ourfrenchoasis

SUMMER DAYS IN FRANCE

The summer season is fully upon us; the children are all on holiday and the roads are suddenly busy with lots of cars with foreign number plates; this summer the Dutch seem to be the most prolific. As a result, suddenly everything takes twice as long to do. There are lines of cars at lights, the beaches are bursting with bronzing bodies, the amusement-parks are full, and the restaurants over-flowing. But after a fairly dismal and wet May, the locals are finally breathing a sigh of relief as the weather is incredible with one long hot sunny day rolling into another – this is the season when the Charente Maritime earns its yearly tourist bonanza and the visitors are here, cash registers clinking away in a thousand seaside shops. The best part after all the hype of the coast and the buzz of cities we drive a mere fifteen minutes to our tranquil little haven!

In lieu of going away on holiday we have decided to take lots of day-trips this summer, to explore our area and perhaps a little more of France in general. It’s a plan that seems to be working rather well; while we have the comfort of having our own things around us, we have so much to explore, so much to do and so many places we have never been; then when we are at home the pool is in constant use, the kids leaping in and out with the refreshing sound of splashing water. Last night the number of children in the house swelled to 8 as friends came for sleepovers. As I am sitting at the kitchen table tapping away on my laptop writing this, there are children wandering up the garden accompanied by chickens and ducks hopeful of some morning scraps. Rory has found a sleeping-bag and as is his wont has quietly curled up in it, semi-hidden, for a day of snoozing. Clara has found a quiet chair in the garden and curled up on someone’s pool-towel, and Bentley is keeping an attentive vigil under the kitchen table; with so many extra mouths then surely there are a few more crumbs on the floor for him! Gigi has retrieved the butterfly net, a notepad and a pen, and is happily writing down all the creatures she catches and then releases; she wants to see how many different species we have in our garden over the summer. The most recent entrant in her tally is a common swallowtail, a white and black beauty studded with blue highlights and a pair of rubies. This is one of those rare moments when one can sigh contentedly and think, yes we are doing the right thing, this is surely what we want for our children growing up – the sort of ‘Swallows and Amazons’ lifestyle so many of us dream of.

Of course it’s 2015 and so our children have their fair share of electronics and computers just like everyone else, but when we have those moments with no electronics in sight and everyone taking pleasure from simple things, I could almost cry with happiness. In much the same way I get a warm happy fuzzy feeling when, trug in hand, the children help me pick tomatoes, cucumbers and plums for lunch, and aubergines and courgettes for supper on the bbq; all highlighted when the 8 years of wisdom that is Gigi looks at me and says “I love living in France, I love eating our own food, nothing could ever be better than this !”. It’s one of those moments when I allow myself to think that we’re doing an OK job of raising our children!

Last week we took to the water 20 minutes inland and rented a wonderful electric boat for an hour’s foray on the mighty Charente. Reclined under a canvas bimini-top, we went peacefully upstream in the glorious sunshine with the children waiting until we were out of sight of the dock so that they could then drive. Roddy and I relaxed as our midget crew took us up and down the river, with swans, cattle, and herons watching us pass by. The odd angler sat contentedly in the shade under the willows, nodding hello at us as we burbled past on silent battery-power. We saw one blue flash from a kingfisher and a small boat zipped by towing a diminutive water-skier who waved at us as she passed, her pigtail flying in the breeze. It was an emerald idyll, disturbed occasionally by squeals caused by minor navigational errors, and we were amazed at how little traffic there was. Roddy remarked that a longer trip could feasibly include a large wicker hamper, a cooler full of ice, and a feast of some sort. I had to agree. I need to find a bottle of Pimms, I think.

This was followed a couple of days later by a trip to the races for an afternoon of trotting. OK, so admitedly half the thrill was betting on which horse would win, but with just 2 euros on a horse, there was nothing serious here and admittedly this was somewhat of a lesson more about betting than it might have been about the passion of the crowd; perhaps not quite the perfect wholesome natural lifestyle I described earlier, but still one of life’s important lessons. “Betting is a mugs’ game” I told the children – and although Jack said, “Mama you could make a lot of money doing this!”, I had to reply, “Yes, you could, but you could also, like the vast majority of people, lose a great deal of money!”, and we proceeded to prove it as we emptied our pockets of coins and the odd 5 Euro note with no reward to show for it – the closest we got was a second place which proved useless as Roddy had put all the bets on ‘to win’. We watched from the stands where the thrill and noise of the crowd as the horses passed the finishing line is almost quite overwhelming and then we watched the last two races from the rails where you can literally hear the thud of hooves and feel the vibration of the ground as they thundered past within a few feet from us. The children’s eyes glowed with excitement, and they squeaked with delight as each trotter flew past feet away.

Today is going to be a simple beach day, however, as the children have had so many very late nights that they need to recharge their batteries somewhat. For us adults that means the beach, but the children are not of an age to sit and sunbathe, so for them the beach means boogy-boards, skim-boards, swimming, and lots and lots of other activities. Lungs will be filled with healthy salt air, Roddy will do his donkey impression as he goes down to the sand, heavily laden with beachware, toys and coolers, and all this will be followed by an early night. It’s a recipe that seems to work well. I am off to make lavender shortbread to take with us for the all important 4pm gôuter, along with some fresh picked plums from the garden. I love cooking with fresh lavender flowers when they are in season, it gives such a gentle flavor and is a little bit out of the ordinary which always works for me! Plus the kitchen and all of downstairs takes on a real Provençal smell which lingers for hours. It’s a real reminder of this wonderful time of year.

July 22, 2015July 23, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

LA FÊTE NATIONALE – LE 14 JUILLET

Yesterday morning dawned grey and a little cooler than it has been in recent weeks. It seemed a good time to spend a couple of hours digging in the vegetable garden; I took out the peas, which had long since turned into Triffids and then started on some of the weeds which had taken up residence and developed their plots of land into sprawling communities of jungle. I felt a little like Jack amongst the beanstalks as I cut them all down. I sewed some more baby spinach seeds and planted out some tiny lettuces to keep us going through the rest of the summer. Roddy found it funny to ask if these, too, were going to turn into skyscrapers.

A light drizzle started to fall; not enough to do any REAL good, but enough to make my hair completely frizzy and to send me into a panic – not about getting frizzy hair but because I didn’t mind that I was getting frizzy hair! I’m someone known to go to great lengths to avoid getting wet hair, is this a sign of getting old and letting all my rules turn to ruin? It’s a family joke that if I return to the house in the car and it is raining that Roddy will miraculously appear at the car-door with an umbrella, and I have been seen on many occasions running across a road with a bag, a book, or anything else to hand above my head in a sudden shower. Yet here I was, standing in the vegetable garden with Gigi, laughing at my frizzy hair, and I didn’t care – I fear this is indeed a reason to make me panic!

A few hours later clear blue skies returned, and the sun once again became an overpowering force which sent the chickens fleeing for some respite under the hedges and trees. Cats forgot about chasing lizards for a while and slept contentedly in the coolness of the house, Bentley moved away from the heat of the mat outside the front door and sidled into the shade, where he too lay semi-asleep with an ear open in case someone should pick up a lead and mention a walk. My hair had been washed, dried and all signs of frizziness gone and all crazy thoughts of not minding firmly banished!

Yesterday was La Fête Nationale, or as it is commonly called – Le 14 Juillet. This is the French National Day that commemorates the storming of the Bastille on 14 July 1789. One of the highlights is the oldest and largest regular military parade in Europe which is held on the morning of 14 July, on the Champs-Élysées in front of the President of France and other French officials and foreign guests. Elsewhere in France it’s a day much like any other holiday, where people do their own thing and enjoy a day off from work. In the evening most towns and villages across the country have fireworks and then often a dance. Naturally, we were off to sample the pleasures of ours!

But first dinner – some food on the grill, friends joining us with a most beautiful gift of a box of French patisserie. The children emitted that infectious excitement that they always feel when there is anything akin to a party, and the sight of the patisserie raised those levels a little higher as they debated which to choose when it was time for dessert. As darkness fell the table was groaning with leftover goodies and small faces were beaming in sugary delight. The chickens had even been treated to a few prawn heads and Bentley had found some delightful pick-ups under the table.

As has been the way of things in our village for many years, once it was dark everyone was invited to gather at the Mairie to collect their lanterns. These were beautiful paper creations in an array of shapes and colours, containing a small candle which the Mayor lit for each and every one he handed out. At a little after 10.30pm the procession set off led by Mayor. We wound our way like a stream of fireflies through the old streets, past leaning houses that had been built centuries before the storming of the Bastille and which could no doubt tell many tales if only they could talk. Toddlers and tiny children, their lanterns almost as big as themselves, tottered along amongst the adults. Our own children had long since disappeared into the crowd, running ahead to somewhere near the front where they could be with their school-friends. The night was clear and still with a vault of glittering stars over our heads as our procession of 200 people or more wound our way through the village, lanterns ablaze. It was a very primeval procession, the flickering lights and jostling shadows perhaps a lingering memory of that evening so long ago in 1789 when the first night of the new federation might have echoed to the same ghostly mutterings.

Culminating at the Salle des Fêtes, the processionary throng stopped for the firework display set against the backdrop of the ancient 12th Century Chateau Fort. It was at this stage I had the feeling that I was in a scene from a film rather than real life, as the setting was almost surreal; huge searchlights beamed around whilst we waited for the fireworks to begin and when the first colours burst overhead a real sense of drama overcame us all as the display unfolded and more rockets and flares soared above the battlements. Incongruously, the music from Star Wars blared out across the field, perhaps relieving us of any surfeit of excitement we may have felt being too close to history!

As the last glowing pyrotechnic sank away downwind we wandered over to the Salle des Fêtes and the bal populaire or dance commenced. Elderly couples dancing a-deux swirled gracefully amongst younger adults, teenagers, children and toddlers. Our children swayed in and out of the crowd and time blurred into a sea of movement and flashing lights. In the early hours of the morning we wandered home, everyone content and happy and feeling a part of a very small, but very special little community – we are very lucky and very grateful to have found ourselves in such a friendly village.

July 15, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

A TALE OF CONTRASTS

“Variety is the Spice of Life” – so they say, and in my case it certainly would appear to be true!

The summer holidays are here, the children have finished school and with the long hot sunny days the grass has turned brown from the lack of rain. The kitchen floor tiles are permanently marked with wet foot-prints as children wander in and out from the pool. Wherever I go I seem to stop to pick up a bikini-bottom, a swimming-towel, or a pair of goggles – all dropped here or left there; but I don’t mind too much, these are the signs of summer and the children are winding down from early starts in the cold wet rain of winter and spring. People drop in for supper, always casual at this time of year, with plenty of fresh produce from the garden, and either friends of the children are always here or our children are away at other people’s houses. There are tents on the lawn, and screams from the pool; it’s all part and parcel of having five children and I love it!

Early morning is the peaceful time; the soft golden hour between 7.00 and 8.00am is a favourite time of the day to wander down the garden to watch the ducks lumbering across the lawn as they wake up, wings flapping as they learn to fly. It’s akin to watching giant amphibious aircraft struggling to leave the ground. Much noise, much effort, and little to show for it still. The cluck of contented chickens foraging in the flower beds for breakfast competes with Fritz as he improves his teenage morning crow; being a small bantam rooster, it’s a quiet crow, almost tuneful but not too overpowering. Our potager is now hugely productive thanks to our well and the ancient, but incredibly effective pump, without which I would feel supremely guilty about endlessly watering, a necessity considering we have had no rain for weeks. When we first arrived here I looked at the huge old tank, the rusty pipes and archaic system with doubt and dread, now in the height of summer I have come to love the old pump, it groans into life with the press of a switch and I have learnt what an incredibly valuable commodity it is.

The aubergines are growing fast, their vibrant deep purple fruits fattening each day and the watermelons are now the size of small footballs. Admittedly, some of the garden is now somewhat overgrown, but it’s a dense sea of green with beautiful colours – a strong piece of kitchen garden with an organic life of its own. One or two of the lettuces have taken to adulthood (there are only so many you can eat) – Roddy has suggested one variety should be called ‘New York Skyscraper’, so vertiginous are its heights. Each morning I expect to find it toppled, a small tiny axe lying beside it. Potatoes lie in wait under a dark brown loam, and some of the larger courgettes have turned into marrows, lying hidden like anacondas under the jungle of leaves and flowers. Everything, of course, tastes just tinglingly delicious.

We are feasting daily on tomatoes still warm from the sun, peppers, lettuce, cucumber, those courgettes, those freshly dug new potatoes and sweet carrots; all accompanied by our terrace-beds of herbs and the freshest of eggs from the chickens; it seems like such a pure simple life which in turn fills us with energy. Until around midnight, at which point someone turns off the energy and I wilt into bed, satisfied but worn out.

Bentley loves the French summer sun – he spends most of his day lying in the warmth on the doormat! The kittens are now 10 months old and although they hunt together at night, during the day they are completely independent. Rory loves nothing better than to curl up somewhere in the house, usually in one of the childrens’ bedrooms, where he buries himself deep on a chair under cushions or surrounds himself with a duvet so he can hardly be seen; there he sleeps, content and undisturbed for most of the day.

Clara, by contrast, likes to follow me around, and whenever I go near the vegetable garden at the very far end of our garden she magically appears at my feet from the bushes and her lizard-hunting. Rubbing around my legs, she purrs continuously as I stop to pick tomatoes or a cucumber. She often stops and lies at my feet when I pause for thought – I think I have never known a cat like her.

The calm of this semi self-sufficient summer lifestyle is in complete contrast to the vibrant life of the coast a mere fifteen minutes away where the summer season has started in earnest. Already the roads have double the amount of cars and our village is buzzing with life and traffic; holiday-homes have opened their shutters and our little bakery is no longer a 30 second wait for one’s baguette; sometimes you have to wait a scandalous minute or more to be served! The beaches are busy and the hotels are filling up, and the camper-van season has started on the country lanes. All of this is good though, as the financial life-blood of provincial France sorely needs this artery-opening season – without a good, successful summer, households go cold and hungry in winter. Roddy and I suspect this is why the local attitude to the tourist and visitor here is respectful and courteous – it is a refreshing attitude compared to those places which have a 12-month tourist season. From what we have seen, the local population do really seem to happily put up with any inconvenience that might occur, content in the knowledge that by being busy now, they can enjoy the rest of the year sleeping on their wads of Euros, tucked away under hard mattresses.

Earlier in the week friends took us to the Luna Park at La Palmyre. As it’s name suggests, this park is only open at night, from 8pm until 2.30am. There’s little point in getting there until it is dark as that’s half the fun; the neon lights and electric atmosphere pulsate against the night sky, and considering sunset is not until around 10pm at this time of year, it means a late night! We arrived somewhere around 10.30pm and left in the early hours, several dozen Euros lighter but laden with soft cuddly toys and other winnings from various stalls! It was all a complete opposite to our life in the village, with its quiet country lanes and fields of yellow sunflowers. In the dark of the night as children weaved and bobbed amongst the throbbing lights and excited rides, I had a glimpse of a totally different way of life, where one can imagine shady deals taking place behind the bumper-cars and illicit kisses being stolen behind the cardboard cut-outs, where danger may lurk in the shadows; a delicious blend of excitement and surprise. Of course, nothing happened, and the children had a great time; and so did Izzi and I, as we chaperoned the small people from one stomach-wrenching ride to another, and from coconut shy to the splash of the duck-catching stall.

As we drove home, small people asleep within minutes in the back of the car under a great sprawl of stars above a sleeping landscape, it was astounding to think that the pulsations of the fun fair are a mere fifteen minutes away, this is the home of ClubMed here, a zoo, hotels, waterparks and campsites. It’s not somewhere I would want to go every night, or even every week, but very occasionally it is the greatest of fun! As we hurried home our headlights picked out the nightlife in the marsh, where eyes glowed behind rushes and where dark forms scurried from shadows across the road – I knew in the morning I would be back at work with the hoe and the pitchfork – a complete Freudian contrast to the evening.

July 9, 2015July 9, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

LOCAL ARTISANS – CARO FEELY, THE WINE-GROWER

When pondering culinary memories of France, common thoughts often revolve around cheese, croissants, and wine. Especially the wine, and for good reason; as there are hundreds of thousands of acres of vineyards in France, almost spanning the entire country from Alsace in the north down to Bandol in the South, producing thousands of different reds, whites, roses and champagne. As well as the commercial production in the country, many people have a few vines on their property where they produce enough bottles to sustain them through the year. Naturally, our little row of vines at the bottom of the garden had piqued my interest and I was keen therefore to learn a great deal more. I decided I had to make the life of a wine-grower a part of my ‘Local Artisan’ series. Earlier this week I drove south-east across France to the Dordogne for a meeting at Chateau Feely where I hoped to discover so much more about the trade of a vintner. The life of a wine-grower might seem like a dream job to many people; think France, sun, wine and it’s easy to get carried away, however, as I have now learnt, it is most definitely not that straightforward. It’s very time consuming indeed and a huge amount of hard work, and unless you happen to be selling Chateau de Rothschild for 200 euros a bottle it also will not under any circumstance turn you into a millionaire. However, it is extremely addictive and totally fascinating. So, here is my fifth artisan in the series, wine-grower Caro Feely.

I could have chosen any number of vineyards for my project but because I am particularly interested in organic wine, Chateau Feely intrigued me immensely as they have gone one step further and produce not only organic wine, but also biodynamic wine – which takes everything to the next level. The original name of the vineyard was Chateau Haut Garrigue, but as Chateau Feely it now produces ten different award-winning wines a year, their two lines of production are called Terroir Feely and Chateau Feely. Their range includes reds, dry whites, sparkling and dessert wines. Each year they produce around 12,000 bottles from their nine hectares of certified organic and biodynamic vines.

Both Caro and her husband Sean are South Africans with Irish roots. They met in Johannesburg and wine growing is in their genes; Sean’s father is a Master wine grower in the Cape wine-growing region. They always had a dream to own a vineyard and produce their own wine, and originally thought that would be in South Africa, but work took them to Dublin in Ireland and they pursued professional careers there for several years that had nothing to do with wine! But eight years after moving to Dublin and with a baby and a toddler in tow, they quit their jobs, sold their house, said goodbye to the security of earning a guaranteed salary and a life of comfort and became the proud owners of a vineyard in Saussignac – a small village near Bergerac in the department of Dordogne in South West France. The land, the house and the buildings were in liquidation and all in desperate need of renovation, but it had been a vineyard for centuries with a reputation for incredible wine, and within a short space of time a whole new life began for the couple. This is a life with no guarantees, a life quite literally of blood, sweat and tears, but also a life full of passion and that feeling of truly being in charge of one’s own destiny.

That first momentous change for the Feelys took place ten years ago. Since then they have had to learn more than many of us learn in a lifetime, with those ten years a passage of time divided into weeks of 100 hours or more of labour, every year, each season. Their passion has taken them first from growing organic wine to the next stage of becoming biodynamic wine-growers, and all of this they’ve learnt in a foreign language. I truly have nothing but respect for Caro and Sean, and their vineyard, and I felt truly privileged to be able to meet them and chat with Caro about Terroir Feely.

So, back to earlier this week, and the winding road through the vineyards of France. Due to work commitments Roddy was unfortunately unable to come with us, so the day turned into a road trip for the girls as Izzi was home from University with her Floridian best friend, Lisa, and along with Millie (who has a passion for life unlike any other fifteen year old I have ever known) we set off ! An extremely early start saw us skirting the outskirts of rush-hour Bordeaux and then heading east before the real heat of the day took hold. We knew we were in wine country as we were surrounded by vineyards and Domaines of every denomination wherever we looked. At 10am we finally turned down a narrow lane and into Chateau Haut Garrigue, and a sense of excitement filled the car. Although I was there in a blogger’s guise, we joined a group of three other people for one of Caro’s wine tours to start with. This was a two hour tour where we walked through the vineyards, learning about the soil, the vines and the history of wine growing in the area before moving into the cool of the air conditioned tasting room, where we learnt about different white and red wines. The Feely’s vineyards are on steep hillsides with absolutely stunning far-reaching views and many of their vines are 30 years old with some of more than 50 years old. I was amazed at how much we learnt in such a short space of time; how to appreciate all the different aromas in individual wines, how to tell a young red from a much older vintage, the differences in taste, and by the end of the morning I had a far greater appreciation of wine than I had ever had before. At 15 years old, Millie was just a “sniffer”, but even without tasting anything she still learnt so much and was quite entranced by the whole experience.

The wine-tours are just one of the many inventive ways that Caro has learnt to make ends meet. With the wine-growing industry in France under immense pressure from so many imported wines from all around the world, it became vital early on for the Feely’s to diversify if they were to compete against foreign wines that are far less regulated and therefore much cheaper to produce and sell. Whilst their main business is the vineyard and the wines they produce, Caro studied and qualified to become a certified wine-educator so she could then teach people about the wines from their vineyard. They also welcome people to learn a little more about their wines through their vine-share scheme and they also have two eco-gîtes. In addition she is an accomplished author of two books, Grape Expectations and Saving our Skins, where you can read their story as wine-growers in France. I can highly recommend them, I have read them both twice!

However, for the true wine-lover and for anyone who cares about where their wine comes from, this is one vineyard that is hard to beat. After our wine tour we were able to chat to Caro on her own and walked a little further in the vineyards. I was still keen to learn more about organic and biodynamic methods; did it really make such a difference to a bottle of wine? Whenever possible I try and buy organic produce anyway, by habit I buy organic milk and I buy organic wine, but I wondered if this really was a vital step for wine that was stored for so long before drinking. As a result of my question, I was stunned to learn that while the amount of pesticide use is controlled for fruits and vegetables sold in grocery stores, there is no regulation in the wine industry, and in recent tests it was found that the average glass of French wine contained 300 times more pesticide residues than is allowed in our drinking water; that is just the average. I asked Caro if she would still do it again now she knows so much ?

“Half-way through what we have done,I would probably have said no,” she told me with a grin, “but now, ten years later, I wouldn’t change my life at all.” Her answer said it all, for despite all the hard work it’s a passion that doesn’t diminish. She feels they still have so much to learn as it’s a constant learning curve. Despite the tough lifestyle, she would be delighted if one day the children were to follow in their footsteps and take over Chateau Feely, and although the girls are still way too young to choose their future it said a great deal to me that despite the difficulties Caro would still love for her children to follow as wine-growers.

At the end of the extended walk Caro took us into the Chai (pronounced shay, a French term for an aboveground structure used for wine storage and aging). Vast modern stainless-steel tanks stored the majority of their wine, but there was some wine also in both French and Californian oak barrels. Perhaps it is the organic and biodynamic background that evokes such passion in this couple, I thought, as I heard that Sean had been up and working in the vineyards since 5.30am (a real labour of true love as he has no help whatsoever!). Most of us know about organic farming but biodynamic methods are far less familiar. The organic route returns the land to a natural state. However, the problem with most modern farming methods is they strip the earth of everything natural; the more insecticides used the more that need to be used as they are not selective, killing the good bugs that in turn would normally kill the bad bugs; in addition pesticides strip the soil of so much goodness that more chemical fertilizers are needed. The cycle is endless and deadly, driven by a desire to produce huge quantities of grapes as cheaply as possible. Biodynamics, however, take natural farming and working with the land a step further, where growers think more of the vineyard as a whole farm system, where working with the moon and the lunar cycles is normal and plant and animal-based homeopathic type preparations are used for the plants.

If all this sounds a little bit too much and you are, understandably, a little skeptical, then perhaps understanding the impact that biodynamic farming has had on the Feely’s vineyard will change your mind. Since going biodynamic they have been able to decrease their dose of copper for combatting downy mildew fungal disease (which can be a problem in the region) from 6kg/ ha (the max allowed in organic) to 1,5kg/ ha, and with this ratio they already have 25% less mildew than when they started out using the maximum. In their own words, the result is “Our vines are more resistant to disease than ever before and our wines taste better”. It is certainly something I plan to learn a great deal more about, as I had never really heard of biodynamics – but it’s seems to make a great deal of common sense and I am intrigued.

We left Chateau Feely as the temperature climbed to a whopping 40◦ Celsius (104 Fahrenheit); motorway-signs warned of extreme heat and the necessity to keep hydrated, and the radio kept talking about the heatwave. We had plenty to talk about as we had learnt so much, and our girls’ day out had been enlightening, fascinating and fabulous. When we finally arrived home we were most certainly in need of a glass of wine, and uncorking a bottle of Terroir Feely ‘La Source’ sulphite-free red wine, and a bottle of Terroir Feely “Sincérité” white wine we were able to share a little of our day with Roddy, who remarked he had died and gone to heaven and he’d drive back the next day with a large lorry to Saussignac to buy some more! It really was that good!

Thank you so much Caro, for such a perfect day, it was truly a pleasure meeting you.

For anyone wanting to find out more about Chateau Feely or to buy their wines online, click on the link here. If you are visiting France and the region I highly recommend at the very least a wine tour with Caro, or you can go one step further and book a week at one of their gites, I cannot imagine a more perfect holiday. http://www.feelywines.com/

July 1, 2015July 2, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

A SLOWER PACE OF LIFE? YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!

“We will have more time on our hands”

“It will get less frenetic soon”

“When we have more time”

I seem to utter these phrases several times a day, or perhaps I am just trying to convince myself, but I do know that we really will have more time on our hands soon; I really do hope so. Right now, I feel as if I am being pulled in every direction. The weather is beautiful, with long hot sunny days and it’s not getting dark until well after 10pm. This has a downside though, as we are working until well past 10pm each and every day. We’re up against a few deadlines and nothing bar nothing seems to be going our way at the moment.

Our guest house has a deadline and we are frantically trying to get it finished, but it seems to be a case of one step forward and two back as we hit problem after problem; below is a little glimpse of what it looked like when we bought the house, and what it has gradually turned into.

The pool is still not finished as it has also suffered a few setbacks. Arguing with customer relations on the phone is not my forte in French, and even Roddy struggled to break down the obstinate defenses of the seasoned pool shop campaigner who fielded his questions and demands with an increasingly frightening use of French terms which seemed to have no direct English translation.

Jack finished school this week on Tuesday and has been reveling in not having to get up at the crack of dawn any more. Millie finished last Friday, but returns to school today and tomorrow for her Brevet exams which I’ll explain later; this has been a revision week at home for her. The two youngest girls still have another week much to their annoyance, but it’s hardly doom and gloom, they have their big school fête to look forward to at which I thoughtfully volunteered Roddy to run the barbecue! There are dance performances, games and singing, and with much practicing replacing standard lessons at school the excitement is building amongst all the little ones. They also have a day out touring the marsh in the Marais on their bicycles next week and it should be a fabulously novel school trip. This morning they went to school on their bikes as they were spending a good part of the day going over road safety, safe bike handling and so on. Of course, when you’re 8 or 10, this isn’t boring – this is super-exciting stuff; in fact anything that detracts from normal lessons is super-exciting, at least that’s how it was in my day and I think that is one of the few things that hasn’t changed! Roddy trundled down the road with two children, two bikes, two large school satchels, helmets and various other accoutrements, muttering under his breath about Don Quixote, donkeys, and windmills. I rather think his foot suddenly developed a limp again just for the spectators.

What is also exciting for us is the fact that Izzi is home from University for the summer; it’s fabulous to have all five of the children together again and it’s just plain NICE to have her home. She has taken over the role of head-cook and part-time housekeeper whilst we live in this temporary whirlwind of deadlines, and in turn this allows me to get bitten late at night in the garden by mosquitos as I deadhead, weed and water. The bats whirring sibilantly around my head are very much my friends in reality, of course, but I have to worry about them too, I have had a fear of bats ever since I watched a highly unsuitable horror movie when I was a teenager. Roddy confidently announced we had two species in the garden, and surprised at his knowledge, I asked which sort – the answer was typical and to the point – ‘big ones and little ones’.

Mowing the lawn at 8pm yesterday evening Izzi called me in to supper. What awaited was not a quick snack thrown together, but a beautifully presented delicious meal, including a much needed glass of wine. Best of all, she is managing to cater for all seven of us with a lot of our produce fresh from the garden; no one could ever ask for a more thoughtful beautiful daughter, Izzi darling, you are the best, Thank You xxx

Amidst the chaos of the last week, it turns out that our four Faverol chicks appear to be three males and one female – which is not the result we had wanted! As I had promised our neighbour’s son, who also happens to be best friend with the girls, a female and a male chick, I wasn’t going to go back on my promise. So we have advertised the other two males for sale as we cannot keep another rooster; it would be much bigger than our dear bantam rooster, Fritz, and would no doubt beat him up quite severely with so few females to go around. Roddy did mention that we had some perfectly good casserole dishes and a bottle or two of good red wine which could be used to rectify the situation, but this has appalled the children who vehemently stated they were going to a good home instead. As a result, however, I was persuaded (although it took very little persuading, to be frank), to purchase two new laying-hens. So we now have two beautiful white Sussex hens; Églantine and Astrid – regal speckled-white ladies amongst the shadows under the lime trees. Along the way when my back was turned Millie also managed to squeeze a young female white Silkie into the hen basket at the same time, whom she has named Constance. She has been wanting a Silkie for five years, and her dream has finally been fulfilled. We had to trim the feathers around her eyes yesterday and I can see she is going to be the pampered pooch of the hen house! Roddy stomped his feet at first and then muttered that Constance looked a little like a poodle!

Then, just as I thought I was finally in control, Millie dropped a bombshell. We were just returning in the car yesterday evening, halfway down the drive, when she casually mentioned she needed her passport to take to school with her tomorrow for her Brevet. “But I don’t have it” I replied, “it’s in England being renewed, I sent it off a couple of days ago.”

“What ??????” she wailed, “You cannot be serious ???? OMG !!! I have to have it, I have to have a piece of official identity with a photo, nothing else will count, Mama my life is finished, I won’t be able to take my Brevet – Mama how can you have sent it away, Mama…” I felt about as small and useless as a snail, but right then I didn’t have any other answer, which really wasn’t helpful in placating a distraught 15 year old who truly believed she would now not be able to take her Brevet.

I’d best explain a little. The Brevet in France is similar to GSCE exams in the UK; they are taken in several subjects at the end of College (MIddle School), and most children are usually 15 when they take their Brevet. Some leave school for good after this, for others it is the exams that decide if they are able to move on to Lycée (High School), but there are only three years of Lycée and four years of College here. The exams are sat right the way across France on the same days at the same time, by millions of pupils. During the past couple of months they have sat several mock exams (the Brevet Blanc) but now everything comes down to two days. I phoned Roddy who was not at home to ask him what we should do, although he had no clue either.

Just as I was preparing to ring the school and beg, plead, grovel (this was not a time for pride), Roddy called me back. Rather sheepishly he told me he had found an envelope on the dashboard of his car, and in it was the said passport which was meant to be on it’s way to the UK and Her Majesty’s Passport Office for renewal. He had completely forgotten to go to the post office with it on Monday when I had given it to him. Never again will I swear at my husband for forgetting to mail a letter; it’s true there have been other occasions when I have taken his car and found a letter sitting on the passenger seat under a long-forgotten coat which I had assumed had long ago reached it’s destination; and there have been occasions, I have to admit, when I have been more than just a little annoyed (with maybe even the odd swear word uttered), but never ever again will this happen – for this time he has truly saved my bacon.

Peace has been restored and I did not have to grovel and beg at all! So to any readers from France who have children taking their Brevet today and tomorrow I wish them the very best of luck, or as a French lady said to me yesterday, we don’t say good luck to someone we say Merde!

In the meantime Izzi and I are off to Bordeaux today to collect her best friend who is visiting France for the first time ever, now if only I can find the time to show her around! Meanwhile I am still dreaming of those long lazy summer days reading a book under the shade of a tree, drink in hand and the occasional dip in the pool when it gets too warm – sigh, we will have more time soon!

June 25, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

GARDENER, HOUSEKEEPER AND CHAUFFEUR NEEDED AND WANTED!

Here we are rapidly approaching the longest day of the year, and time flies by – why can’t it just slow down ? I’d like to press the pause button just for a little while whilst I catch up. So many jobs, so much to do, and not enough hours in the day. Last weekend was wet and grey; and while it was not much fun for us, the garden and vegetables loved it; unfortunately so did the weeds!

The runner beans are smothered in blackfly; if anyone has a natural organic way of getting rid of them please, please let me know. I have tried washing-up liquid and at the moment am squashing them by hand (yuk) and then hosing them off with water…. it’s a wee bit time consuming, to say the least, but I don’t want to lose the entire crop just as the beans are developing.

We have never had grapevines before and we have much to learn, so at the moment it’s rather a case of discovering as we go along; lots of research on Google and lots of help and advice from friends for which we are eternally grateful. In the winter I nervously pruned them, but much to my relief they survived and are flourishing – now onto the next stage. We were up and out early this morning, training them along new wires, trying to tame them.

Even though I’m feeling a little trampled, I’m rather in love with my garden, and once the lawn is mown I think it manages to look good, weeds included.

The scent from the flowering Magnolia Grandiflora is incredible and as I duck down low to mow underneath the perfume is succulent and clean; no wonder it is full of bees. I pulled the branch below downwards to take a look (and to take the photo) and was amazed to see the stamen loose, sitting in the petals like matchsticks.

The mixed flowering-hedge along the drive has also come into its own,

and the terrace, totally unlike the rest of the garden, is a place to linger. It is also the one place where I strive for perfection – that means it is weed free!

It’s not only plants that are growing at lightening speed; so are the chicks, now nearly three weeks old and they scarcely resemble those little yellow fluffy newly hatched bundles. We are fairly sure we have two male and two female, time will tell!

There is little, that can beat fresh food straight from the garden, especially when it is totally organic. I am immensely proud to be able to give the children a simple lunch entirely from our garden and potager, red-currants, our first cucumber, lettuce, baby carrots; whether the goodies are eaten within an hour or less of being picked, or cooked whichever way – raw or thrown on the barbecue, everything just tastes so much better for hard work and good fortune – it all tastes delicious, especially the eggs thanks to our laying hens.

Everywhere around us now, food is being grown. Fields of barley and wheat swim uphill and down dale in the landscape….

Maize and sunflowers – another month of Charente Maritime hot sun and they will be bursting with corn and bright yellow flowers.

I have decided I need a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener and a chauffeur for the children – wishful thinking! In the meantime I am forcing myself to take a break every now and then; the guest-house can wait, and the summer kitchen (a project that has been thought of but not even started yet!) can also wait; the weeds can grow a little higher but the children won’t be at butterfly catching age forever. One has to take the time to walk with them and enjoy their company. Every summer day is precious, and every day I realize how lucky I am.

June 18, 2015June 18, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

RUNNING THE PERFECT CHAMBRES D’HÔTES – “MAISON MAURICE”

I am always intrigued as to why people live abroad; in particular I wonder what makes them choose a special area or indeed a specific country. If you read the newspapers it seems France is awash with British, but in fact there are more French living in the UK than there are British living in France! Europe truly has become a giant community with every country hosting a variety of nationalities. Nevertheless I am still always curious as to what brings people to where they are. One couple I think of regularly in this light are Penny and Adrian Girardot. They live in the Charente Maritime near the beautiful historic town of Pons. It is here that they run their extremely successful and luxurious Chambres d’Hôtes, and they have made this little corner of France their home for nearly ten years. Roddy and I spent a wonderful day this week chatting with them, strolling around their stunning garden and then lunching at one of their favourite nearby restaurants beside the river Charente in the fantastic and famous town of Cognac.

A British couple, Penny and Adrian had spent several wonderful holidays in the south-west of France and loved the area. For them the climate was perfect, benefiting especially from the micro-climate of the Charente Maritime typically means long warm summers and mild winters. As is often a factor, the Charente Maritime is also within a day’s driving distance of most of the France/UK ferry ports and the Channel tunnel. It also benefits from the very close proximity of both Bordeaux and La Rochelle international airports, which makes it easily accessible. In 2004 the couple bought a near-derelict property outside Pons with plans to renovate it whilst they maintained their successful careers in the UK, and to then retire to France a few years later and run a Chambres d’Hôtes. However, halfway through the renovations, Adrian suffered a health scare and their plans changed radically; he took early retirement and in 2008 they moved permanently to France. The house was not finished and they learnt, as many of us have, building and finishing skills that they never thought they would have to acquire, a trait common throughout France where every Englishman seems to have more than a passing understanding of mixing concrete and roofing skills. Still, this is a couple that never turns down a challenge and they met it head-on in their typical, upbeat style. In the spring of 2009 they opened their doors to their first paying guests and they have never looked back since.

Looking around their property, Maison Maurice, it is hard to imagine that their home has not always been exactly as it is now. It is a beautiful old stone Charentaise house and barn, dating from the 1800’s; roses tumble down the walls and trees burst with fruit. However, it wasn’t just the house that needed total renovation, the garden was for the most part non existent – there was little here apart from a couple of trees and shrubs and a vast amount of brambles and weeds. Amongst the many jobs they undertook was the task of landscaping, and they have achieved a result little short of a miracle.

Surrounding the totally renovated and very authentic house, the garden is divided into a naturally flowing series of “rooms”. There is the wild garden; a natural habitat for birds, insects and hedgehogs of which they have several who live in the undergrowth. Then there is also a Mediterranean garden where grapevines and olive trees are sheltered from cold winds by old stone walls on four sides; this is the perfect place to enjoy one of the sun-loungers and wile away a few hours with a good book under the gently moving shade-sail. It was the sort of retreat that reminded me to constantly look at my watch and make sure not to be late to collect the children from school! There is also a small orchard and all of the ‘rooms’ surround the main garden with its herbaceous borders and a terrace where you can dine outside ; in fact the entire garden invites you to relax and enjoy it. Penny has planted 28 different species of rose and she knows each one by name, and she is quite capable of telling you exactly which scent comes from which rose. It is a garden free from pesticides, hence the abundance of butterflies and bees, and it is the perfect compliment to the interior of the house – both have a refined elegance but retain that air of casual comfortability that invites you to stay and linger.

In the house there are four bedrooms, each with a luxury en-suite bathroom; and in Penny’s own words, “We would rather have slightly smaller bedrooms with top quality mattresses and bed linen, and luxurious bathrooms, as opposed to bigger rooms with cheaper fixtures and fittings.” I totally agree with this as nothing can beat a good night’s sleep, wrapped in Egyptian cotton and tucked up in a perfect bed after a long day exploring. Waking up and enjoying the gorgeous oversized glass shower with handmade tiles is the perfect start to the day.

Penny and Adrian both have backgrounds in the hospitality business, and they each enjoy meeting new people and entertaining – it is this that makes their Chambres d’Hôtes so unique and such a great experience. While the breakfasts are leisurely and delicious, it is Penny’s evening meals that turn your stay into a true dining experience. Sharing four courses with your hosts, while the local wine flows from Adrian’s excellent cellar, makes the experience more reminiscent of a fabulous dinner party with friends than a meal in a small hotel. The couple have found that guests frequently become friends, and many return year after year; this is exactly how Roddy and I began our relationship with Maison Maurice in August 2014, so I can speak from both sides, both as a paying guest enjoying the perfect holiday and as a friend seeing the work behind the scenes. The icing on the cake is that Penny and Adrian have justifiably won a clutch of prestigious awards for their little slice of Charentaise luxury, and the awards are proudly, but totally unpretentiously, displayed in the hallway !

However, it’s not all fun and partying as a vast amount of hard work behind the scenes is needed in order to make everything tick along without a hitch. Not least is the couple’s incredible stamina; entertaining until midnight or later, night after night in the summer months, when their guests retire to their ûber comfortable beds they then start clearing up and cleaning the dining room and kitchen. Come the morning everything is again spick and spam with the couple ready to serve breakfast and start the whole cycle all over again. Whilst their guests chatter over croissants and homemade jams, planning their trip for the day and which sights to see, Penny and Adrian cosset and advise, plan the evening meal, make sure the coffee flows and ensure that their guests are happy. They each have their own special tasks; Penny is the cook, and she is also the laundry-maid and head-gardener, secretary and bookings coordinator. They both clean, top and bottom, inside and out. Adrian is the sommelier, waiter, maintenance-man, machinery-geezer, heavy-duty gardener and he also does all of the shopping. To an outsider, transported to this land of figs and vineyards, the job and its lifestyle may seem like the perfect metier in a dream location, but it is also a huge amount of hard work and I have nothing but admiration for them; they don’t complain about the long hours, they love what they do and I have to say they are the perfect hosts.

There is no room for domestic squabbles; to take on this lifestyle in a foreign country needs a rock-solid relationship and an ability to work side by side 24 hours a day. Another prerequisite is being able to laugh; both at one’s language mistakes and also at oneself and each other without rancor – this is another reason they are so successful as they have a fabulous ‘joie de vivre’.

Pausing for a brief rest on the tour through the below-stairs part of our journey, I wondered if there was anything they missed about home? Replies were succinct and to the point – English pubs and pub lunches was one, because there was nothing quite like them, and another was of course family and friends; certainly not a lot else. In contrast there are many benefits to living in France; some of which became readily apparent as we arrived in Cognac and lunch by the river. Some of them included the lack of traffic, the slower pace of life, and a slightly more old fashioned and elegant way of living. And then there are the people – they have found their neighbours and the local Charentaise people utterly delightful, helpful, friendly and charming. Adrian and Penny have made their dream a reality and they are passionate about their adopted country. “Just look around,” Adrian said, “lunch in a classic waterside setting, at a delightfully informal and yet sophisticated restaurant, bustling with locals all enjoying a normal two or three course meal in the middle of the working day.” We had to agree, it’s one of the reasons we love France too.

Maison Maurice is never officially closed. The summer months are non-stop and extremely busy, while winter is a time for maintenance. However, the spring and autumn usually still mean wonderful weather and although there may be guests it is a time when Penny and Adrian get out and about to enjoy their surroundings with day-trips to local places, and the odd night away here and there. This is the time to relax a little and spend time with friends. Despite their hard work there really does need to be some time for themselves to be able to enjoy France too. Running a Chambers d’Hôtes is certainly not the life for everyone, but for Penny and Adrian it is like a worthwhile passage on their own restored boat in a choppy but oftentimes beautiful sea; it suits them perfectly and I can’t quite imagine them anywhere else.

For anyone wanting to know more about Maison Maurice or planning a visit, (and, trust me, it really is worth a little detour to spend at least one night, if not several) then you can find their website by clicking here. I know you will not be disappointed, it’s a very special place and I am so glad we found it, and found such true friends in Penny and Adrian.

June 10, 2015June 11, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

LOCAL ARTISANS – THE PAYSAGISTE

Michel Libouban left school at 15, and decided then that a life on the open sea was for him. Never one for classes despite good marks, he was keen to get out and do something for himself from an early age. However, after one trip on the high seas he realized his mistake and took up a station in a commercial bakery, instead. After six months or so of repetitive work on what was basically an assembly line, he then realized that his love for nature may provide an answer, and so he signed on as an apprentice ‘paysagiste” – someone qualified as a horticulturist who plies their trade as a gardener and garden designer – a very honest metier in France. Years passed, and as he qualified through a long 10-year period of study he met his wife at college, and settled down in a small village close to his parents, both doctors in the seaside town of Royan.

The rest of this blog today should of course now be about his life in the fields and gardens of his countryside, and how at the age of 45 he is now at the peak of his career, caring for the plants and flowers of the rich and famous. But something is amiss, and Michel finds himself at a crossroads in his life as a result of many converging differences. It makes me wonder whether this is happening right across France, or perhaps across Europe, and perhaps overseas. But first, we need a little recap.

Anyone who is visiting France and loves gardening will try and include a visit to the formal gardens of Versailles. If you have never been to Versailles but have even the merest passing fancy in a rose, you should make this trip. The gardens at Versailles were designed by André Le Nôtre and are proof that French gardens reached their clearest expression in the 17th and 18th centuries under Louis XIV and Louis XV. It was at this time that gardens provided a symbol of status, and their importance to lifestyle and culture at this time cannot be overestimated. The traditional French garden tends to have a strong symmetrical axis and is very structured which is in contrast to the English garden which reached its height with the Romantic movement in the 1790’s and early 1800’s. English gardens of this era highlighted the variety of nature and its capacity to inspire the imagination; they usually included ponds or a lake, rolling lawns doted with animals, large trees and spaces of natural fantasy rather than geometric constructions of nature. Ironically by the late 18th century the trend of the English garden had spread, and famously, even Marie Antoinette had a small English garden created at Versailles, where she would dress in simple muslin garments and milk cows.

Versailles is a little out of reach for a day trip and some photos for you all, but we have Rochefort, ten minutes to the north of us, which is of course a town developed by the same Louis XIV, and it too has gardens and public spaces that amply reflect the thoughts of those gardeners from the era – it’s fascinating to see the formality of layout and planting which has continued up until today.

As a result of these entrenched traditions, the paysagiste is regarded as a true artisan in France and French gardens are for the most part still considered to be a symbol of pure art. French gardeners tend to have a far more formal approach to gardening than the English or Americans, and French gardens are much copied and aspired to around the world, especially two of its main parameters -the parterre and the formal potager.

It was armed with these thoughts in mind, therefore, that Roddy and I set off for a morning with Michel to discover all the secrets of the life of a French landscape gardener. Walking into Michel’s garden to meet him it is immediately clear that this is the garden of a professional. Although small and haphazard due to the constraints of space and lifestyle, everything is very clearly thought out in terms of planting and plant selection – indeed, Michel specializes in plants and their biological needs, and he tries to instill that line of thought in all he does. However, not many of his clients are of the power and ilk that Louis XIV brought to the table, so the first shock of the day came when he said that the vast majority of his local clients, ordinary people with modest means, tended to lean towards a Mediterranean style in the Charente Maritime. Oleander, cyprus, olive, agave, pines, succulents of all sorts, grasses and other hardy bushes and shrubs that easily adapt to both the searing heat of the local summer, and the cold, wet salty winds of the autumn and winter. He added that even though France has that tradition of formality, life has changed, and no longer does anyone have the time or the inclination to run a team of hedge-trimmers, lawn-mowers and dedicated groundspeople that is required for a large formal garden. It’s an era of low maintenance and slim budgets, of adaptability and fortitude, and a substantial knowledge of rocks and gravel.

One of the main exceptions to the local style is the continued use of roses, in great profusion and in a huge variety of colours, that permeate every corner of every garden, street and hedgerow. The Charente Maritime is an area where I have never seen so many roses growing both domestically and wild, and so of course, Michel has one too, a huge rambling bush that climbs to about 25’ high against the uphill wall of his neighbour’s barn. Above it towers a fig tree, which is another staple of the area’s greenery – it seems every home has a fig tree somewhere which in turn leads to at least one table at every brocante or vide-grenier selling la confiture !

As a designer, Michel says much of his time is spent choosing plants and trees for his clients, and expressing their desires on plans he lays out according to their desires. Mixing colours and height, and transforming an area from a piece of burnt lawn into a manicured Mediterranean sub-space is relatively easy in terms of manual work, but the overall transformation is almost solely due to the finely tuned details he has acquired over the years as you can see from one of his projects from start to finish below. (the following four photos are courtesy of Michel)

As we walked through the vast nursery that was our first stop of the day, Michel started to educate us on the myriad of plants that surrounded us, and it became bewilderingly clear to me that this was a man who knows intimately and instantly where each piece of his jigsaw goes, right down to the details of the correct substrate in which to plant his choices. Calling out names in the French vernacular and the latin nomenclature, I was suddenly very aware that this was the son of two doctors, not merely a country person familiar with some greenery. Each huge shed we came to, was full of one family of plants or another, and Michel called out to them familiarly. I was utterly amazed at the amount of variety in each hothouse and when Michel explained that this was one of France’s largest commercial nurseries, I understood. It counts LeClerc and Gamme Vert amongst its clients……

As the morning progressed we moved from one location to another, from nursery to irrigation depot, and from wood-yard to tool-shop. As we rode along in Michel’s battered truck, potting-twine and weathered working-gloves around our ears, we learnt more and came to understand that despite the appearances and the business, Michel was worried. He was explaining how he has a swarm of bees in his roof and when I asked when he was going to get them removed he looked at me horrified, the truck swerving slightly across the road, and said he had no intention of removing them, and he waved airily at the countryside around us.

“Where will they go ?” he asked. “There is nothing out there any more for insects ! Your garden, and my garden are probably the only natural gardens in the village – that is why we always have bees in our flowers.” He banged his fist on the wheel in emphasis. “All the fields around the village – there is no goodness in them. That is why there are no birds anymore – they have nothing to eat, no insects, nothing……” and he dwindled into silence.

In the quiet that followed I looked across at Roddy and he was already asking the question before I could form the words; “Do none of your clients have organic gardens ?”

Michel shook his head sadly in answer. “Not many,” he replied. “Very few. And sometimes, even after a few months, they find it easier to go back to the weedkiller and the poisons.” Monsanto. He seemed to spit the word out the window.

We talked more then, and it became apparent that Michel was worried for his business. A man of principal, who pays his taxes, and a man of integrity who loves nature so much he has as many weeds in his garden as we do, it seemed there was a rising tide of legal but cheap day-gardeners emerging, under-cutting him at every turn. Increasingly, his clients say they have no need of his weekly garden care, as someone else is there instead, cheaper and quicker. Cheaper because they use the clients’ own tools, and cheaper still because they have no insurance and no tax to charge. Indeed, some clients can claim back money from the government for using the lesser artisan. Quicker of course, because they are not as thorough as Michel.

Coupled with all of that, is the way the new breed of un-qualified gardeners indiscriminately use chemicals and pesticides, little knowing what the real danger of them is, sometimes with no clue as to how they work or why, and ruining the goodness in every garden they visit. Michel explained that as he has got older, he has seen many people from the industry, from his early years, fall ill or even die as a result of ignorance when it came to the products they used to use, it’s now in later years that they are paying the price for this ignorance, it’s a really sad story. In half an hour we learnt of some terrible practices once used in the commercial industry, and discovered a long litany of crimes against nature that humans have committed in the past 40 years or so. Michel was concerned there was no future for him, nor for the true qualified artisan with a wheelbarrow, and perhaps none for his bees and other friends. We all became a little quiet.

As the morning came to a close and we returned home, I realized that people who garden naturally really do more for the environment than many think – it is not just a question of doing “good”, it’s really a question of doing as much as one can at a time when the world is growing smaller and less friendly for all the wildlife and insects that a garden depends on. It may have taken a Frenchman in a battered truck to illuminate some of the ideas I had read and thought about, but it is a lesson I will not readily forget. As we walked into our driveway and a cloud of small honey-bees rose from the honeysuckle hedge, I understood even more – I knew where they were going to spend the night and I knew we were doing the right thing, weeds and all.

June 3, 2015June 5, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

WE HAVE CHICKS!

I grew up on a farm; beef, sheep and arable land. Lambs, calves, foals, kittens, puppies we had a-plenty but we never had chicks. I have no idea why this was; perhaps, and most obviously, it was because we never had a rooster. Our hens were free-range around the farmyard, but they sadly lacked a male counterpart. However, if you have followed my blog you will have guessed by now that chicks have been very much on my mind, not least due to the pleadings of the children! So, when in November we purchased our four laying hens, which were quickly followed by a pair of Pekim bantam hens and a young rooster, I knew that chicks were going to feature in our future – it would be impossible to refuse the children their little piece of animal husbandry and I wasn’t objecting!

So, fast forward a few months to the spring and we had two broody bantams each sitting on a clutch of eggs. Much excitement was followed by bitter disappointment as each batch failed to produce anything at all. Roddy did some forensics on the eggs once it was quite clear they were never going to hatch and it became apparent Fritz had not quite done his job. He was certainly practising several times a day, as we were all a witness to that, but for whatever reason these particular eggs were not fertilized.

A friend then told us of someone who had some fertilized Faverole eggs and we thought as Rosie was still listless with disappointment we’d attempt to be cuckoos and let nature do the rest. The Faverole is a French breed, it all seemed rather fitting. So three weeks ago on a very hot Sunday whilst the rest of the family headed to the beach, Millie, Gigi and I set off on a two and a half hour round trip for five fertilized eggs – no one was going to accuse me of not making an effort to fulfill their dream! We knew Rosie was tired, so whilst we were excited to put the new eggs under her, we were also quite aware that she might abandon them – we were going to just let nature run its course and see what happened. Quite bizarrely, the five eggs turned into just four at the start of Week 2, it is still a total mystery what happened to the egg as there was never any trace of it.

Three weeks after Operation Faverole commenced, there was no sign of movement come the appointed day on Sunday morning at breakfast time, so it was without any anticipation that Gigi and I wandered down to the ‘broody’ coop a little later with some extra food. As we chatted away and nonchalantly opened Rosie’s little upstairs door, feed in one hand and fresh water in the other, it was a complete shock to find a tiny fluffy yellow chick inches away, staring at us in bewilderment! A lot had happened since breakfast, it seemed. The little bundle of fluff stood out against the dark brownish black of Rosie, and over the course of the morning the other three eggs hatched without further ado. For some reason the excitement affected everyone, including dog, cats, ducks and even Roddy!

Yesterday morning we set about redeveloping the duck’s old outdoor run for Rosie and her tiny babies; it’s going to be vital they are kept safe from Rory and Clara, as our two kittens are now almost fully-grown cats and they are both Olympic-level hunters. At teatime Rosie and her chicks were safely transferred from the far end of the garden to their new home just by the terrace in the cats’ travelling basket, and the children took up their positions watching through the slatted walls of the run like tourists outside Buckingham Palace, waiting for a glimpse of the new-borns. After an hour or so Rosie finally gave in to the adoring crowds and let the chicks emerge from under her protective wings into the open air. It really was rather like watching royalty appear on the balcony. There was quite some considerable excitement amongst the crowds which now included four neighbours, attracted by the sound of high-pitched whispering and the paparazzi clicking away.

Having never observed baby chicks and a hen together, I was struck last night and this morning by Rosie’s utter devotion to her babies; she is such a proud, proud mother, and she permanently fusses over them and they in turn follow her everywhere; where Mum goes, the babies follow. I am totally hooked. Roddy remarked that it is like watching four little yellow tugs working feverishly around a great Cunard liner.

Amongst all the madness on Sunday I had also set about making strawberry jam. I’d bought several kilos of locally grown Charente Maritime strawberries at the market on Friday and I wasn’t going to let them go to waste amidst all the excitement. So after the royal Faverole introduction there seemed no better time to try out the first homemade jam of the year, complete with a batch of homemade English scones, fresh from the oven. The timing was perfect for the childrens’ traditional 4pm goûter, which is the hour of the afternoon snack in France. Our neighbours’ son joined in the feeding frenzy, as he is a young French boy who has become a huge fan of ze leetle English scones!

Meanwhile the jobs here are already mounting up as I have spent far too much time standing watching chicks! Yesterday afternoon Rosie led her little line of followers to the little tub of special chick feed, and started Lesson 1 of life. A few moments later and Lesson 2 started – this was the drinking one, and the children fell about giggling hysterically as one small chick’s attempts to mimic mum’s throwing back of the head led to a rash backwards somersault. I can see it’s going to be an entertaining summer !

June 2, 2015June 2, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

MAY IN THE CHARENTE MARITIME

In France, May is seemingly full of public holidays and the last one is Pentecost; as we chatted during supper on Monday evening we all agreed we cannot remember the last time we had such a fun weekend. It all went by in rather a social blur; friends to lunch and dinner, fabulous long sunny days staying light until nearly 10pm, and the kids decided to camp in the garden for two nights so our lawn became ‘Tent City’ as friends joined them.

I cannot believe the month is nearly over; where did it go? It seems only last week I was incredibly happy we were into the month of April and that spring was well and truly in command. Yet here we are now, only a few days from June. I hope it slows down or before we know it we will be hauling logs, lighting fires and getting out our hats and scarves again.

To try and prolong it a little longer I thought I would share with you a photo-tour of our month of May. It didn’t get off to the best start as it arrived with pouring rain and chilly winds which quite typically coincided with the children being on Spring Break.

after several days the skies cleared and once again the sun came out to play

having been dormant all winter, vineyards were once again bursting with life

villages that had seemed almost deserted became centers of chattering activity as the Brocante season got well and truly underway

and I found a fab heavy brass chandelier for the summer kitchen

some of us were brave enough to have our first swim of the year

and we dusted off our bikes and set about exploring nearby villages

the garden demanded, but failed to get, constant attention as I waged a war I realized I was never going to win on the weeds

we walked the well-trodden sand and stone causeway over to the Île Madame

and one morning when the children were all at school found ourselves quite by chance at the most incredible stone-mason’s yard

cherry season is now in full swing, picking, eating, picking and eating more – it’s the simple things in life that I enjoy so much!

the locals are saying it is the best year for roses in decades

a little renovation required, but how about this for a cute weekend retreat

yesterday some farmers were turning their hay, making the most of the sunny dry weather

and when we walked Bentley after supper the sun was still beating strong at 9pm

I hope May has been a good month for you too and as always thanks for reading, thanks for following me and for your comments, I have said it before and I’ll say it again, I really enjoy taking photos whilst we are out and about and sharing them with you and telling our story from this tiny little corner of France. Merci mille fois

May 27, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

Our French Oasis

Author: ourfrenchoasis