Stone terrace 101

6 September 2014

The stone terrace began as a pile of stone rubble that was left over from the renovation. We'd had the idea that it would be useful to build up the ground just outside the French doors, since there was quite  a drop down to the garden there and the land slopes away quite steeply.

While daughter-C and boyfriend-M tackled the French newspapers and investigated the back of their eyelids in the double hammock strung between the apple trees...











...son-C got stuck in with a pick axe and spade, and he and his cousin-F brought arm-loads of stones from another stockpile on the far side of the orchard.

But it was hot work and the beers were cold, so we didn't see a huge amount of progress, it has to be said.

Once the family had gone off in all their different directions after five happy days together, I felt as if I'd sat in the bath while the water had drained away; that unpleasant, slightly chilly, high-and-dry sensation. Perhaps that explains why I spent the next several days working like a mad woman on the stone terrace. G indulged me and brought countless wheelbarrow-loads of soil from next door, which I used to help build up the height.

I never really had A Master Plan for the terrace, being a novice, but made it up as I went along. I started out with the most massive stones right next to the French doors, thinking they would make reasonable steps. I even used the niveau Anglais on my smartphone to ensure that they were level. And then I  began to make it in a more organic way, trusting my eye for the level, and just having fun.

The weather continued to be unsettled, blistering heat alternating with cloudbursts, but I was largely oblivious, though dust in my eyes drove me indoors at one stage, where rain and mud did not. Only darkness was the complete kill-joy.

In the end, I decided to plant some rockery plants around the top edge, to provide some height (lavender, rosemary and gaura) or tumble down the slope (portulaca), but of course it remains to be seen whether they survive the neglect which we have in store for them in the coming months. The weed mat is ugly, I think we'd all agree, but will hopefully give the weeds second thoughts.

Neighbour-G suggested that a lime-sand mix spread between the stones would 'cake' and preserve the soil and possibly slow down the growth of les herbes mauvaises, but I ran out of time and had to leave it as-is.

The other thing we are leaving as-is is the meadow, below the terrace. There were so many bees and little beasties in the wildflowers that it seems madness to deprive them of their habitat, and of course, it means less maintenance for us.

Spot the real reason.

A little piece of heaven

18 August 2014

Well, that's how it seems to me, anyway.

We have spent the last three weeks getting acquainted with La Fromagerie: with every tiny detail of our little barn; with how the light plays on the floor at different times of the day; with the sounds of the hamlet; with the daily routine of our neighbours...

The biggest thrill is to be able to spend the night under her roof after waiting so very long! To go to sleep with the moon and myriad stars overhead, the silence of the valley broken only by the faraway call of an owl or the soft thud of our apples, dropping to the ground outside; to wake to the sounds of the countryside, to church bells and birdsong  - and the rather quirky sounds of the new fridge, which squeals and squeaks and gurns like a wee beastie; to open the shutters upstairs and down to get the full impact of the views from every window...it's simply magic.

We spent day #1 unpacking and cleaning and installing the bits and pieces that we had had delivered here. The place was a mess, dusty and filthy, and we were disappointed to see that our IKEA bed had not been delivered, in spite of the careful choosing and planning etc (not to mention payment, and two trips to Sydney IKEA that we could have well done without). Out with the foot pump and blow-up mattress, then... Then, for the next few days, we dashed about with lists of must-dos and must-gets, so that we could welcome the family with some of the comforts of home. Towels, toilet paper, plates, cutlery, pots and pans, mugs, a rug for the lounge, basic groceries, bedding; you get the picture.

The last week or so has been a revolving door of extended family - parents, aunt, niece and offspring, and it has been just wonderful to be able to welcome them to our home-from-home and share our folly with dear ones.

The weather has been unsettled - huge skies filled with clouds give way either to bursts of warm sunshine or showers; we've even had a couple of electric storms. No canicule this year - thank goodness - and we are able to work in the garden or in the house without suffering the excessive heat of last summer. Of course, the locals are complaining bitterly - No summer, this year! What a catastrophic summer! - and their veggies are not what they should be. The tomato plants, for example, are tall and leggy and, though bearing well, show signs of mildew. The fruit is delicious, though: Jean-Marie (J-M) has kept us supplied with the produce from his field - lettuces, huge beef (coeur de boeuf) tomatoes, haricot beans, poireaux (leeks) - as well as the usual gifts of advice and mild scorn for our foreign ways. He's a good, kind man, though, and would give you the shirt off his back.

His tractor's steering is bust, so one day last week J-M appeared on his small ride-on mower to cut our grass. Muttering darkly about his mechanic younger brother's slovenly ways with machinery, he indicated the missing footplate, below which the blades whirred dangerously close to his feet and delicate parts. The garden became a blur of activity: G and my Dad kept busy lifting the obvious rocks in J-M's path, I was hard at work clearing the weeds from around the bushes we had planted in April (all present and correct; growing happily), while my Mum supplied cold water and tea to the troops. A lovely, content afternoon.

The tractor sans steering (TSS) played a starring rôle in a farce that unfolded in the hamlet last week. A monster truck with a large consignment of ducts and pipes arrived outside on the road, and there ensued much commotion as a neighbour manoeuvred his fancy new tractor so as to remove some of the larger ducts and deliver them to the carpentry workshop on the hillside below the road. Then J-M's son Jean-Michel appeared on J-M's ancient Farmall tractor (TSS), the load of ducts was duly hitched to the back and they set off down the slope. Each time the tractor needed to change direction, J-M would leap into action, wrenching a crowbar into the steering mechanism, et voila! All good, so far. Until the slope got the better of the tractor, its wheels locked up, and the whole shebang started sliding downhill towards the neighbour's wall. Luckily, said neighbour's driveway opens up at a certain point and the runaway tractor slid to a stop just in time, without doing any damage to person or property... Now the truck had to come down the slope, drag the tractor + load back up the hill, and then the two vehicles began the descent again, this time the truck controlling the rate, if not the direction, of the tractor's descent.

You wouldn't read about it.