Dear little dépendance

15 September 2016

It warrants its own entry because it's remarkably cute and gives us disproportionate pleasure. So indulge me, dear reader. Or skip this overlong post.

It used to be a chicken house and then a goat shed.

View of the barn and dépendance from the road

View of dépendance and resident walnut tree from the roadside

And it was a ruin overwhelmed with lierre when we bought the barn, the removal of which accelerated its downfall. (A deadly combo of new-owner enthusiasm and rookie error.) But had we not investigated, we would never have known the delights that lay under all that vegetation...

Anyone seen where I left the goat shed? View from the driveway.

Ooh, a door! And the mature walnut tree growing at an awkward angle from the base of the building

Once exposed, we could see that the stone structure had an almost decorative, oak 'exo-skeleton' and a roof made of hand-cut local ardoise, graded in size from large at the eaves to tiny at the apex of the roof. Many were now lying about the base of the tiny building, having loosened and scattered in countless storms.

Removing the lierre on the barn-side gable end, we discovered two windows...

...and disturbed two bird's nests, one (almost invisible here) above the horizontal oak beam, and one just to the right of the lower window

View from the garden, showing the sorry state of the roof

The door was nothing more than a distant memory in ancient wood and fresh air, but still hinged loyally to the frame.

The door. First impressions are everything in real estate, am I right?

The windows were 3 small holes in the walls; two on the lower level, one higher up, on the gable end facing the barn. There was also a fourth, random hole in the wall at floor level. A makeshift miniature (chicken) ladder rose from the uneven dirt floor to the largest of the window, which featured a square of chicken mesh stretched over a frame.

Mood interior shot showing Portuguese bricks, ladder leading up to frame with mesh, various iron objets d' mystère and an old carriage seat (green) 

Dévitalisant in foreground a hint that the errant walnut's days were numbered

The doorway

Stooping to enter through the collapsed doorway, you had to stay low to avoid hitting your head on the wooden floor of the 'attic' above. In the gloomy interior, there were enough Portuguese bricks to be a nuisance, and a lot of spider webs at face-frenzy height. The lower part of the dépendance housed all manner of iron bits and pieces, broken implements mostly, as well as iron shutter straps and hinges, the metal hoops for wooden cartwheels in a range of sizes, and a bunch of things we could not name.

These were used on cart wheels

All manner of iron bits and pieces, some recognisable; some not.

Your guess is as good as ours

Access to the attic area was through a small window in the gable end. Nestled in the ancient, dusty straw we found a couple of mismatched handmade leather boots.

Nice, innit?

Told you it was exciting in the attic

Once upon a time, there were two maidens named Cinderella and Cinderella1, who were invited to the ball...

 It was a perfectly average storage place for our tent, chairs and table and garden implements for several years. Perfect if you considered its location location location and charm; average if you considered its weather proofing specs (similar to that of a top-end colander).

Getting ready to do some serious planting

 But every time we saw it, it had crept closer to sudden collapse into a pile of rubble.  One year we connected several heavy-duty webbing straps to make a single long one, and cinched it tight around the outside walls. Fixing it to the building, and pulling it tight as possible, we had to dodge tiles that would loosen and fall from overhead...

Turns out, the lierre was holding everything together (I'm tempted at this point to launch into an analogy, and an erstwhile uni friend's idea of a joke, involving spirochaetes and neurones, but will refrain in the interests of decorum).

Fetching orange ceinture sets off the new green post box to great effect, n'est pas?

Cute but damaged - always a dangerous combination, huh?

Arty shot showing much the same

The following year, during the brief holiday over Pâques that we spent there, G cut down the walnut tree.

OK, now for a spot of that dévitalisant...

Then we managed, somehow, and with J-M's long-suffering help, to get a large tarp over the top, which we then fixed in place with another strap, less fetching this time, being black and boring.

Comme un grand cadeau de Noël. 

Along the way, I had a go at creating some stone steps so that access would no longer involve scrambling goat-like (or chicken-style) up a mound of earth...

That red conduit pipe is there for future electrical power cables. We like to plan ahead, we MacGregors, when we're done with inter-clan warfare and the evenings are long

Rough, but it'll do...;)

But it was always going to need remedial work. And we finally bit the bullet last year, as those of you who read this blog might recall. Well, if one of you remembers, perhaps you could remind the other?

The roof comes off, and things start to get a little hairy

Ulp

Spot the crack that threatens to split off the gable end

Door frame, such as it was, comes away

Is it worth saving?

Oak exo-skeleton gone, and looking fragile

The crack that could bring it all crashing down

Phew

The shuttering in place for the new, remedial concrete U beam

Noo roof beams and King truss

And again

Tom's tiling and Gregg's pointing never cease to delight

Inside, all pointed and plastered, and electrics under way 

Looking into the dépendance and out through the doorway - this was the chicken-mesh window, remember?

Original window, glazed

 Last summer, our friend M experienced the monastic delights of a newly renovated dépendance that enjoyed beautiful height, light and a concrete floor, but lacked a door and glazing in the large A-frame window.

















After he left, work began on the mezzanine...

A very awkward space to work in

Tom had been keeping this chestnut board for something special

...and a seasoned chestnut board was placed on the concrete sill below the A-frame.

This year, we arrived to find a freshly painted interior (thanks to Laurie); a new front door - commissioned specially because of the unique size - that shuts firmly and sweetly; a glazed A-frame on the barn side; and an oak floor. Since Tom worked his magic and managed to raise the height of the new roof by a foot or so, happily the mezzanine is now higher by a head than its attic floor predecessor, so even the tallest visitor need not stoop. And there's power, people!

Door and floor and skirting...très civilisée

The dépendance still had Handy Storage Area Potential written all over it (and indeed housed paint tins and other decorating detritus), but we had Other Plans.

We'd designed the mezzanine to be a bed platform, but to maximise head room up there, we chose an extra-thick, bamboo and memory foam mattress protector instead of a mattress. There's a sweet little milking stool for a bedside lamp, and the view out of the A-frame makes the ladder access worthwhile. (We want to organise a wooden stepladder down the track.)

Downstairs, a bit of cleaning was all that stood between us and the fun task of furnishing the space. We bought a couple of deceptively comfortable traditional chairs from Troc and a lamp from Leroy M.,  and brought over a rug and a blanket box from the barn.

Mignonne, n'est pas? This is the AFTER view...

Et voila! C'est fini...

...and this is the BEFORE view

Carriage seat

PS I cleaned up and varnished the chicken-mesh window frame, and added a row of double hooks with ceramic knobs on the lower edge. It makes a great porte-manteau for the barn...and the miniature ladder, somewhere outlandish to hang the car and house keys. Unfortunately, the photo of of the porte-manteau will have to wait until next time and this one of the ladder doesn't do it justice.

But you know you want one. (Orders not taken.)

Rain chain reaction

11 September 2016

The rain chains were a work-in-progress during our visit. I think most people remain unconvinced, but Tom got behind the idea and did tests with a hose pipe (since rain was elusive) before our arrival. He even made adjustments to the downpipe, to make the water trickle down the chain, rather than fly off in a parabola of droplets.

I have asked him to return soon to remove the curved downpipe and let the chain hang vertically, straight from the gutter, as with every rain chain I've seen.

There are two types of rain chain - those with chains alone, and those with chains and cups.  I found little metal buckets to hang from the chain and slow the fall of water, and these should rust nicely with time. (Fingers crossed that they aren't too twee.) At first, they filled and spilled only when full, so I drilled a little hole in the base of each one, to make sure they empty gradually.

So, people, here is a sneak preview of the rain chains filmed during the one and only rain shower of our holiday. If you up the volume, you might just hear the tinkling sound the water makes as it cascades down.

There is, for me, such happiness in small things.

Never wake a sleepwalker

3 September 2016

Back in harness, G on Monday; me on Tuesday. And it's hard to be enthusiastic. Sydney is making a big effort - Spring has sprung, there are cherry trees in blossom between home and the station, the sunshine is streaming in and the daytime temperatures have risen significantly since we left. It's perfect café weather. And yet.

And yet, I find myself dreaming of my garden on the other side of the world. And I could swear there was a bag of Maltesers in the door of the fridge. Oh - wrong fridge.

The carte grise of the car arrived after three working days, I kid you not. So we are now the proud registered owners of a wee French car. And what a great little car she is proving to be. We found out from the insurance company (since there are no markings to indicate) that she is a Privilege, which means there are all sorts of little extras and G spent several hours getting acquainted. By that I mean, sitting in the driver's seat, car stationary in the driveway, fiddling with all the controls and gadgets. I may even have a photo and if pressed, could do a reasonable impression of a David Attenborough voice-over: "Modern camera techniques and infinite patience award us with a very rare sighting indeed: the male of the species spends long hours investigating and trialling car controls, while the female...."

Another coat of stain on the shed did absolutely nothing to improve its looks. Clearly the wood had been pretreated, and now it simply repels and rejects anything that might be applied. Unfortunately, it looks as if a mad impressionist painter has had a go at it - streaks and slops and alternating pale and dark patches belie the skill and perseverence of yours truly. Ah well, I am reassured by everyone that it will weather in and at least I know - I know - it has some protection against the rain and sun, even if the look of the thing is like nails on a chalkboard for me. Told you I was a princess.

Daughter C and I also stained and protected the hayricks with the same chêne ancien stuff and after only one coat they have come up beautifully. I have left them propped against the walls, but one day we'll maybe hang them up. They make a great conversation starter, as in 'D'you know what those are for?'

There is pleasure to be had in desultory conversation and a simple task 

Slothful friend and rain chain (with cups) in the foreground

Ooh look, the sloth stirreth from his slumberth!

During our last week the heat was intense and old friend and three-day visitor C had to abandon the dépendance for the relative cool of the tent under the walnut tree, while daughter C became reacquainted with the sofa and her Dad's snoring prowess.

During the day, we indulged in desultory conversation while going about our various pursuits: friend C working on his ant empire, daughter C on job applications, G on fixing the hole behind the downstairs toilet, and me painting, planting, and finding joy in the smallest of domestic duties. Taking the compost down to the rusty drum beneath the fig tree; washing a few dishes; picking meadow flowers for the vases in the dép. and toilet niche; preparing a salad with blood-red, bursting-with-flavour-but-not-pretty coeur de boeuf tomatoes...It's all a pleasure when you're happy to be alive.

New shed doubling as a handy saw-horse

Ain't he clever?

Old iron detail from on old door hinge found in the dépendance

Meadow loosely demarcated to show curious passers-by that we do, indeed, mean for it to be there

I know, it's a tough gig - the porch is the place for almost every meal

Tuesday evening we headed for Le Saillant, to the weekly night market that takes place in July and August. We're almost blasé now. We know, now, that parking in the village is a matter of find a spot - any spot - and be assertive. To hell with road rules, common sense and being considerate. Park the car and quickly move away, following the trundling clusters of people all making their way towards the   the Inner Circle of producers of fine food. We know to waste no time staking our claim to one of the trestle tables, many of them distorted by the weather, that are laid out in rows - there must be hundreds of them in total. We lay our cloth down, put out some brought-from-home nibbles, wine glasses (Please, plastic? You must be joking!)...and then we hit the stalls to avoid the later queues.

We indulge in a slow meander around, choosing one, two, three cheeses (as friend C says, there can  never be too much cheese)  - a Tomme de brebis, a couple of crémeux (aux herbes de Provence; au paprika), perhaps a little  reblochon - a couple of (pour ce soir) coeur de boeuf tomatoes, a pain de la campagne, une barquette fraises ou framboises, a bottle of locally-produced Chant d'Ardoise vin rouge (or rosé)...and that's just for starters.

By the time we settle down to sharing our spoils, the place is beginning to jump - family groups everywhere, setting up their own picnic tables, splitting up into hunting/gathering parties - the music has begun and the blustering heat is starting to lose its grip, thanks to sun-filter poplars standing tall nearby. There's no hurry now; our hunger now is merely for new taste sensations, and the wine is starting to take its soporific effect. C'est la belle vie. Life is good.

But then, what else is there to eat? There's fresh meat, (to be cooked over the communal half 40-gallon drum BBQs set up one one side), moules, crêpes, or, our favourite, whole truite avec sauce, barbecued right in front of you and served unceremoniously on a plastic plate. That, with a handful of crisp frites, or a hunk of crusty bread and a salad. Now we're talking.

By now, the music is beginning to dominate, and, let me tell you, it's not on your playlist. There's a lot of line dancing going on, the noise levels are rising, and it's well into the second verse of...

Picnic time for Teddy Bears

The little Teddy Bears are having

A lovely time today.

Watch them, catch them unawares,

And see them picnic on their holiday.

See them gaily dance about.

They love to play and shout,

They never have any care;

At six o'clock their Mommies and Daddies

Will take them home to bed,

Because they're tired little Teddy Bears

Every Teddy Bear who's been good

Is sure of a treat today.

There's lots of marvelous things to eat

And wonderful games to play.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrvkHAxnjzI

Old friends

...except it's nearly ten o'clock, and the sun has just set, when these tired teddy bears, seams straining,  wend their weary way home for a last cup of green tea and a spot of stargazing.

Early morning walk and a stop to say hello to the locals :)

On Wednesday, friend C was whisked away to Pompadour in an unusual and probably-too-late bid for Hosts of the Year. There we gawped at the stunning chateau (from beyond the moat, not far from the carpark, in fact, being too cheap to pay the entrance fee) and the hippodrome, before rounding off the extravaganza with a cleansing...crème. Very nice it was, too.

If you look carefully, you can just make out the Chateau

St Robert location shot

Then it was a countdown to Time To Head to the Station, to drop friend C and collect daughter's boyfriend A. No trip to the station or airport would be complete without a scenic detour via the déchetterie, however, which can be relied upon to give a nice white-knuckle edge to an otherwise dull experience. Happily, we arrived in time to get C on the train (OK, so we did have to jump from a moving car and run along the platform yelling our goodbyes) - that's the main thing. And A 's train was late, so again we looked like Cool and Cucumber when he arrived. And Gooseberry.

Cute-as-a-button and very handy - an old sewing tidy

The last two days went by in a blur of last-minute tiny ooh-I-could-just jobs. I covered the rockery with weed mat, with a little help from C and A who brought rocks with only the odd little grumble about heat and holidays and Do we really need more? G collected the dishwasher (compact) and installed it under the sink (it's fab), and we had our by-now-customary penultimate day in Brive, shopping for little gifts, stocking up on Decathlon T-shirts, enjoying a coffee in a baking pavement cafe... all the while backing away from the edge of the abyss of the impending journey and return to reality.

Which brings me to my point. Home is where the heart is. Just saying.