Two years before the mast...

 15 November 2022

...which title has no particular relevance, but it HAS been two years since I posted on here, so that glancing connection will have to do, me hearties, aargh.

COVID. Hmm. Yes. Travel bans. Travel restrictions. No flights. Few flights. Expensive flights. Masks on, masks off. Vaccinations. More vaccinations. And then the rather dizzying official push to Get On With Life (also known as Ignore the Lurking Lurgy). It's been a time, and we've emerged, somewhat battle weary.

With no friendly visitations by much-missed friend C  - with his usual top-up of local goings on and gossip, bulletin of things needing attention, or not - to look forward to, we've had to rely on the erratic communication with local friend F (of Moulin Bleu) and neighbour L to keep us in the loop. And then there's our paysagiste, who never fails to send through invoices, though he miraculously seems to avoid being detected by our CCTV. Hmm. Even his before-and-after photos are suspiciously similar each time we manage to extract them from him by way of proof. We must have Far Enough Away Not to Be a Nuisance stamped on our foreheads (FEA on mine; NtBaN on G's). It's uncomfortable, I can tell you.

In a happier development, we have had the huge assistance of Frank and team, who have from time to time descended on the garden like army ants, and taken control of it. The pruning, weeding, munching side of it, that is, leaving Guillaume (and his Invisible Cloak) to keep the grass trimmed. It's been a not-inconsiderable expense, but willingly borne, given our temporary inability to visit and sort the garden out ourselves.

So, for our first visit to La Fromagerie in 3 years, we'd originally planned a month in the Autumn (October, maybe) but, for a number of reasons, found ourselves squeezing in a mini-trip slap bang in the middle of la canicule in August. Temps in the mid- to high thirties, day after day, that kind of thing, and night-time temps in the sticky high twenties. For the first time ever, we had engaged a cleaner to prepare for our arrival, and boy, was that a good idea. When she WhatsApp videoed us as she opened the front door, and the floor was covered - COVERED - in dead flies, we knew we'd be incredibly grateful for the luxury of a clean barn to welcome us. And we were right. The place was clean, the bed was made with fresh-smelling linen. It felt so welcoming, after our arduous journey.

We lucked out, this time, since we hired an electric car, which proved cheaper than petrol/diesel hire  and was a delight to drive. Charging was a doddle - we simply hooked it up, through the window, to the power point in the dépendance, and it charged up happily overnight. Range was a bit limited, but we weren't planning any side trips, so what did it matter? 

Needless to say, we spent pretty much all day, every day pruning, hacking, taming and rediscovering the garden beneath the jungle that had grown up around the barn, as in all good fairy tales. We deposited mounds and mounds of vego waste (carefully encased in huge Big Mat bags to preserve our very urban hire car) at the local déchetterie. When the heat became altogether too intense, late afternoon, G would repair to the cool interior of the barn to read and listen to music, leaving his ever-restless wife working outside, albeit at reduced pace. 

It wasn't all gardening gardening, though; we had the time and pleasure to meet up with friends F and I, B and W, R and R over lunch, tea, beer, etc, and we spent one very happy evening at St Robert with F and I, enjoying the reflected warmth of the sun-soaked stone (and cold aperitifs) in that extraordinarily pretty little village. A large tarte aux framboises made a brief appearance on my birthday (and naturally, national public holiday), and we enjoyed the simple delights of local produce gifts from our neighbour J-M: freshly dug potatoes, still-warm large tomatoes, grapes and plums.

The highlight of the visit was the long-anticipated visit by our dear Croatian friend, A, who, with his now-deceased wife Z, has been a staunch supporter of our folly from the get go, and now enjoys special lifetime visitation privileges. Friend A got stuck in and helped prune and drag vego and generally cheerlead, while managing to suppress his natural disappointment that his visit to rural France had somehow morphed into a Workaway gig. What a rare and precious gem he is.

Our pergola was groaning under the old vines that had grown hugely since our last visit. Other plants (glycine, more vines and chèvrefeuille), newly planted three years ago, had taken full advantage of their sunny aspect and the structure of the pergola uprights and were well underway. In fact, though the pergola was yet to be covered by the creepers - there was a gap in the centre - the afternoon heat on that stone porch was already much attenuated by the dappled shade, and the temperature inside the barn close to the French doors was palpably less than in previous years. Success! Grapes were abundant and so were wasps - c'est la vie dans la France profonde, hein?

Peace, perfect peace

J-M's bounty

The rogue glycine

Vine growth on the pergola

Perimeter plantings and sick noyer

Tarte aux framboises, anyone?

Romantic moments...

...and more

Glycine seed pods

Misty morning

Clearing makes things look a little bleak

Willing workers

Porch view

Arty shot by G

Pergola canopy progress shot

Another arty G shot...

...and another

The ultimate arty image of me training vines

Porch vine progress shot

This damaged pommier came down in the storm

G again

Rosemary before the savage pruning exercise

PS Happily, the last three years had seen great growth in G's prunier, C's cerisier, and the self-seeded  noyer sapling; sadly, however, the large noyer mothership was clearly failing. We've known for some years that it was becoming weary, hardly bothering to put out leaves until Summer was well under way. This year, the noyer was almost leafless in August, sending only gnarled branches skyward into the blue. It was with great sadness, therefore, that we decided to have the noyer cut down in mid-October, after our return to Aus. While on the property, the tree surgeon pruned the pommiers too, and he seems to think they are perhaps on their last legs too. Let's hope he's only a tree surgeon, and not a Tarot card reader too.

Clearly we will be planting trees next time we are over...

The summer of love and pop-up infinity pools

21 August 2019

Love, amour, amor.

OK, you say, we get it, yadayadayada. But why?

Well, assuming we don’t want to get into a whole philosophical discussion about the reason for being, let me explain.

Simples.

Daughter C is getting married to her Argentinian man, L,  and, during the week she spent with us chez nous in France, the conversation veered happily and repeatedly towards all-things-wedding. The date (mid-September), form (civil union, followed by fiesta en casa - See? I'm nearly trilingual), size (intimate)... The ‘save the date’ invites were designed and sent off in PDF form (it's a bran noo world). Much discussion about Argentinian vs Australian expectations, current norms and traditions. A few tears. Even the bride-to-be got emotional at times.

Luckily for us, the Universe delivered a blistering canicule, with temperatures hovering stubbornly in the high 30s and low 40s for days on end; the nights, too, were uncomfortably sticky. But I say 'luckily', because it gave me an opportunity to dust off and inflate the paddling pool. You remember: it made its debut appearance to rapturous acclaim the year we and friend M put in the kitchen cupboards.

At first, G, C and visiting niece L showed a remarkable lack of enthusiasm to engage with our pop-up infinity pool under the pommier, but the extreme heat wore down their defences, as I knew it would. Soon we were sitting, hip deep in the water, glass of chilled rosé in hand, celebrating our resourcefulness and pitying those less fortunate than ourselves. You know, with aircon and/or zero imagination.

Lucky, too, that, being early in the season, we were spared the sudden splash-down re-entry of little green apples. Mostly.

Struggle Street

On one particularly cosy day - the forecast maximum undecided between 41 and 42 - C, G and I chose the coolest thing we could think of to escape the heat. We spent most of the day in Brive, shopping for The Dress. Locals shake their heads knowingly when you tell of this folly: the Bassin de Brive is notorious for trapping heat. Noone in their right mind would brave the hot, bright (though charmingly cobbled) streets of Brive city centre during a heatwave. C’est fou! Dingue!

Mais, quand même, we three did just that. G came and went, meeting up with his ‘gals’ at various intervals, until he finally just gave up the unequal struggle and lurked in the shade to await A Decision.

G modelling impeccable posture in Brive centre

Weddings - what can I say?

Our tenacity and fortitude were eventually rewarded when, having tried on countless dresses, C found a dress TDF, in a very exclusive boutique. I'm here to report that G displayed unnatural calm throughout the payment process. It must have been the heat.

Later, I, too, found my outfit, in another schmancy boutique. G seemed very happy for me.

This is not it :)

It was a summer of love in all its many forms: family, friends, good food, good life.

* Niece L came to stay for the first time at La Fromagerie and her visit overlapped with that of daughter C. There's nothing quite as special as family: there's no ice to break, and no need to stand on ceremony; the elapsed time between visits dissolves and it all feels comfortingly familiar.

* Friends M and D came to stay and toiled uncomplainingly on my Dead Hedge project, despite never quite understanding the concept :)

Heath Robinson and friends make a start on the Dead Hedge

Football? Yawn

* We indulged ourselves left, right and centre with yummy food and drinks.

Une tarte au framboise, or, a Life's Too Short to Deny Oneself flan

Rosé Juillacoise

Ooh, our coffee-making skills are on the up and up

* We had new local livestock scampering in and out of the cabane next door.

Naww

Two of the three kittens showed more confidence - #3 hiding was hiding in the gloom

* This was the Year of the Pergola, remember? It's a fantastic new addition to the barn and we liked it more and more as time went on.

At first, it was a bit stark...

Artsy photo by daughter C

...but soon we got going and planted up climbers around the posts - glycine, grapes, roses, clematis, chèvrefeuille.

This summer, la canicule meant it was too hot to cope without the Bedouin tent, but come next year...

The concrete bases to the posts were uncompromisingly ugly, but we came up with a cunning plan to obscure them. I've wanted to make gabions forever! Whaddayarekkin?

Just a little corner of floral happiness beneath the pergola

* We zoomed about in a cute little Italian-Riviera rental (don't get me started on why, when we have a perfectly lovely, though capricious, old Renault Clio which - naturally - became reliable as anything when the Fiat came to stay - eye-roll emoticon).

A perfect work horse...

...but particularly suited to indolent afternoon outings to picturesque towns 

* Our loyal neighbour J-M gave us produce and showed kindness at every opportunity.

* We were truly livin' the dream in France.

La Fromagerie hazelnut 

Says it all, really

The glycine was growing up into the porch roof, so will need to be watched and disciplined

Compare the two photos...and

...spot 10 differences

We never said we were sophistiqué

Fig foraging 

Aix-sur-Vienne dreaming away a hot afternoon

At the end of the summer holiday, I always like to reflect on What We Achieved. This year, the standouts for me are:

* Training the grape vines up and over the pergola wires

Lots of precarious ladder work

* Making the gabions - involving many wheelbarrow- and arm-loads of stones (not as quick and easy at it looks!)

We made the gabions out of stones recovered from the renovation

* The planting of - what was it? - 16 plants around the base of and between the pergola posts

Chèvrefeuille to be trained up vertical chains

* Making the new wildflower patch - involving the removal of the tarp (left in place for two years of weed suppression),  the sowing of wildflower seeds around a donated Acanthus mollis as centrepiece, and the demarcation with old oak roof poutres from the original barn roof

A bit Dodge City, but hey

and lastly - and oddly satisfying -

* Constructing the dead hedge, for prunings and dead wood, which should reduce the car loads taken to the déchetterie - involving labour-of-love weaving with La Fromagerie hazel switches.

At first, simply a parallel row of sturdy posts to contain the wood

Hazel switches cut from our own noisetier

On the last day, G rigged up two cctv cameras - one in the barn, trained on the front door, but motion sensitive and capable of reading the thermometer, and one gazing out the shutterless window of the dependance onto a sliver of driveway, barn porch and apple tree.

Already, we have received numerous motion detection alarms, each with 12 seconds of footage, from the dép one. There have been many 'intruders': a spider, a cat, a curious neighbour, a lizard, a little green bug, lightning in the distance, the paysagiste speeding around on his ride-on, and the waving arms of the pommier in a storm.

It's a wonderful connection to the place we call home.