16 April 2017
It's been a while, a frantically-busy while, if I'm frank...but La Fromagerie is never far from our thoughts.
Our two weeks there in Feb/March were wonderful but, well, about two weeks too short. We went armed with several books and a mandolin, determined to discover new, heretofore unexplored indolent aspects of ourselves. We imagined rainy days curled on the sofa, the only pressure the hours of opening of the Huit à Huit up the road and the all-important choice of 'which cheese?' to buy. We could see ourselves, on sunny days, walking the paths - marked and unmarked - which criss-cross the countryside. We clearly envisaged cosy evenings, with a glass of red, a book, a mandolin, and thou (well, when I say thou, what I really mean is 'us and only us').
But you know what they say. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. And we were both there, with bells on.
So, our days - rainy or otherwise - were spent compiling lists of things that we wanted to achieve, then addressing them with all the efficiency that, given
décalage d'horaire and life deep in the French countryside (you are just about ready to launch yourself at the world when the world shuts for a 2.5-hour siesta, and you, if you're anything like us, never learn), we could muster. That would be an efficiency of about 20%.
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| Told you I'd post a photo of the porte-manteau that I made out of the original dépendance window |
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| Two modern reading lamps contrast with the old prie-dieu bedside tables |
Evenings were indeed cosy, and vino did make an appearance (we have now discovered a couple of favourites, which is a worry). It turns out that our books and the mandolin were lugged across the world (not to mention airports, and Paris) to serve only as (pretentious?) props.
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| Location shot - local shop window |
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| Grandmother's Day coincided with my mother's birthday and was a good excuse to buy a bunch of daffs in honour of Mabel and Nettie, without whom, of course, none of this would have been possible |
Did we walk? Yes, we walked and walked, discovering villages, hamlets, two derelict mills and views to gasp at, all within a couple of hours' radius of home. We walked in the early morning, during the day, and in the evening, rain or shine, past donkeys, cattle, fallow fields, and within staring competition-distance of raptors - just to challenge ourselves to that little frisson of excitement when completing the entering-Australia customs form. You know the question: 'Have you had any contact with farms?'
No. Of course not. Do we look like people who love a little piece of France deep in the countryside, surrounded by working farms; where tractors trundle up and down outside and a sign with
Attention - troupeau lies between us and the village? :)
The car was a great bonus - it started first time and gave us freedom and anonymity. It's totally in keeping with our French lifestyle - a little old silver Renault Clio. So much better than the shiny bright hire cars of our previous visits, which screamed '
Étrangers - des gens de la ville!' We like to think that we blend in with the Clio; indeed, like the VW in it's early days in Germany, it seems that a silver-grey Renault Clio is the 'people's car' of France: every other person seems to drive one.
The heating was a major focus. Benoît, plumber #6 and possibly the friendliest plumber in Christendom, came over twice to help commission it and deal with minor Chas-issues, but overall, we couldn't have been more delighted. The wood-pellet boiler gave off masses of heat - more than we needed - and we remained immune to the excesses of winter. Wet, miserable, chilly days were no challenge - we were snug as bugs.
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| A new coffee machine was pressed into service every morning |
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| We watched from our secure and cosy refuge as storms came and went... |
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| ...and we enjoyed bursts of glorious sunshine in between |
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| No blog post complete without photo of the view |
The garden and
verger were dozing through the last days of Winter, and yet, before we left, Spring was taking her first tentative footsteps and breathing her green haze over the hillsides. Almost before our eyes, the emerging green buds on the tips of branches unfurled into brilliant-green leaves, and flowers appeared on the cherry trees.
Daughter C spent a precious weekend with us, and we took the opportunity to show her Donzenac, a long-time favourite medieval town. G and I went there 6 years ago, almost to the day, to celebrate over
deux chocolats ('
très chaud svp') when we'd heard that our offer had been accepted and the barn would soon be ours. We were naïve young things back then. We were yet to learn that 'soon' is not a word in the 'buying a French property' lexicon.
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| Wintry Donzenac |
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| Donzenac's Chapelle des Pénitents (only, that's not them) |
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| David Attenborough voiceover: 'When observed in his natural habitat, the lesser-known bearded homeowner hugs himself with pleasure' |
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| Friend M surprised us again - this time with a pencil sketch of the dépendance pre-renovation. Talented man! |
PS Our overnight stay near Gare de Lyon in Paris
en route to the barn was a pleasant interlude with the bonus of a breakfast catchup with friend C.
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| Gare de Lyon all a-sparkle |
And then, the soporific train journey to Brive, where this gentle scene across the aisle caught my attention...
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| The little guy played quietly and then slept for hours in his father's arms |
So, a very brief holiday proved that the end of Winter is a magical time to be at La Fromagerie - all is quiet, but nevertheless, the place is aquiver with life.
