The mushroom forest

One of my fave dogwalks is up the back lane to a little pine forest which I call 'the mushroom forest' for obvious reasons. It's really quiet up there, mainly because any sounds are absorbed by the thick mossy floor. Bit spooky too in a Tolkienesque way, so it's easy to imagine elves and goblins darting behind the tree trunks. Couple of weeks ago, I stopped in my tracks as I spotted a couple of small deer about thirty yards away in the distance. They stood still, staring at me for about ten, long, magical seconds before hopping off into the shadows where the trees end and the brush begins. I've dug out four photos taken a few years back which, hopefully, convey the almost unique atmosphere of this special place.

Went up there with Jock yesterday. Bumped into Isabelle walking little Goah and her new dog Zen, a three-year old golden retriever. Walked together up to the old granite cross with Jock enjoying the company of his playful bitch chums. Approaching the cross, there was an aroma of pine. Then I saw pine trunks, newly stacked. I feared the worst: my mushroom forest was no more.

Isabelle turned and took her bitches back home, having invited me round for an evening aperitif (that means supper) with Christian and Hadrien. I continued onwards to the mushroom forest. Followed the track which was muddy with heavy tyretracks and turned the final bend. Instead of seeing a wall of tall pines with the track leading into a dark tunnel of trees, there was now a broad sky and open ground carpeted with pine branches.

Ambled around remembering the peace and quiet the dogs and I had enjoyed in this very spot in bygone years. Then noticed Jock had disappeared. Saw him back up the track nibbling on something. Ran back and ordered him off. He'd been chewing a discarded deer leg. Maybe one of those little deer I'd stared at not long ago. A sad end to my mushroom forest.

In the seven years of dogwalking the local hills and forests, I've seen countless pines disappear from the landscape. However, more often than not, when the trees have gone they're replaced by rows of planted saplings. About thirty years later, when fully grown, they're cut down and the cycle continues. That's the way it goes. Nothing is forever.

Decorations

Quite Christmassy down in Felletin, our local town. The main street's lined with Christmas trees adorned with purple and silver bows, the overhead Christmas lights are up, flickering coloured lights flash from streetside windows and are reflected in the puddles and wet cobbles. Very festive. But there's one particular house that always puts on a brilliant show, as if to say "y'ain't seen nuthin' yet!" Took a quick snap of it at dusk on the way home from visiting the post office. Went there to buy stamps and send my Christmas cards, but the damned place was shut so, as usual, my cards will arrive late. Gave Jock a longish walk in the gathering darkness on the way home. I think I may have tired the old boy out. Keep forgetting he's aged about eighty in doggy years. Fed the brute when we arrived home and he's now kipping in front of the kitchen fire. Suppose I ought to do something about Christmas decorations. There's a holly tree with berries just up the back lane. That'll do for moi.

  

Long time no bloggeau

Ain't blogged lately. No real reason. Mainly laziness and the fact that nothing much has happened recently. It's a dull time of year. Still, Christmas is fast approaching and Georgie's due to fly out next Sunday so that's something to look forward to.

Talking of Christmas, I was invited to a Christmas lunch for all the elderly locals at the village Mairie a week ago last Saturday. It's an annual event, paid for by the state, and it's the first time I've been invited. Taken me seven years to be officially accepted by the community, or maybe in previous years they just thought I was younger than I really am. Anyways, having been invited I had to go, despite severe misgivings about being the only Brit there. Plus, of course, my rubbish parlez-vous lingo and the fact that none of the locals speak a word of Anglais.

The 'do' kicked off at mid-day. Six hours later, I finally staggered off home, feeling somewhat wobbly. Amazingly, most of the oldies were still at it, noshing, boozing and nattering. They're tough critters round these parts. I just couldn't take the pace. Called it quits after the pudding cake. Neighbour Colette seemed a bit disappointed that I didn't stay for the final onion soup (apparently a traditional end to a boozy lunch), but I just didn't have room. Lost count of how many courses the ladies of the community had knocked up in the Mairie kitchen. Must have been about seven or eight, or more. And I definitely lost count of how many (free!) bottles of plonk and glasses of champagne the lads on our table got through.

On arrival at the Mairie there was much hand shaking, smiling and kissing as the locals greeted each other. Most of them have probably been chums since primary school and, indeed, are probably related in some way. It's a close community up here in the remote hills. Despite hardly knowing anyone (well, maybe a dozen or so), I was warmly welcomed. I think they know me as the artist that showed his paintings at the village fete a couple of years ago. But, other than that, they probably refer to me as that Anglais who lives by the church.

Introductions over, we took our seats. Neighbour Alain perched me next to him. Sat opposite were an elderly couple (Marcel and Lorrine?) who, despite being married for sixty-odd years (I found out later) held hands with surprising frequency. Very cute. Marcel is a farmer, aged 81, who apparently gets up at 4am every day - yes, every day (that's 3am in English money). Lorrine told me, a bit guiltily, that she stays in bed 'til about seven. I told them that I generally get up at around 6.30ish to let Jock out. Didn't tell them I then go back to bed when Jock comes back in. Marcel's quite a character with his toothless grin. Kept telling funny stories, even though I didn't understand a word. Massive hands for a little bloke, with sausage-like fingers. Typical local farmer.

The official dignitaries sat at the top table. The mayor (another farmer) sat in the middle, flanked by his wife and some local official. Also on their table were neighbour Chantal (or is it Chantelle?) who is the mayor's sister and who does most of the paperwork and running of the Mairie, and a couple of local cops (gendarmes), plus others. They were the youngsters of the gathering. Having a couple of gendarmes present didn't seem to put anyone off. Again, they're probably related in some way to most of the guests. And, perhaps surprisingly, they didn't start breathalising anyone when people started leaving before the dreaded onion soup. Mind you, I could imagine one of the gendarmes saying "breathe into this bag, uncle" and then being told "shove it up your arse, sonny." That's the way things are round here.

Can't remember exactly what we ate, but it was all fairly simple and very delicious. I think different courses were prepared by different ladies of the commune. The starter was a sort of crab seafood thingy. Bloke next to me didn't like seafood so I had a couple. This was followed by a bit of quiche. Then a sort of lemon sorbet (bit weird having pud before the main course, thought I). Then a bit of fish in sauce - had two 'cos, again, the bloke didn't like seafood. By this time I'd lost count of the wines I'd had (both white and red) so my memory was blurred. Then meat, mash and a stuffed Provençal tomato - luverly. Then lettuce with sauce and a bit of cheese (there were other courses but I've forgotten what). Then a super-duper slice of raspberry ice cream cake with meringue - stupendous. Then, er, chocolates, coffee and a glass of some lethal pear-flavoured paint stripper. Then a quick getaway after saying thank you to the dignitaries and before the onion soup.

Took a couple of snaps of the Christmas lights outside. Bit blurred, but that was exactly how I saw them. Staggered off down the road as the lads, and probably some of the lassies, continued demolishing the vino stock. Arrived home, got a bollocking from Jock about leaving him alone and in the dark for so long, gave him a walk, lit the kitchen fire and poured a welcome scotch and dry on the rocks. Perfect end to a damned good 'do'.

Sunny

Odd for November but we've just had three sunny days on the trot. Warm too. Great for dogwalking. Yesterday I dragged Jock up the Pierrefitte run to see the view from the top. On a clear day you can see right across to the distant mountains of the Massif Centrale (or whatever it's called). They're clear of snow at the moment but that'll soon change! Great walking up there at this time of year with the trees showing off their autumn colours. Good views too on the drive home, looking out over Sprocket Hill towards our hamlet. Nipped down to Felletin in the afternoon to do the EuroMillions lottery. Didn't win but apparently some French person did. About £130 million. Scary. Took a snap of Felletin from the road out of town on the homeward drive. Looked a lot better in reality. Ah well. For the evening run Jock and I nipped out back up the granite cross. Amazing colours in the setting sun. Saw a couple of timid deer but the photos were rubbish. Gets darkish at about sixish nowadays. Soon be the shortest day already. My, how time flies.

P.S. - Took quite a few snaps yesterday but couldn't decide which ones to leave out so I've shoved the lot in. All too soon the leaves will have gone as autumn ends, but at least I'll be able to look back at these snaps and remind myself of all the colour that disappeared into winter's grey. Bleugh!

 

A sunny walk out back

Bright sunshine this morning. Warm too. Really pleasant change after the freezing cold and snow of the last few days. Took wee Jockie for a walk out back. Took my camera too despite already having a million boring photos of dogwalks. Was half hoping I might see the last of the migrating cranes heading south. But none showed up. Good colours at this time of year though. Green leaves turning to brown, yellow and red. Seemed to be lots of red about including holly berries, rose hips and some other plant with pinky type berries or flowers - haven't a clue what it is but it certainly brightened up the hedgerows. The clear morning air led to great views. Strange to think that yesterday I couldn't even see across the valley for mist and cloud. And today, at the top of the hill behind our house, I could see forever.

Walk done, I slung Jockie into the dogwagon and headed for Felletin to buy bread and milk. Also planned to have a crack at tonight's EuroMillions because there have been about half a dozen rollovers and the jackpot now stands at about 80 million euros (should come in handy). But..., the lottery caff was shut. So, this afternoon, I shall head for the lottery caff in Aubusson. Complete waste of money of course, but ya gotta be in it to win it.