Fresh fields

There are a couple of fields across the valley from our house. The near one's visible but the far one's over the hill so it's out of sight. When we first came here about five years ago, both fields were scrubland and overgrown forests. Watched in amazement as the farmer and his two sons cleared the area, dug it over, burnt the stumps, smoothed the earth and then seeded it with grass. Now they're proper field providing valuable pastureland for the farming family's many cattle herds.

Couple of months ago the cattle were moved on and the grass was allowed to grow to about a metre high. Last week it was cut and left to dry in the hot sun. This morning the farmer's two tractor-driving sons set about stacking the hay into neat rows about three metres apart. These rows were then scooped up into a circular box thing that spat out hay rolls which were left scattered across the field. They've just finished the near field and have now moved on to the far one. Then when that's done, they'll stack the rolls onto a trailer and store them as winter cattle feed in one of their many barns.

The barn just across the lane, in the shadow of the church, is already full to bursting point with dozens of these rolls so they'll have to be stored elsewhere. As well as the hay that's stored in the barns, there are other rolls piled in various fields. But because they're out in the open, they've been shrink-wrapped in black plastic sheeting. I always think they look quite 'arty' in a modern sculpture kind of way. And I often think how boring this hay must be to eat. Still, the cattle seem to like it. Especially when the ground's covered in snow in winter. Hard to imagine winter at this time of year. But it'll soon be here.

Walkies

Just been for a very hot lunchtime dogwalk up the cemetery run. Took my camera for a change, even though I'm sure everyone's bored stiff of looking at my dogwalk blogphotos. Took a few shots of a local farmer's vegetable patch that he planted a few weeks back in one of his fields next to the cemetery. Loads of spuds, cabbages and stuff as well as an impressive beanpole construction for his broad beans, or maybe they're just haricots verts (runner beans), not that I really know the difference. Then ambled along the shady track that passes the old orchard where the apple trees are looking extremely healthy considering their age. The orchard owner and his wife did quite a bit of pruning earlier this year and their hard work seems to have paid off. I really enjoy the marvellous smell of apples when walking past, even though there don't seem to be any apples there yet. After this shady stretch, the woods on the right give way to an open field. In the distance I heard the drone of tractors. The farmer's two sons were hard at work haymaking. Took a few snaps which I'll put in the next posting.

Honeysuckle etc.

Just a quickie to keep Georgie informed of what's happening in the garden. Took a few snaps last night and a few more this lunchtime. The honeysuckle bush planted a couple of years ago has rocketed up the apple tree and burst into flower last week. Looks and smells very nice indeed. Other bush and flowery stuff seems to be doing well, especially the yellowy things which I think are weeds but nevertheless look rather impressive. Ditto some white thingies by the side of the house, just below where a couple of sparrows have nested in the downstairs loo vent - the chicks have been making a helluva din lately and I reckon they're getting very close to flying off. Bit like me tomorrow, provided I get up in time.

Why?

Just after we moved here about five years ago, a neighbour asked "why?" From her point of view, it just didn't make sense. The region is one of the poorest and least densely-populated areas of France and unemployment is high. Most of the youngsters dream of leaving despite being part of a close-knit community, and most of the oldsters realise they've left it too late (not that any of them would ever consider moving). The idea of someone wishing to live here through choice, especially when they come from an exotic place like London (their opinion, not mine), is totally bonkers. Hence her question.

To answer fully would have taken all day. I had a million reasons for moving, most of which I knew she would never understand in a month of Sundays. So, to keep it simple, I explained that after working in London for 35 years the time had come to get away from it all. I needed more space, more countryside, more fresh air and more of the little things that she and her community took for granted - like fresh baguettes and lizards running up granite walls. She remained unconvinced and responded by saying "ah yes, but you have Robbie Williams and Marks & Spencer while we only have a cheap supermarket and Johnny Halliday." Her obvious love of Robbie Williams clearly confirmed that she was suffering from too much sun, or maybe an over indulgence of sensibly priced champagne - either way, another couple of darned good reasons to move here.

I was aked the same question last Friday when I visited the vet's for the dogs' annual booster vaccinations. Told the young man in the white coat that I found England claustrophobic - too many people, too many cars, too little space etc. - and that I'd initially given it a year just to see if I could handle the big step abroad. If I didn't like it, I'd go back (wasn't true of course - couldn't afford to return). Said I'd been here five years now which, considering my appalling French, he found hard to believe.

Driving back home from the vet's, I idly pondered this question further. Seems so long ago now that I can hardly remember my reasons for emigrating to the back of beyond. However, I do recall being thoroughly pissed off with that dickhead Gordon Brownarse and his insane plan to get everyone hocked up to the hilt in debt just to create a ludicrous money-go-round, thereby giving the false impression of national wealth. All seemed barking mad to me. People were spending money they just didn't have, based on the daft assumption that property prices would continue to rise. I really did find it scary. If a financial birdbrain like me could see the crash coming, how come the so-called experts couldn't? And that's one of the main reasons I got out while I could. Furthermore, as Britain was no longer a manufacturing nation, how would they ever recover? Aaaaand..., as a large proportion of the population was rapidly approaching retirement age, how would the country afford the massive expense of taking care of the elderly, especially when New Bleedin' Labour had ruined pensions and put bugger all aside in readiness for the Boomer generation hitting Zimmer frame age? All I could see was doom and gloom. I remember now.

I remember too the first time I drove along this very lane I was driving now. I had just met up with the son-in-law of the house seller and was following him to view the wreck for the very first time - he in a little white van and me aboard a Honda Fireblade motorcycle. I'd whizzed over to France to view a shack about thirty miles away. Thought it'd make an ideal holiday home. Arrived at the estate agent's to be told that they'd sold it the previous day. So I was now operating 'plan B' - the viewing of another potential holiday home, simply out of idle curiosity. Didn't really fancy it from the description or the region but, as I was here, I thought I'd may as well ring up and arrange a viewing. So there I was, driving along that lane following that little van.

Despite being in a mood that matched the grey weather, I remember being uplifted by the beauty of the valley lane as it curved left and right following what appeared to be a little river. After a couple of miles, the route zigged and zagged up a forest hill to a tiny hamlet where the van in front hung a left around a church and came to a halt by a dilapidated house. First impressions are always important. The house was rubbish but it had good proportions, big rooms, some interesting stonework and a marvellous view (not that I could see much through the morning mist). There was a certain peace and character about the place that clicked. I didn't want to like it but I did. Or maybe it was that ride along the valley that did it.

Even after five or six years of driving that valley road, it still continues to enthrall. Especially at this time of year on a sunny day. So, returning home from the vet's pondering reasons for coming here, I decided to stop off and give it further thought down by the valley stream. Here surely was one of many good answers to the question of 'why?': a beautiful valley, a babbling brook, a sunny day with honeysuckle scent, totally quiet with no sign of cars or people, just a distant herd of cattle and a passing hawk..., take your pick. But if I cited any of them as reasons for settling here, neither the vet nor my neighbour would really understand. They'd think I was barking. But it makes a whole heap of sense to me.

Flaming June

Can't believe this damned weather. Mid June, almost the longest day and it must be the wettest month for ages out here in France. Probably ever. Down south they've had terrible flash floods with cars and people being washed down streets that have suddenly transformed into fast-flowing rivers. Been quite a few deaths apparently. Luckily we haven't had it so bad up here in the Limousin but it's certainly been wet. Had a couple of torrential downpours a few days back. Rained solidly for hours on end. Proper stair-rod stuff. Turned chilly as well. Had to re-light the kitchen stove - in June! But at least we don't get floods up here in the hills. Water gushes off down the valley and drains into that pretty little stream I recently painted. Only it's now a roaring river that's turned brown, burst its banks in places and dragged a whole heap of driftwood off and away.

Er..., when I say we don't get floods up here, it's not strictly true. Every time it seriously rains, our downstairs ends up looking like a lake. Been that way since the workmen installed the hamlet's new water meter system. To do ours, they removed the old internal water meter, drilled a hole through the outside wall and connected us up to the new system via a new external meter. Would have been fine if the connection was above ground level and they'd sealed the hole. But it wasn't. And they didn't. So I guess I'm going to have to go and have a word with the mayor... who doesn't speak English and never really understands my garbled French. Might have to go along with a few photos and diagrams. Ah well, c'est la vie.

Ruisseau

After a week or more of unseasonal drizzle and cloud, the sun finally decided to pop out again last Thursday. Would have taken the opportunity to finish off that 'stream' painting I started a couple of weeks ago but, by late afternoon (when the shadows are exactly right), the clouds had returned. Sunny all day yesterday though so I knocked up a quick Thermos of tea and nipped down the stream. Well, when I say "nipped", I really mean "slogged" - there's a one mile drive followed by a quarter mile march carrying easel over shoulder, painting in one hand and two bags of equipment in t'other. Last time, I took the dogs (have to hold Sprock on lead part of the way - tricky with only two hands, both of which are full), but this time I left them at home. Felt a bit guilty. Anyway, got set up and rattled off a couple of hours' paint sploshing. Stopped just before the valley darkened into shadow. Took a couple of snaps, had a couple of fags and teas, packed up (messy business cleaning a palette), trudged off back to the car, drove home, picked up dogs, drove up Pierrefitte way and had a lovely walk in the evening sun. Eventually got home at about nineish. Great, these long sunny evenings.

A little bit sinister

I'm fascinated by that maroony iris (see previous posting). Especially when it's been raining (happened quite a lot lately). When its petals are heavy with rainwater, it seems to take on a whole new character. Slightly sinister. Perked up a bit now the sun's reappeared. Back to its old chirpy self. Looking a bit battered though.