A typical day in La Belle France.

I’ve recently discovered some notes I made when writing background for a recipe book based around our early years in France. The first couple of years had been back-breaking,  getting to grips with a massive renovation project, an abandoned Maison de Maitre in the Loire Valley.

Two years on, most of the construction work behind us, we’d finally settled down into a routine. That first ‘easing-down’ summer was scorching, the heat relentless and we had to adjust to a life very far removed from our previous experience. We were thinking about our next building project, but the heat of that summer provided a fine excuse for putting off the next stage of relentless labour.

We’d adjusted well to living close together, every hour of every day, and only wished we’d made the move earlier. This was to be our summer of quiet contemplation, the first genuine rest we’d ever experienced as a couple.

These are the notes I took, describing ‘a typical day at home.’

 

A stroll on the patio, accompanied by cats with much purring and rubbing around my legs, while I drink my coffee, and then back in to shower, and shave if I feel up to it.  I detest shaving and can at last manage to avoid the necessity every single day.  The “designer stubble” favoured by sports stars and rock musicians is distinctly unattractive in my case, more Desperate Dan than George Clooney, sometimes I even frighten myself when taking a quick glance at the mirror, but at least the chore can be lessened and a good compromise is to shave on alternate days.

We occasionally have a croissant together, but more usually manage on just coffee, before I leave on my tour of duty. This involves releasing the ducks and chickens from their pens, kept safe from foxes during the night and collecting any eggs.  The goats are next on the agenda. We have three baby goats at present and two adults, Thelma and Louise.  Goats are delightful animals, great characters and very friendly.  They have no unpleasant smell at all, only Billy goats possess that distinctive aroma.  The only problem with goats is their ability to eat absolutely anything, usually the very things we didn’t want them to eat.

I tether the young ones in the field, attaching them to old tyres and making sure that they have plenty of scope to move around but without becoming entangled.  Thelma and Louise have their own fenced area with lots of grass and interesting things to munch.  They have to be penned, as they are now too strong to be tethered.  Thelma appeared in the kitchen one afternoon last year, dragging behind her an enormous tractor tyre.

On the terrace, a basking lizard lies motionless on the warm stone, Heat haze dances and shimmers on the distant copse of trees.  Our cats have by now picked their sunbathing spots with care and settled down for a hard day’s basking.  A miner bee reverses carefully from its perfectly round hole in the earth, before drifting away on its daily duties.  Beyond the hedge, the fields of dried maize rustle like the parchment of an ancient deed in a lawyer’s office.

A pair of soaring buzzards, supported by outstretched wings, swoop and glide in the clear air, their button eyes alert for the slightest movement on the ground beneath.  One drops vertically, to earth, its cruel hooked beak and talons ending the life of some unfortunate creature, then soaring upwards with its prey and re-joining it’s mate, swirling wings taut, as they rode the thermal hot up-drafts from the hot earth below.

Buzzards, hawks, kestrels and other birds of prey are very common sights in the huge open skies and perched on fence posts and tree branches.  Decimated by DDT and other pesticides in England, they flourish here.  A pair of buzzards roost in a tree at the edge of our land.  Viewed through binoculars, they are a spectacular sight.

A small pond is home to croaking frogs, serenading each other on warm evenings.  Herons, standing motionless, still as statues often visit the pond by the water.  Taking off, they fly directly over the hedge bordering our back garden.

I check the vegetable garden, do a little light weeding where necessary and, before it becomes too hot, cycle to the village for bread if Maureen has not made any, although she usually has.  The early morning is ideal for attending to any jobs around the house, mainly small tasks, as we have now reached the “ticking over stage”.

The small yellow La Poste van arrives at the gate mid-morning and our post lady invariably stops for a chat.  She both delivers and collects mail and will supply stamps as required. Perhaps I will read or write in the shade, as the sun is too harsh for the eyes by this time, until it is time for lunch.

Lunch, invariably on the terrace, usually a big salad with home-made crusty bread followed by fruit and home-made  yoghurt with a glass of wine or a cold beer.  Almost all meals and food preparation take place in the open air.

After lunch, if it’s very hot, that most sensible arrangement, the siesta comes into it’s own. We have learnt from our friends and neighbours locally to avoid the heat of high summer from lunchtime to mid afternoon where possible.  We are not missing out on any sunshine, in summer it’s still hot until late in the evening.  We take the strength of the sun very seriously.  I wear a hat most of the time, together with dark glasses and appropriate sun creams.  Clothing consists of tee-shirt and shorts with sandals or flip-flops, no socks.

We close the shutters to the bedroom and living room.  It took a while to come to terms with the necessity to do this, all our instincts being to open the windows when it’s hot to air the rooms and let in a cooling breeze.  This may be very sensible in England, but things are very different here, it’s just too hot.  The front of the house bakes in full sun and the closed shutters allow a delightful cool haven by the end of the day.

Suitably refreshed by our siesta, I check that the animals still have sufficient drinking water, then, perhaps a dip in our small pool, a most welcome diversion.

Later as it becomes cooler again I can attend to such duties as watering the garden, mowing, strimming, scything etc., only really possible early or late in the day.  Our grass is not such a problem now we have the goats, but before their arrival it’s control was a task equivalent to painting the Forth Bridge.  In high summer it hardly rains at all and grass will not grow under these conditions, which takes the pressure off mowing, but necessitates watering the crops on a daily basis.

We feed our livestock and put them away for the evening and, after a quick shower enjoy an aperitif before the main meal of the day, again, usually eaten on the terrace.

On other days we may visit friends, go to the supermarket or go out and about exploring the area, but this is a typical “at home” day.