spring – Widow plus woofs

I know one should be used to the oddities that come with living in a little village nestled amongst the hills and vines of South-West France but seeing a couple of peacocks on top of the remis yesterday morning was a bit of a surprise even by Rouffiac standards. Thankfully they didn’t stay long; apart from not wanting my woofers to get a mouthful of brightly coloured feathers, we have quite enough avians increasing their population on the property . Actually these two lovebirds are well known round here as they have been residing in various local back gardens over the last couple of years, including Denis’ although no-one knows where they came from. I don’t know how they got onto that roof either, I’ve never thought of them as aerobatic and judging by the ‘wife’s’ hesitation in runway procedures, I don’t think she knew any more than me. Ah well, it makes a change from the traditional Easter Bunny and I haven’t seen any eggs rolling off the tiles.

Considering it’s the holiday weekend, we are blessed today with another break from the norm – the sun is out. I say this because most of last week had us dressed in sou’westers what between the wet stuff and the wind. At least Callum made it out safely and is now back on Aussie soil recovering from less than ideal 18 hour flight nausea; not as bad as usual however he tells me. As partings go, it wasn’t too emotional on my part or his as we both realised it was time and I did get him to pose for the obligatory photo for his mother’s collection – something he dreads every time but I can’t help having such a gorgeous son.

Apart from the departure Down Under date, I’ve spent most of the last 7 days in the workshop due to the unseasonable season. Denis and I did manage to get out from under the umbrellas one afternoon and nip off to nearby Couffoulens so I could indulge in a bit of therapy – the plant kind. The potager has been looking woefully empty of late and if there is one place which knows when to put your summer salad items in, it’s the giant garden shop at the above. Unfortunately, due to the ghastly gusts, we can’t put tomatoes in yet but we did come away with two dozen lettuces and a rose. I really don’t need another rose but this one was so beautiful and anyway, D bought it for me and it fits in perfectly. And if the other fruits and florals budding across our terre right now are anything to go by, summer’s prospects are looking good. Even the bloody pool is behaving, albeit that minor glitch with the pump motor seizing up on account of a very stinky filter.

Speaking of blessed blossoms, the main house has its own at the moment with brother Simon and Alba in situ and my nephew Max – all soon to be joined by other nephew Louis tomorrow. He tells me he’s bring The Piano with him; the one I invested in and the one that will join the other three pianos currently taking up space in the living and dining rooms. The sofa suite will end up in the remis at this rate giving the peacocks the perfect place to poop and pop a few eggs. Happy Easter everyone!

““A peacock has too little in its head, too much in its tail.” (Swedish proverb)

I suppose it was inevitable but it was still hard to see the last house at L’Horte pulled down last week. What once stood proudly for centuries, over-looking the land that started out as the market garden for the Abbey in St-Hilaire, is now left with nothing more than its foundations. All that is left is there for the archeologists to poke around in, everything Pop had renovated – gone in a matter of days. Still, sad as it is, at least now that the digger and excavator crews have left, the place is peaceful once again and doing what it’s supposed to do. Be a market garden with Nicolas and Severine taking care of it all. Nicolas has promised me he’ll try and save Mumo’s peace rose that used to climb up the terrace, my brother Moth asked me if I could grab a few of the building’s cornerstones. I might be fit but I’m not a weightlifter thank you very much.

The old homestead at L’Horte hasn’t been the only receptacle to be drained of life these past few days. Despite Roy and I fixing the probable cause of the bloody pool’s leak, the algae has refused to budge. Running the pumps for several hours at a time and adding diluted chlorine hasn’t fazed the diabolical sludge so I’ve given up trying and the water plus its contents are now draining over the garden. I dread to think what’s living in those murky depths and it’ll be me getting in and cleaning the damn thing. Then Roy and I will fill the vast space with nicely spiced chlorine concentrated eau and put the cover back on until the summer. Another job ticked off the list.

Said list is getting shorter by the day. Denis and I have been toiling all hours of the day to get through it. The carport is cleared and brother Simon has got his car in it without hitting the sides, the tractor shed wall is now painted, I cleared all the weeds from the outside verge and the pool deck now has a fresh coat of preserve. Annoyingly, I only noticed the bit I missed after I’d cleaned the brushes but since the spot is on the margelle otherwise known as the under edge of the deck, I’m not going to say anything. And it wasn’t just the two of us making a difference, Paula, also known as the ‘Oven Queen’ came over for her yearly visit to sparkle up our stoves and catch up on news. Not only is Paula a genius but great fun to be around too and she doesn’t mind the woofers underfoot either.

Just as well as the apartment is getting more crowded by the minute. I’ve brought up one of my armchairs so I can finish the upholstering and I’ve got two saddles waiting to be returned to Le Jardin. I spied them lying dejected and dried out on one of the tables in what will soon be the refurbished bar and restaurant. With a lot of elbow grease and saddle soap, they are now ready to ride. Or as I have decided, become bar stools. I’ll be back down at Le Jardin in the coming week to help Abraham split and replant the seedlings I carefully poked into little pots of earth last month. He’s got enough to do and I weirdly like the work – it’s peaceful and doesn’t require stressing out the brain cells. Not that my life is that stressful except the evening tap tapping away at The Second Book. I’m so close to the end and my muse keeps going to sleep. It doesn’t help that this opus has a lot more factual information than the last one and trawling through pages of research isn’t my idea of fun. And with Spring arriving as the clocks have gone forward, I’d rather be outside talking to my tomatoes than banging my fingers on a keyboard. They are sprouting nicely in case you were worried, better than Denis’ – he’s managed to burn half of his because he put them too close to his barbecue. The same barbecue that will be the star of attention at tomorrow’s Maybon family get-together (D’s family that is) on the petanque ground down the road. The same one, if you remember last year’s, that the giant omelette is traditionally made for. The one laced with sugar and rum. Thankfully D had come to terms with my feelings about this curdled cultural congelation and I won’t have to eat it. The thing looks like a paler version of what I’m emptying the pool. I’m no fool…

“April prepares her green traffic light, and the world thinks: Go (Christopher Morley)