, as Magic and Misty will soon learn to hunt lizards too, much to our annoyance, but, hey, a cat’s gonna do what a cat’s gotta do!

On the building front, things are slowly progressing. The kitchen floor is still reducing in levels, now looking like a partially excavated basement and with the arrival of my half lifelong friend and old car and builder buddy, my workshop (strictly old cars!) has been taken over as his woodworking shop, as Mr Beast exerts his influence and finds a cosy place to park his white van!

We spent a day and a half buying and then fitting some agricultural looking building supplies to make the workshop secure from a home insurance point of view, as the bride so disliked all my tools, ladders and scaffold being stored in the kitchen. Personally, I felt more in touch with the project being so close to the means to build it, but I could see her point and the manly objects of creation now rest rather appropriately and dare I say even seductively in the workshop, ready for action at the drop of a hard hat.

Laters,

LC

Ha! Who Says The French Have Two Hour Lunches?

Saturday, Day 3 of life in France and I set my alarm last night for D Day. Delivery of the beds, fridge/freezer and the ever so needed washing machine, so essential for a builder chap!

I was up at 07h45, almost unheard of for me on a Saturday morning unless I’m going to a motor sport event or for some classic car fun. Knowing that the working day here usually starts at 08h00, I was taking no chances, but risked a two and a half minute excursion to the boulangerie for a pain au raison and a mid day quiche. Having cleared the bedrooms, utility and kitchen corner to receive the goodies the night before, I had little to do inside the house, except deflate Lilo Lill who had made me reasonably comfy the past two nights.

So I went back to lumber jacking and at 12h15 decided that the delivery team were tucking in to their statutory two hour lunch, so I may as well have mine. Mmm quiche avec lardons and Branston small chunk pickle and the regulation mug of Rosy Lee and sharp at 13h00 the doorbell; rang with the white goodies just half way into a great French institution. I just hope that their union never discovers this, as there will be a national strike as quick as you can say pass the pickle!

Anyroad, having apologised for my bad French, the two chaps quickly unloaded everything, brought it all in, assembled the beds, installed the washing machine and fitted the frigo in place and removed every last piece of packaging and left me feeling very well served. Top marks Conforama.

Right, I better go shopping now and fill the fridge/freezer with my weekly allowance.

As a treat tonight however, I’m particularly looking forward to eating at Le Bouchon Ponot

Laters,

LC

Red Letter Day

Thursday 11th October started in our small but perfectly formed farmhouse in Normandy with my architect chum Nick delivering breakfast with me doing the coffee. Nick and the lovely Rebecca are staying in their recent French acquisition a few minutes drive away, while all around them, various building tradesmen are wielding manly power tools in an effort to render it habitable. Now these fine pair are no wimps, for I called round to the des-res the night before and I swear that, once I’d got my truck un-stuck from all the mud and negotiated the drainage earthworks protecting this English couple’s castle, it was just as cold inside the house as outside. So Nick brought breakfast when he called round to collect a pair of oil filled electric radiators to redress the outside temperature inside the castle.

The day then progressed through a three hour drive to our own newly acquired piece of the Loire and my arrival was really the new beginning, as this is the day where I start my new life in France for real. Driving into Le Puy in warm sunshine felt like coming home and I had my happy face on as I was finally beginning the process of converting our lovely under maintained, but clearly loved group of honey coloured stone buildings into our vision of idyllic contentment. A work of passion I hope and I have a steadily growing schedule of early tasks to accomplish ahead of my retired builder buddy joining me for a very much working holiday in a few weeks time.

After unloading the truck and getting most things near where they should be, I conduct my little private ritual of walking the boundaries and inspecting what we have named Le Clos de la Rose. Everything is neat and tidy, although I’ll need to do some gardening soon and those quick growing conifers leading to the hanger need trimming with extreme prejudice if clients are ever going to park there . . . add a chain saw to the list! Marcel has left some further treasures for us as I discover a tiny school desk in one of the outbuildings. Was I ever that small all those decades ago to learn to write my name on such a institution as such a small school desk? I just can’t believe it now.

In the grenier of the pretty house is another even more nostalgic school desk and this has several pair of small leather boots, an animal’s yoke, doubtless to help haul the grape harvest and a beautiful cased clock. The clock is a real surprise and I must remind Marcel what a kind friend he has already become.

The cellars are still full of his wine, all carefully labelled with dates going back to 1989 and the occasional ‘n’est pas touché’ with the name of an owner added as a reminder. It feels good to have a cellar full of wine, even though it’s not mine and I’m happy to help my friend.

I’ve made a list of tasks to do tomorrow in my day book. This includes phoning my insurance broker in the UK to pay my car and household insurance renewal premiums, begin getting an internet connection and buy a gas bottle for the cooker, so I can start to feed myself properly, rather than rely on tonight’s delicacy of bread and butter spread with pate, with dessert of bread and butter spread with fig jam. As I’m writing this at the kitchen table I smirk, as I turn round to look at the oven and then twirl a couple of knobs and convince myself that (and I’m laughing out load now) it really is an electric oven! The gas bottle will operate three of the hob rings, the fourth also being electric. Note to self: why did the bride not tell me I could cook here straight away? Yes okay, I know that’s because I couldn’t cook beforehand anyway, but I found the situation funny!

Off to squish the lilo and get some sleep and look forward to the next great day.

 A bientôt.

 LC