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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Autumn in France - a new experience

1 September. North-east France

From my bed, the morning sky is noticeably different – nature has removed the familiar, saturated hues from the sky. Dull, white and grey clouds fuse together to obliterate the insipid blue backdrop.  There’s a "nip in the air": a different coldness to that of a cool summer’s day. It appears that while I was sleeping, a deity has flicked the weather-switch from “l'été”  to “l'automne”. 

The hollow sounds of my foot steps on the stairs linger a little longer than usual as I descend the wooden 

spiral to commence my daily routine: open shutters; a cup of tea; bathroom rituals; boulangerie; a croissant and coffee on the terrace. 

But today I falter as the tatty, internal shutters of the sitting room are flung aside: familiar village roof tops are revealed, but strikingly with unfamiliar thin wisps of smoke hanging above their chimney stacks. No movement - just perfectly still. 

Something else is awry – the feathered acrobats that keep us entertained each morning and evening are missing. Squinting, I can just make out their motionless silhouettes across the valley – a row of small dots along the spine of the church roof. 

Opening the terrace door I investigate further: no familiar morning kiss from a timid dawn breeze.  The air is paralysed - devoid of any movement or sound; its chill has mingled with the herbaceous scents of damp foliage, proclaiming “summer’s over”.  I stand transfixed by the canvas before me. Such a dramatic change. So sudden. So unfamiliar. The motionless smoke continues to play statues. I stare, “perhaps I’ll catch it out?” I stare further.  No. 

Time stops. I feel at one with the world; utterly content; incredibly grateful.
..................my first autumn in France.

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Melbourne’s Autumn brings Back a French Summer

The start of autumn this week has seen the return of summer heat to Melbourne, with skies and light reminiscent of our summers in north-east France. A recent discussion during dinner had us recalling the first July we spent at our house in France - an unforgettable event.

Late July: our first French Summer

Plaster dust, spider webs – old and new, airborne grime generated by decades of neglect, and reconstituted glue from soggy pieces of wallpaper, manage to amalgamate with perspiration generated by the summer heat, to form a sticky coating on our skin.

Empty glasses and water bottles litter the deep, buckled windowsill. Actions are laboured, but spurred on by the limited time available to renovate this minuscule room – a task that appeared to be straight forward and quick, but is now proving otherwise.

There is no movement in the village. Lunchtime has extended into a siesta as patches of bitumen on the road start to resemble tacky molasses. Charlie and Kenzo, our neighbour’s cats, lie splayed in the cool under the lone conifer that stands like a sentinel to the cluster of houses in our ancient ruelle (lane).

Unexpectedly the faint sounds of plodding hooves pierce the silence, echoing as they rise from the street that sits in the valley below. Inquisitively I poke my head out of the second storey window while straddling its sill – a precarious move.  Nothing new in the landscape to report.

As the sounds grow louder, the shouting of children becomes faintly audible. Peering left through the breaks in the tree-tops, I get a brief glimpse of the scene below just before a parade of tired, hot bodies becomes fully visible.

A young boy, perhaps 10 or 11 years old, leads a pony on a slackened reign. Like his 2 friends trailing him, he’s abandoned his saddle. A fourth pony, head drooping and strapped into a cart harness, slowly edges into the picture.

The poor animal is pulling a tatty canvas covered wagon, reminiscent of those of the Wild West, albeit smaller and in proportion to the creature’s size. 

My pity for this equine slave soon gives way to warm amusement as the rear of the cart and source of the high pitched voices, come into view. Pushing the wooden structure up the road’s steep incline, and almost parallel to the ground themselves, are 2 small lads, shirtless and gasping for breath amidst their encouraging shouts to their hoofed companion up front..........The doors to my childhood memories are prised gently open.

My husband now joins me at the window.  “How stupid to be riding in this heat, but what a great adventure” I mutter. “Oh to be young again.” “ But we are young, and a touch foolish – look what we’re doing!” he chortles as he deposits a sticky kiss on my damp, grime-encrusted face......

Life alters quickly when one’s perspective changes!

One clean and painted room - small, but mighty significant
for us.

New Year's Resolutions & Bad Habits

The promise of a new year is accompanied by self-reflection and much optimism.

In attempt to avoid letting myself down, I make only a few  simple resolutions. For me, success is a better motivator than failure.

Regrettably, the last 2 years have seen every resolution I've made fail – not healthy for one’s self-esteem. Consequently, my new year's resolution list has grown, out of necessity.  It involves both forming new habits and ridding myself of some recently acquired bad habits, and unfortunately I've developed quite a few of these over the last 18 months. ........ sleep deprivation, indulging in too much chocolate and French pastries, neglecting to exercise, allowing clutter to invade my study, abandoning the pursuits that make my heart sing ........the list goes on. 

One week of the New Year has now passed and I’m happy to report that I’m on track with my resolutions for 2015 ……….. just 51 weeks to go!

Wishing you every success in fulfilling your New Year's resolutions.

Can't help myself , bad habits

Well I'm running wild, lost control

And it's a shame to see

That a girl like me

Has got so many, bad habits

Well I'm off the rails

My resistence fails, tempations got

A hold on me

And I can't refuse

Because I always lose

Can't help myself

Bad habits

Well it just ain't right

That it's something I can't fight

I can't stop going out and having spending fun.......(Christmas sales can be a curse)

Well I tried to be good,

But I knew I never could

Cause i've got more bad habits than anyone

When I get the urge

I just got to splurge ....... (France, books, gardening and technology - if only I could master it)

I'm a slave to all my desires

Well I'm in a mess

Because i can't repress all of these

Bad habits

Can't help myself

Bad Habits

Well I'm running wild ....... (relatively speaking, for a Capricorn who likes being in control)

Lost control

And it's a shame to see

That a girl like me

Has so many bad habits

Well it just ain't right

It's something I can't fight

I can't stop going out being distracted and having fun

Well I tried to be good

But I knew I never could

Cause i've got more bad habits

Than anyone

When I get the urge

I just got to splurge

I'm a slave to all my desires .......(cheese, chocolate and champagne is on the desires list during the festive season)

Well I'm in a mess

Because i can't repress all of these

Bad habits

The Seasons - snippits of my life.

“Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence

Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.

Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.

Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance."― Yoko Ono

The change in the seasons is a time for contemplation.

I love to record the transformations in the family's gardens. 

The seasons make me feel "alive". 

Snippets from Life in France - des jardins potagers

Neighbours' potager wall

Life in our corner of France has a gentle rhythm that is aligned to the seasons.  Summer temperatures in the high 20's to mid 30's (celsius) with intermittent heavy rains, (clearing the air of its gathering humidity),  ensure bountiful yields from des jardins potagers, if one keeps an eye on the bugs, mildew and enormous mustard brown slugs - so strong that they can upend a flower pot.

Frequently I would see the tip of an inverted "v" over the high old stone fenced vegetable plot on the corner of the ruelle as I rocketed down the hill on my bike before turning right to My French Folly. It would be the derriere of either Sylvie or Christian who were bent over, tending their potager. Often I would find  produce from their patch of earth on the stone seat beside the back door - tomatoes, lettuce, potatoes, cucumbers and haricot vert (eaten al dente after being tossed in unsalted butter and garlic). Wonderful. My meagre contribution to the community table was fresh herbs - basil, parsley, chives & thyme - which grew prolifically beside the front door after being planted within a few days of our arrival at our house.

Stone seat on the terrace beside the back door.

During the first week of Autumn, a daily vision would be the neighbours sitting in the afternoon sun with a huge sack of dried beans (pods and seeds) at their feet and a bowl in their laps which would catch les harricots blancs as they were released from their casings. These white beans were then tipped into a big bucket from which they would be divided, stored and consumed in the coming seasons. I felt privaliged to be able to pull up a chair and join in this ritual and the ensuing family chatter. During this activity  I would find myself taking stock of my surroundings as we sat in the gentle autumn sun overlooking the village and the verdant green rolling hills and surrounding forests, hearing the now familiar  bird calls and smelling the scent of fresh earth.

These lovely old shutters keep the hot sun out of the kitchen.

Autumn or Spring?

Autumn in the garden always has me busy pruning and fertilising in preparation for the colder months and the growth bursts of the following Spring. Our garden rakes and broom are frequently in hand, removing the bright tapestry of leaves that regularly blankets our front path - courtesy of a rampant Boston ivy.  

Withered brown autumnal cast-offs from the deciduous trees that have survived the prolonged droughts of summers past, form decaying mounds that become dangerously slippery if they’re not removed regularly. 

In the rear garden the vegetable plots lay fallow while being replenished by manure and recycled kitchen scraps that have been turned into nutrient-rich brews – a product of the frenetically active our composting worms. 

Despite the cold and wet conditions which now dominate our weather patterns, my mind frequently turns to visions of spring as I read about the gardening activities of northern hemisphere friends........

garden beds in bloom, 

plant nurseries  full of seedlings and potted plants in various stages of development, patiently waiting for a new home.

And what is happening growing and blooming in our garden in France this spring?  If only I knew....................

That's Life

There has been a general malaise on my blog due to the editorial censorship of Mr R. Posts have been written but decreed too serious or too humdrum - a reflection of the current state of proceedings.

The Block Arcade, Melbourne

Christmas preparations have been smooth and uneventful. All presents have been purchased, the family decorated the tree without debate and my contribution to the cooking of the Christmas feast is under control. 

The only adrenalin rushes I've had of late are when, white knuckled and teeth clenched, I've raced other cars for a rare, vacant parking space - with varying degrees of success. Respectable women and the lingering smell of burning rubber is not an association that one would usually make! ………But it is the silly season! 

For a bit of light relief from the pre Christmas preparations I suppose I could contemplate being naughty, which would please Mr. R and save Santa a trip……if only I had some energy left by the end of the day!

It seems that everyone is getting into tattoos......Not me!
Cartoon - courtesy of Oslo Davis & The Age

Mon Printemps

 The sky is monotonal grey, heralding the promise of Spring rain. Will it deliver?

Spring should be refreshing – a time of hope and renewal. The rhythm of this season is reassuring ……….the fleeting displays of blossom. ………festoons of light green confetti cling securely to the bare branches of winter……….the fresh green, (occasionally tinged with yellow or pink ) of the new growth on the evergreens ……….

the blazes of yellow wattle along the roadside. ……….the angle of the sun that fills the house with golden hues and creates intricate pink sunsets. 

              And the scent-laden air carrying the perfumes and unwelcome allergens of Spring – reminders that life is never perfect.

During the last decade, the promise of Spring has given way to despair as the seasonal rains dwindled. There is a whole generation that is unaware that in Victoria, October is “the wettest month”. This is evident by the recent, uncharacteristic rise in the number of Spring brides. 

Although it has just commenced, this Spring has the hallmarks of the Springs of old. Wonderful …….except for my red nose and heavy dependence on antihistamines!

Le Printemps 
par Théophile Gautier
Regardez les branches

Comme elles sont blanches,

Il neige des fleurs.
Riant de la pluie

Le soleil essuie

les saules en pleurs.
Et le ciel reflète

Dans la violette

Ses pures couleurs...
La mouche ouvre l'aile

Et la demoiselle

Aux prunelles d'or,

Au corset de guêpe

Dépliant son crêpe,

A repris l'essor.
L'eau gaiement babille,

Le goujon frétille

Un printemps encore !

Spring is a time when I dust off my camera- I love capturing the images of Spring flowers. What do you love about Spring?