A Page in Time - My French Folly

Then (1902)

Now (2019)

Toute chose apparent à  qui sait en jour.

André Gide

Everything belongs to those who can appreciate it

André Gide

One of the greatest joys when in France is sharing a wine on our terrace with local friends while inhaling the ever-changing views. Time becomes insignificant. Often conversations cease as attentions naturally focus on the surrounding beauty.

Being built as the guard house for a medieval chateau, My French Folly is located on the highest point of the old village, overlooking the surrounding countryside and the higgly-piggly houses across a valley. 

Often it's the simplest things in life which touch our soul.

Rue Monge - 5 arr Paris

The rue Monge was created during Haussmann's reconstruction of Paris. Who could not be enchanted by the elegant proportions and distinctive features of Haussmann's designs? 

rue Monge, Paris

Just a few steps away from this patisserie is a Parisian gem that is not noted in conventional guide books ............. Perhaps we can visit it together when next we meet?

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Adieu Printemps - Weekend Reflections

We've just received photos of our French garden from our dear neighbours who keep a watchful eye over My French Folly. According to their report................

Spring is about to bid us farewell as the sun stretches high into the sky.

The promise of new life has been delivered.

Fledglings dessert their nests.

The breeze plants a warm kiss in the shadows

 Now, the sweetness of the air barely lingers.

Leaves discard their verdant, juvenile greens for more mature hues.

Nature's rhythms continue to invoke feelings of wonder and security.

Printemps  by Victor Hugo

Voici donc les longs jours, lumière, amour, délire!  


Voici le printemps ! mars, avril au doux sourire,  

Mai fleuri, juin brûlant, tous les beaux mois amis!  

Les peupliers, au bord des fleuves endormis,  


Se courbent mollement comme de grandes palmes;  

L’oiseau palpite au fond des bois tièdes et calmes;  

Il semble que tout rit, et que les arbres verts  

Sont joyeux d’être ensemble et se disent des vers.  


Le jour naît couronné d’une aube fraîche et tendre;  


Le soir est plein d’amour ; la nuit, on croit entendre,  

À travers l’ombre immense et sous le ciel béni,  

Quelque chose d’heureux chanter dans l’infini.

Springtime by Victor Hugo

Here are the long days, light, love, delirium!


This is the Spring! March, April with a sweet smile,


May flowery, June blazing, all the beautiful friendly months! 


The poplars, asleep by the riverside,


Bow gently like great palms
.

The bird quivers at the far end of the calm, tepid woods
.

It seems that everything laughs, and that the green trees


Are joyful to be together and say verses to each other.


The day comes crowned with a fresh and tender dawn.

The evening is full of love, the night, one can almost hear


Through the immense shadow and under the sacred sky,


Something happy singing in the infinity.

Recording: Monique Palomares  

English Translation: Lisa Yannucci 

Linking to Outdoor Wednesday

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Words fail me.

The recent events in Manchester are numbing.
Words fail. 

Efforts of comfort appear incredibly hollow.

Change, like sunshine, can be a friend or a foe, a blessing or a curse, a dawn or a dusk. William Arthur Ward

There are 2 early birds in flight across this dawn sky. France 2016

Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark. Rabindranath Tagore

Wild poppies growing amongst the remains of Roman built baths in north eastern France. France 2016

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times. Alfred Lord Tennyson

Participating in Black and White Weekend

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Vintage French in B and W

Apologies – some of the details of the image have been reduced for the sake of its uploading speed.

Is this just me?

French + vintage  = bliss

The radiator cap of this vintage French automobile was designed to be sitting proud on top of the car's bonnet.

Linking up with Black and White Weekend

Lavoirs - a snippet of social history for visitors of France

The village in which this washhouse (lavoir) is located, is devoid of a bakery and any shops, but it boasts a castle and a charming lavoir. The domed roof covering the spring, is particularly attractive.

It was a recent post from Fabously French that had me scouring my poorly archived photos for some images of lavoirs* – sign posts of a now fragile heritage.

Adjacent to the 13th century church that sits at the bottom of a steep incline in our village, is this colourfully decorated lavoir. The flowers are voluntarily grown and nurtured by the surrounding neighbours.

The quaintness and charm of surviving lavoirs, that can still be seen in many French villages today, usually belie the often gruelling demands of laundering in bygone eras. More than just a place of work, a lavoir also provided a place where women could meet and chat while attending to an extremely time consuming, and often arduous domestic chore. 

A quaint washhouse can just be seen to the right of this stream that runs through Beaune. 

Household laundry consisted mainly  of rags, cloths and the inner garments worn close to one’s skin. Bed linen and outer garments were washed sparingly.

This lavoir is located under the private home, shown below, and is constantly fed by a spring just a few metres uphill. There was no available information about the history the building. 

Scrubbing, thrashing and wringing out the sodden fabrics involved physical strength, mental stamina and having one’s hands constantly wet - despite the ambient temperature.

Adjacent to notre maison, is a set of stone stairs that descends to the foot of our village, where there is a wash house that would have served the past inhabitants of My French Folly.  The garden is the result of the generosity of the lady who lives opposite the perennial spring on which this washhouse is built.

This stray cat can usually be seen basking in the sun on the leaver walls.

Of course there was also the task of carting the laundry to and from the lavoir on roads that were often unpaved and not necessarily flat. The 3 lavoirs in our French village are located at the bottom of the hills - on which most houses are perched - where water continuously flows from underground springs.

*Lavoirs were communal spaces - often roofed -  in which the public could wash clothes. They were commonly used throughout Europe for hundreds of years before the advent of household laundries.  

Stepping into the cool dampness of this washhouse provided a welcomed relief from the heat outside.

A private washing "sink" located in an isolated hamlet in eastern France.

There is a school of carp of varying sizes that inhabits the waters under this roof.

The 2 images above are of a washhouse in an un named hamlet nestled in the hills around Louhans. 

Each time I descend this set of steps that winds downhill from My French Folly, and pass the lavoir that sits at its feet, my mind drifts to the past inhabitants of our French home. Water and sanitation had never been connected to our house when we purchased it.  The installation of these modern amenities was a costly exercise, fraught with unforeseen complications.

Twilight as we walked past the nearest lavoir to commence our climb  home, after a delightful
apero with some local friends.

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