I Knew What We Could Do

I grumped.  I was tired of thinking about food, buying food, preparing food, cooking food, clearing up after food and I wanted to run away to the sea before summer completely disappeared. But the météo showed cool and rain for the Med, so I stayed.

And gardened in the sun. And felt better.

And then Tod moved my bike out of the garage while he blocked up the gap in the colombage that sends gales of cold air into our lounge in the evening and I knew what we could do.

Link:

Canal de Garonne

Château Chats

We took our visitors to meet friends who are lovingly restoring a château.

And I fell in love with these two.

After Our Friends Have Gone

I take the clean duvet covers and pillow cases down off the washing line.  They are warm, dry and full of sunshine.

I close the door of the cottage and turn to walk the track back up to the house. Beyond the rustling field of sun-scorched maize, a distant tractor draws a plough.

A week is so little time together, after so many months of anticipation.

Getting Ready

For a departure

The swallows are gathering on the power line that cuts across our field, chattering and squabbling, then suddenly launching off to swoop low across the valley.

I'm struggling to take good photos of them, but I like the sky in this one.

Getting ready for an arrival

Friends are coming to stay this week and the terrace is getting its biennial de-cobwebbing.  You have to have a good head for heights and not mind large spiders. So not a job for me!

Summer's Back - With a Vengence

The météo tells me it's thirty-eight degrees celsius (100F), but the car thermometer stubbornly stays over forty (104F) on the drive into town.  Thank heavens for air conditioning.

I hunt for shade to park the car at Leclercs and the hot strong wind from the north west hits me as I get out.  By the time I reach the welcoming cool draught through the supermarket doors my damp hair is sticking to my forehead. 

I linger over the freezer cabinets and wrap the ice cream inside three layers of cool bag. The aisles are full of autumn clothing and reminders to sweep your chimney before winter.

The papers tell us we have the highest level of water restrictions - no use of hoses to fill pools or water the plants, not even from one's own well.  As I drive home I see the family that built a pond in their front garden in the spring busy filling it - with a hose.

Monsieur F has harvested some of his maize for silage: the green flow shoots from the funnel above the harvester into the tractor-drawn wagon that crawls alongside.  The maize that's left cracks and pops in the heat.

We hide indoors and close the shutters but there's nowhere now in the house that's cool except in front of the open fridge door.

Vita lies on the tiles at my feet, occasionally sighing.  I'll go for a swim in a while and enjoy that brief moment as I drop in when the water feels almost cold.

Hanging a Picture so it Looks Straight

How?

Not a single ceiling, door, beam, mantle, tile, stone or shelf is horizontal.

Nor window, shutter, door frame, post, wall or corner is vertical.

August - South West France

Supper on the veranda wearing long sleeved T-shirts and sweaters.  We thought about eating inside.

Later, watching television wrapped in a dressing gown against the cold draught from the open colombage, I thought about making thick, heavy curtains.

Harvesting the Beet (continued)

Because I didn't really understand what they were planting in Monsieur F's field in the spring, I posted a question to Total France.  This is what Colebags told me:

It's jolly hard work, very labour intensive and not yet automated (here at least).

Picture a small group of itinerate workers (on minimum wage paid via cheque d'emploi service) standing around a table in an open sided barn in February, temperature near freezing. A lorry reverses in and tips its load of baby betterave onto and against the table. The workers trim the beets, no conversation allowed until a brief coffee break, then on again with the pile of beet gradually diminishing until lunch. Assorted packed lunches and friendly chatter until it's time to start again. The group continue to work until 18h30, it's dark and bitterly cold and at no time have there been chairs to sit on apart from in their own vehicles at lunchtime.

Trimming the beets is considered easy money compared to planting ....

The people I met were embarking on a year of planting and harvesting, following the seasons and the various crops, they are back in the region now to harvest melons. They were happy to work, knew the farmers well and didn't complain.

The farmer and his wife worked along side during the morning, leaving the others to continue without them in the afternoon, a couple from Morocco, a single man also from Morocco and a young couple from the north of the region who lived in an old van with two dogs, a cat and a wonderful zest for life!

We have the utmost respect for the people who work in the fields, it is a jolly hard life.