France – Page 20 – Our French Oasis

WHAT MAKES THE PERFECT FRENCH HOLIDAY

For so many summer is drawing to a close. Whether we want to admit it or not the garden is showing a tiny hint of autumn. The biggest indicator of change though is in the supermarket; gone are the huge displays of sun-shades, parasols, beach-toys and flip flops that once greeted us as we walked in. Instead they have now been replaced by back-to-school special offers, of which there will be more on that next week – but I can’t think about ‘La Rentrée’ for a few more days. In fact, that’s why I am keeping this post short and sweet as I want to spend as much time as possible enjoying the last few days of the holidays with the children. I am one of those few people who really hate it when they go back to school, the children laugh and play at the school gates while I stand there sadly with tears in my eyes!

All of this has set me thinking about holidays, or more importantly – how people really like to spend their time when they come to France. According to the latest statistics, France is still the world’s number one tourist destination with some 85 million visitors a year. I wonder what is it you love most of all, or what are you dreaming of if you ever get over here?

I am assuming you want everything to be quintessentially French…

Maybe you’ll be touring beautiful towns and villages, enjoying the local architecture

Stopping at a local restaurant, where even the French sparkling-water, Badoit, comes in it’s own special bottle with matching glass

or whiling away a few hours on a terrace, shaded from the sun, watching the world go by

Maybe it includes a little retail therapy, always in a stunning location of course

and I am assuming somewhere near the top of everyone’s list is at least a taste of locally-baked croissants and pain au chocolat ?

Perhaps a little more indulgence with mouth watering ‘macarons’; you are on holiday after all!

A few nights at a delightfully understated but incredibly comfortable little boutique hotel, perhaps? I fell in love with this little hotel on the île de Ré with nothing more than a tiny brass plaque for it’s name and a discreet doorbell for entry

Even the luxurious Clarins Spa has an unpretentious façade. A day or weekend here would certainly revitalize both the mind and body

Perhaps your idea of perfection is exploring historic ruins and ancient buildings like the Abbaye de Trizay built in the 11th Century

Or perhaps your thoughts are more coastal themed; the lure of the water and golden sand; or if you just can’t stand the crowds, away from it all on a boat, viewing France from the sea

Or is it all about the local markets for they certainly are an integral part of the French way of life? Fresh baguettes and seasonal fruit and vegetables which at the moment means figs and grapes!

Or maybe it’s a mixture of everything; perhaps a month touring the coast and then moving inland with nothing but a suitcase, a car and a few euros for meals. Stopping wherever appeals. I think I could happily spend a little time in a place with such a charming name as this

I should just add that this lovely photo of the sign was spotted and taken by Gigi, our nine year old, she has good taste!

August 27, 2015August 27, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

FÊTE DES BATTAGES – “THRESHING FESTIVAL”

After another scorching week of crop-scorching weather the heavens opened last night with a most breathtaking thunderstorm. At one stage our terrace turned into a river with water running in a torrent down it, Roddy was wondering whether to spey-cast across the stream for newts and frogs.

By 4am the thunder had ceased and poor Bentley finally stopped shivering with fear – at dawn the odd down-pour still persisted but the garden had hungrily soaked up every drop of water and sat there contentedly in the weak sunshine, glistening like a frog with a fat stomach. Everything looked that little bit greener finally after such a dry summer, and after a week of sand and sea, boating and swimming, it was time to spend some time locally again.

We searched for unused raincoats amongst the cobwebs in the boot-room, and headed off to the Fête des Battages in Trizay, not entirely knowing what to expect except that it was a threshing festival and a real old fashioned farmers market! By the time we arrived we didn’t need them anyway as the heavy black clouds had completely retreated and once again blue sky was visible. We hoped the ‘agriculteurs’ would be in good voice, despite the dreadful forecast for the maize harvest which apparently is going to be one of the worst on record here after the lack of water.

On display at the fête was an old threshing-machine from the 1950’s and not long after we arrived they fired it up and demonstrated how it worked, much to our delight. An ancient granny of a tractor served as a power source, and a drive-belt snaked some 30 feet to the threshing machine, driving in turn a spiders-web of belts, pulleys and baffles – Heath Robinson would have been proud. How much incredible hard work the harvest used to be, and how much more dangerous. After the corn had been cut it was tied into bundles and then passed by hand into the threshing machine which sorted the grain from the stalks. The grain was gathered at one end in bags, the chaff gathered underneath, and the straw came out the other end were it would end up passing through an attached baling-machine. Hetty and Gigi were engrossed for a good half hour, and it seems the rest of the crowd were too. We had to drag the children away eventually.

Modern day combine-harvesters (or simply ‘combines’) operate on the same principles and use the same components as the original threshing-machines built in the 19th and early 20th centuries, but they also perform the reaping operation at the same time. The name ‘combine’ is simply derived from the fact that the three steps are combined in a single machine, something many people simply gloss over.

Growing up on a farm, I remember harvest-time as one of the best parts of the summer. Our bales would come out in rows of three with another three on top. If the weather looked fine, my father would always leave them out for a couple of extra days for us, and we used to canter around the fields on our ponies jumping them; there was only one rule – if we knocked one over, we had to get off and pick it up. We take modern farming methods for granted, but in the 1900’s everyone saw so much change. My father grew up on his in family farm in Sussex, he was born in between the two world wars and he saw all of this great change, which included horses being replaced by tractors, and then the step up to modern-day farm equipment. I remember him upgrading our bright red Massey Ferguson ‘combine’ for one with an enclosed cab; aside from cutting out the dust the cab was also silenced and this in turn meant he could listen to the cricket whilst combining – a vital part of an English summer!

In fact, today somewhat resembled an English summer day; the temperature stayed in the low 20’s (mid 70’sF) and white clouds scattered like Sussex hens across an otherwise blue sky due to the cooling breeze. A British friend who stayed with us last month remarked that she never remembers bad weather in England as a child in the summer holidays; of course it rained, but I similarly don’t recall the rainy days either – just endless sun, picnics, riding ponies, harvest-time, playing tennis and of course cricket; there was surely never any rain?

Anyway, on that note I wish you all a very happy week ahead with plenty of sunshine hopefully for the last week of August.

August 23, 2015August 23, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

THE DEMISE OF BORIS

I’m really hoping that someone will tell me we are not the only people to have given their watermelons names. However, I rather fear as this is bordering on the totally insane that we probably are, and therefore it’s probably even worse that I’m actually telling you all about it rather than keeping it a secret!

I know this all sounds rather bizarre, in my defence, I wasn’t the one who named the watermelons, it was the children. I promise it was.

You see, we have never successfully grown watermelons before and so when two started to grow bigger and bigger for some reason they got named and during much laughter at supper one night, Boris and Tom were christened! Boris was the smaller one and a deep dark green. Yesterday was the day he finally got taken out of the vegetable garden to the table on the terrace where seven people sat under the shade of the umbrella, staring, waiting, wondering if he would be juicy, wondering if he would be as ripe as we hoped. The truth is he was utterly delicious – our very first watermelon we have successfully grown and eaten. Tom is next but not for a week or two!

Just to prove we are not completely bonkers, we headed off on our bikes yesterday evening for the very normal and down-to-earth activity of blackberry-picking. Long warm summer days mean the blackberries are incredible this year, and also very early. For our foraging, it’s vital to find a good source away from any commercial farming where fruits can run the risk of being sprayed with all sorts of chemicals as farmers treat their fields, so we headed down to our favourite place, the Marais; untouched by modern farming methods and away from any mass-produced crops, the blackberries and sloes here are very much as nature intended them to be.

Every time we go there (and it is often, we admit) there is something new to see – also some things remain unchanged, the three bay mares still come over as soon as they hear our voices.

It’s awash with insects and wildlife; I’m just an amateur but it is surely a nature photographer’s dream location and I can’t help myself when opportunities arise. The two photos below are of a spotted darter (which seem to be swarming in plague proportions right now) and a yellow-tail moth caterpillar which Millie found amongst the blackberries. We also saw a barn owl out quartering the fields in broad daylight.

The secret to blackberry-picking I have found is to not worry about filling the basket to start with, because in our family it simply won’t happen. The blackberries are so sweet and still warm from the sun and for the first half an hour nothing is saved, everyone picks and eats, tongues and fingers turning purple. The bucket dangles uselessly from someone’s arm and it’s only once everyone has had their fill that the task of collecting them can begin in earnest. Blackberry-jelly, blackberry and apple pie, crumbles with cream in the cold winter months, or perhaps, as I like best, eaten plain, straight from the freezer with some yoghurt for breakfast. Thankfully they freeze well; they’re packed with vitamins, organic and free – what’s not to love about them ? The best part of all is collecting them though, as it is such great family fun.

Of course nothing is ever completely normal with us, and Millie borrowed my camera for some digital therapy whilst I was busy picking. Going through the results yesterday evening I came across quite a few selfies she had taken and then some great photos of us all, I think Gigi is eating as fast as I pick here!

and then some more – how on earth did she manage this? There are some settings I never knew existed on my camera quite obviously, this shot now looks like something from the 70’s…

and then it becomes a water-colour painting, if only she hadn’t chopped everyone’s heads off! I can see I have lots of experimenting to do!

The blackberry-picking and bike-ride was a family affair as always, with Bentley and Evie joining in too. Since Bentley’s offering last week they have finally become friends, and Evie now follows Bentley’s lead on everything he does. In the Marais this involves sniffing scents from a thousand sources and eating delicacies from the local inhabitants!

When Evie had really walked far enough for her tender age of just 10 weeks, she fitted quite snugly under my arm!

We had so much fun that we arrived home long after we meant to and we’d totally forgotten about heading to the local grocery store for some supper. As the children jumped in the pool we wondered what on earth we were going to eat. It was up to Roddy to conjure up something tasty using whatever he could find, mostly vegetables from the garden. Thankfully, though, this is his speciality; I am so lucky as he rarely follows recipes and loves to experiment, so his absolute forte is coming up with incredible dishes from what always seems to be an empty pantry! Soon delicious smells started filling the kitchen and children appeared dripping in the doorway wanting to know what Daddy was cooking that smelt so good.

Here’s what he did. One and a half onions and some garlic were sautéed in a little olive oil with a mixture of Curcumin, sweet paprika and some mild curry spice. Then he added a couple of small chopped aubergines, and then a diced courgette; last came half a dozen freshly picked tomatoes in quarters. Once they were gently cooked he bound them all together with a little cream, let it cool, and organized the pastry in a pie-dish. An egg from the chickens was folded gently into the warm mixture and it all went inside the pastry which he folded over at the edges. A few slices of mozzarella and a little grated cheese and it was popped into a hot oven for 20 minutes. The result was an utterly mouthwateringly delicious far-eastern delight of home grown goodness, washed down with a glass of local red wine – a great way to end the day.

August 20, 2015August 20, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

BENTLEY’S VIEW ON A NEW PUPPY written by Bentley himself!

BENTLEY’S DIARY

Tuesday 4th Aug:
Hot. Too lazy to come down for breakfast. Lots of noise from the family about something. Bored, so lay in the sun for an hour, had a constitutional and then chased Rory round the garden for 10 minutes. I won on points. Sun crept over the house mid-afternoon so we had some shade on the terrace at last. Wish I could go in the pool, but I don’t actually like water! Too hot for a walk. Door-bell went about mid-afternoon, and amid much noise from everyone else a lady came in with a ‘thing’ – a puppy. OMG. My life is ruined. Snapped at it and hope that’s the end of it. Hopefully it’s not a keeper but only staying a couple of nights. The girls seem far too enamoured by it. Dad cuddled the damn thing. Hrmmph, not happy. If they expect me to sleep with ‘it’ they have another thought coming. However, although it’s very small, it is a girl. Possibilities for a decent date in a few months time, perhaps ? Had snacks under the supper table and went to bed. Forgot to clean my teeth. ‘It’ slept in the kitchen.

‘It’ howled all night. Didn’t sleep a wink.

Wednesday 5th Aug:
‘It’ had laid waste to the kitchen when I got down in the morning. Dad very busy with paper and bleach – good grief, how I hate the smell of that; it takes me back to my puppyhood days. Cheeky thing tried to eat my breakfast, snapped at it again. Hot morning, tried to snooze in the sun by the front door, but pesky ‘thing’ kept biting my ear. Thought I might take HER ear off or something, but Dad was much too attentive. Hopefully she will go back later today to where she came from and leave me in peace. I had to eat my breakfast outside for goodness sakes !

Spent the afternoon in the vegetable patch with mum, snoozed under a tomato plant. ‘it’ has a name, apparently – Evie. The girls still very excited by her, I have no idea why. She’s so small and useless for anything really. She came bounding down the garden at some stage and then started chasing the chickens, especially Falafal, the small cock. Now that was funny to watch, both of them pretty evenly matched for speed but Falafal managed to get the better of Evie. I watched amused as all the family shrieked round the garden after them. That was even funnier. Then she found the ducks, which was a very different kettle of fish.

Ducks 1, Evie 0.

Thursday 6th August:
Not a lot happened. Well, not for me. Evie tried to chew my face most of the day and I lost my temper a couple of times, I admit. She likes chasing my tail too, which is annoying. She learnt not to eat my food, anyway. I tried to keep my distance most of the day but gave up after lunch – she is very persistent. Rory and Clara find her fascinating and Rory seems intent on playing games with her. She, in turn, seems to find Rory extremely exciting and there were plenty of standoffs in the bushes until Rory had enough and climbed a tree. Stupid dog, she really is. It looks as though she’s going to stay, though, sigh. I’ll have to get used to her I guess. It’s very difficult refraining from finishing her food though. Got shouted at already for that. She seems to have some brains though and at least she’s pretty, no longer chasing chickens and no longer chasing the ducks – the latter not for the same reason as the former though.

Full time score: Ducks 3, Evie 0

Evie howled all night in the kitchen. Had to sleep upstairs under Dad’s pillow to cut out the noise. That was fun. Every time Dad went to sleep I’d lick his face…..very amusing.

Friday 7th August:
Pretty much the same as yesterday, though as Evie has now learnt to respect my space, I have a little more time for her. By the time we get around to going out for a drink in six month’s time I might even have got to like her, I suppose. Evie seems to have got the hang of going into the garden. I just can’t understand why everyone is so nice to her, and not to me. Why ? She’s so excitable and whizzes from A to B at high speed, little legs a-blur. At least she doesn’t yap too much, that’s a blessing. She also has stopped making so much noise at night. It’s almost as though she’s settling in, which is a bit much, quite honestly. She chews anything and everything and she likes those dried pigs ears – golly, goes through them like a dose of sweets. She’s welcome to them, eeeugh. I hate them.

Lots more noise in the night. I suggested she slept in the chicken house – that went down well.

Saturday 8th August:
Evie discovered the front garden today when Mum was hanging out the laundry. Massive noise and shouting when she discovered the drain through to the road, never seen people block something up so fast. I had no idea Mum was so good with bricks. I’m pretty sure Evie can get through to the house next door, but we’ll cross that fence when we come to it (see – I made a pun there !!). Otherwise a pretty boring morning – cats, chickens, ducks and me, all targets for Evie in varying amounts of energy and excitement. She’s definitely not keen on the ducks – when they start flapping those wings it’s a different kettle of fish for sure.

Went round to Michel’s for supper, Evie came too for some bizarre reason. I would have left her at home in a box or something. She understands the principals of ‘finders keepers’ far too well for my liking. I am definitely losing out on some scraps, I think. Supper was lots of little things on plates, ideally sized for me of course, but no one would drop anything. Most annoying. And of course Michel and his kids were all over Evie like a rash. No one paid me any attention at all in comparison. Had a long chat with their cat about the injustices of it all, then found out she’s going to be pregnant soon and have kittens. Kittens? I ask you, what is the point of that?? Why is everyone so obsessed with puppies and kittens? Mia and Sophia turned up at suppertime (they’re staying the night with us on their way south it seems), and I thought I’d receive some rapturous welcome from them, but no – it was all Evie this, Evie that. I think I looked a little sad as Dad gave me a slice of salami. Just the one, mind you.

To top it all off, when we got back home Dad went into the boot-room and started some sort of construction project. Much banging and hammering and he came back in the kitchen with some sort of hutch arrangement for Evie to sleep in. I laughed so hard, my sides hurt. What on earth was the point of that ??? Why would you coop her up when she could play all night in the kitchen??

Slept like a log. Not a sound from the kitchen. I’m certain I mentioned a hutch to Dad last week, didn’t I ?

Sunday 9th August:
Much praise for Mia in the morning after her suggestion of the apart-hotel for Evie. I can’t for the life of me work out why mum and Dad didn’t do it before, I’m sure I said something. Anyway, breakfast was cordial as well. Evie had hers in her little dining room in the apart-hotel, which meant I could have mine inside for a change. Great stuff.

Had a great mega-walk in the afternoon. I noticed, somewhat jealously, that Evie came too and was carried some of the way. I mean, what is that about ? It’s called a WALK, not a CARRY ! Duh ! and then she slept when we got home pretending to be tired! Anyway, lovely day, spent most of it lounging round the terrace, even found a roast potato under the lunch table, that was a big score. yum.

Evie spent her second night in the apart-hotel. Everyone else slept like logs. It truly was a great idea of mine. Shhh, I’m taking the credit even if it wasn’t my idea. Why didn’t they listen to me before ??

Monday 10th August:
Today was a pretty unmemorable day really except for a point in time when I woke up in the sun to find Evie lying across my paws, her little face just inches from mine. I’m not going to tell anyone, but I think she’s actually bearable. I’ll let her stay for a while, anyway.

Tuesday 11th August:
Drama today and Evie got wet. Ha ha. Everyone was in the garden this morning doing odds and sods and Evie found something delightfully green and moist to roll in. Never seen so many people in such a state; it’s just chicken-poo for goodness sakes. Anyway, to cut a long story short, out came the wheelbarrow, on went the tap, in went Evie and on went the shampoo. Something along those lines, but it appears Evie hates water as much as I do – good girl. Who wants that wet stuff anyway? Washed, dried and pampered, we slept in the sun together again for a while. As long as she leaves my ears alone we’ll get on, I guess. She does have bloody sharp teeth.

Everyone slept like logs again.

Wednesday 12th August:

All good, nothing to report. Found an old bone today behind the chicken shed but it made too much noise when I munched it too hard and Dad took it away. Sigh. Almost found an egg too but it was empty. Small dog Evie still here so I guess she is here to stay. She found some duck-poo to roll in after lunch and Dad took her away to the wheelbarrow again. Not so much shouting this time as Dad does not take prisoners and Evie had no chance to do anything but submit. I suspect she may not try that again for a while. Summer life is pretty good and the sun is still warm. Rory and Evie had a great game in the evening in the dark, chasing each other through the undergrowth. I think they like each other. I think I may even like her.

Slept wonderfully again. That hutch thing was a brilliant idea of mine.

Some of you may also be wondering what has happened to my Local Artisans series – fear not, it will be back next month when I interview another “local”. August is prime holiday month here in France and locals are either working every hour imaginable in the decent weather, making money from the tourists or are away themselves, so I decided to skip August and return with the next article in September. In the meantime I hope you enjoyed a week in the life of Bentley, something a little different which hopefully made you smile!

August 13, 2015August 13, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

ESCAPE THE CROWDS – HEAD INLAND

This week our lives turned upside down – we have a new puppy! We drove inland and chose her from a litter of six in the neighboring department of the Deux Sevres at the weekend and she was delivered to us on Tuesday afternoon amidst much excitement. A gorgeous little short legged, broken-coated Jack Russell whom we have named Evie. She is 9 weeks old and a playmate for Bentley; or at least, that is the plan. So far he has tolerated her! As have the chickens, the ducks and the cats, up to a point. Evie thinks everyone and everything is a playmate and is rather surprised when she is given short change by most of the other residents of the property, with the exception of the humans, who she has quickly come to realize dote on her hand and foot! I am sure you will get pretty bored with photos of her over the coming weeks and months, but at the moment Evie is incredibly difficult to photograph. She doesn’t understand the command ‘sit’, and she doesn’t stay still long enough for me to take a decent photo. One minute she is playing and the next she has collapsed in an exhausted heap, instantly sound asleep, as puppies are prone to do. As you may be able to tell I am quite smitten with our latest addition, and I just adore the fact she has black eyelashes on her left eye and white eyelashes on the right one!

Evie has arrived in August, of course; the busiest holiday month of the year. As a result, the roads are crowded and the resorts are bursting with people. Where we live, a mere fifteen minutes from the sea, is very different to the coastline where everyone is drawn to the vast flat Charente Maritime beaches like bees to a honeypot; the long glittering washes of sand are magnetic strips for jaded Parisians and others. There is much action on the water; be it surfing, or bodyboarding, or boating, or fishing, or swimming, and then one can also hire jet-skis, boats and windsurfers; the action is there for all to see and do. However the beaches are packed and as our son pointed out, they are just a sea of colour at this time of year, pimpled with colourful umbrellas and spots of extravagant bikinis; this is after all a major holiday destination which boasts the second highest levels of sunshine in France after the Mediterranean and it appears that this summer it is certainly living up to its reputation.

There are still beaches and tiny secret coves to be found where the crowds don’t go and the locals keep a closely guarded secret, even if some of them do involve a slight trek through vast sandunes and past ruined WWII bunkers subsiding softly into the coastline they were once built to protect.

But if you really don’t feel up to battling the traffic and the masses, it’s a great time to turn the other way and head inland! France is quite a big country and parts of it are very sparsely populated; something that is a part of it’s immense charm and a feature we simply adore. Turning away from the coast and driving in the opposite direction along a good selection of different routes soon brings you to beautiful countryside, where fields of maize ripen under the same sultry sun that wilts sunflowers in the heat. It’s amazing, even during France’s busiest holiday month there are really very few cars on the inland narrow country roads; one sees the odd local, the occasional tourist and some foreign cars, usually with either Dutch or British license plates. We pass houses that look neglected with their shutters firmly closed but they’re just going about that age old tradition, shutting out the sun and keeping the interior cool.

Locals sit in the shade, nothing is hurried, in such heat it cannot be; a game of boules under the coolness of trees, a quiet afternoon fishing by the river. In the country time passes slowly for locals who know how precious their summer is. Far from the maddening crowds the water flows slowly….

There are still plenty of watersports available on the River Charente, albeit with a slightly more relaxed atmosphere. Kayaking is very popular in France and it’s easy to find a spot to hire some for the day.

Without so many people it is possible to really enjoy the beauty of France. This is inland Charente Maritime, still only 30 to 40 minutes from the coast, but a world apart. Here restaurants still enjoy their summer visitors, but they’re not groaning with hordes of tourists; as a result, everyone is charming and everywhere looks so perfect – so perfectly French!

While enjoying a little bit of casual culture it’s also a good time to visit one of the many châteaux of the region. Château de Crazannes is well worth a visit, nestled amongst the trees just outside the village of the same name. Built in the XIVth and XVth centuries and classified as a listed historic monument in 1913, it was one of the first private castles to receive this classification in France. Both Edward lll’s son, the “Black Prince” and the King of France, Francois 1st, stayed here. It is here that the tale Puss in Boots is also based – this goes back to the XVIIth century when the Marquis of Carabas owned the Château and he is indeed the master in Charles Perrault’s tale.

In the grounds, the Roman chapel, the keep, the moat and the dovecote are the remains of an ancient medieval fortress, which used to be a place for the pilgrims to stay for the night on their way to St Jaques de Compostelle in Spain.

The best bit of all for us, of course, is that wonderful stretch of countryside between land and sea right on our doorstep – the Marais de Brouage; where cattle and horses roam and where there is wildlife in abundance. For us it seems untouched by tourism and ignored by most people as they speed past it on the way to their coastal resort.

On the one hand I am glad it is largely ignored, but on the other I am sad that so few people take the time to appreciate it; it’s somewhere where one can walk and cycle for hours on end and not see a soul. It’s a land where one can reflect, a place so near to everything and yet so far from it all; a place full of discovery and a place I will never forget. It’s a good place to call home.

http://www.loumessugo.com/en/blog/entry/all-about-france-7

August 5, 2015August 6, 2015 by 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