The world is shyly on the move again, friends unexpectedly popping out of the woodwork - what a gift! - and me nipping hither and thither by car-pooling, train, plane and my antediluvian Renault Clio.
This blog, which seems to have morphed into a yearly newsletter, is a tribute to reaching out, to togetherness. It celebrates love, friendship, solidarity. After the - hopefully over - Covid years, it has to be relished.
We were on our way to stay with Sophie and Jean-Michel near Montpellier. It was already spring there, trees in bloom and hardly a nip in the air. Sophie and I did our nurse training together in the eighties and we suffered then (and have suffered since) of irrepressible mirth every time we're together. Much joy around the table, many bottles of local wines opened, Phil dizzy with all that French spoken to him without filter, a hike to the pont du Gard - the 2000 year old Roman Aqueduct - a drive through the Camargue.
In April, I saw my orchard fulfil its destiny in not just providing me with fruit but sheltering friends in camper vans. Ian, whom I had met years ago in Plakias youth hostel, Crete, was on his way back from Spain and Portugal where he had wintered away from Cologne. Because he follows my blog - I am flattered. Not many do, it's too wordy - he knew where I was. Life stories shared over aperitifs in the garden, hikes, more limestone cliffs and troglodyte villages. Bless his kindness. The sky was improbably blue over the house.
He was followed by Kate-Marie and Hazel, straight from Australia. We had come across each other in Alice Springs at a Soul motion dance workshop Kate-Marie was running ( See the blog 'Dances with Flies'). But now, they were roaming around France to find THE place where to settle and were agonising about their choice, pendulum at the ready above maps. They finally elected Burgundy and have, as I write, just signed the contract on their new home in the northern hemisphere. The ladies know how to listen to signs. Bless their sense of adventure.
Oh, what a joy it is when the wide world converges in my little hub. Shared stories are the stuff of life.
February felt like April, April felt like May, May felt like August and people in the village were looking at the sky with worried frowns, wondering if real rain would ever come. June heat came like a ton of bricks and my sister, Catherine, who always leaves Paris to stay with me on our shared birthday, was hugging the walls for shade like a ghost. She came back for Christmas, enjoying a temperature much more to her taste and took the opportunity to beat me flat in very competitive games of Scrabble. Blessed are devoted sisterhood and love of words.
July came blue and implacable. Alice, Phil's daughter, who lives in Croatia, was keen to walk a stretch of the camino. She tackled the logistics at my home and embarked on a week hike in over 40° heat. Anything else would feel easy after that. Ah but I see! It was just a training for northern bits of the Pacific Crest Trail, with snow still lingering on the summits and some pretty hairy paths, at least for those who, like me, fear heights. She doesn't, bless her intrepid spirit.
As August was looming, I was closing the heavy wooden shutters by 10 am and not opening them until 5pm. By early afternoon, it was 52° on the terrace and the shade gave no respite. The garden was in survival mode, grass like straw crackling underfoot, flowers on strike, birds silent and flies the only stubborn sign of life. Nothing to do but grab a picnic, a cold beer, the lounger, a book and drive down to the river.
That's when my good friend Idoia came from San Sebastian (Spain) and that's what we just did, as hiking was out of the question. Still, not wishing to become fossilised, we went on an epic canoe trip down the river, on whatever water was left.
Her big favourite remained the hammock under the ash trees where she felt held like a baby, swaying lazily, a drink by her side. Bless the coziness of old friendship.
You get it. That summer was the summer to end all summers. I flew to England where people were complaining of 30° heat. It was great.
I was surprised at how absurdly happy I was to be speaking English again and to be again in the midst of that easy-going, slightly chaotic English buzz. Even ordering a soggy cheese sandwich at Stanstead felt wonderful or sorting out with a harassed train employee an alternative to my freshly cancelled cross-country train to Peterborough. It was like wearing again an old favourite coat that had somehow retained the shape of me. It also brought home that I still feel sometimes out of step here in France, a bit...yes, foreign. Still, I found England rather busy. I guess I already got used to empty roads and unspoilt nature.
I was to spend time with Phil on his boat at Ipswich marina but, before then, I wished to meet my dear long-time-no-see Nottinghamshire friends, the coven, or so we called ourselves, as we always cackled loudly and merrily when we met, fuelled with bubbly and a fond shared history. Sue, Zena, Cherry, Laura, this is to you with love. Cheers! I managed to cram a few more visits with Ann, who feels like a sister, with Viv - so many good times listening to music and having a go at the wheel in her pottery workshop - and Kindy, the best Shiatsu lady, but alas was not able to see everybody in that neck of the woods that was my life for so long.
It seems, for those who are in the know, that engineer work - if you want to do it yourself - is difficult in France. Furthermore, ordering parts from the UK now incurs considerable custom fees (I will not mention the 'B' word). So Phil sailed to Britain, quite an undertaking, put his boat on stilts and got on with rebuilding the engine, using all his contacts for mysterious repairs, or so they appear to me.
Oh I do love the big skies of that soft, dreamy Suffolk coast. What delight it was, for Phil and I, to tread the familiar paths to hidden coves along tidal rivers, to have lunch in the sun as the water laps close.
My feet would find their way on their own, as if I had left yesterday. I even managed to meet up with Mark, my talented guitar teacher who would always show me easy ways through my favourite songs, and with Ann, potter extraordinaire, who used to let me share her studio for tinkering with clay.
In spite of the horror stories we hear in France about the situation in the UK and its succession of baffling prime ministers, I was so happy and relieved to see you were all doing well, my friends from across the channel. Bless your warm welcome and the joys of catching up.
The brightest sunbeam in a year filled with them, the one person who resurfaced after being stuck by Covid restrictions for over 2 years in Hongkong, was my daughter, Gwendoline. Hugging each other in tears at Charles de Gaulle airport, we swore that never again would we spend such a long time without seeing each other. She didn't know my house, my world. We had each other for a good two weeks and what didn't we do....Yes, canoeing down the river again, this time, herons, kingfishers, plenty of old stones, castles, swims, walks, good meals, a trip to Albi and its awesome cathedral, the gouffre de Padirac, wine tasting, chats and, through it all, the complicity of renewed togetherness.
Then she left again and for a good while I couldn't sing anymore. She now lives in Sydney, Australia with her husband Jason (Here they are below on Lord Howe's island) and yes, it isn't next door, is it, but if there ever was a good country for them, this is it and one where I will love to visit. It's on the map for autumn 2023. Fingers crossed. Flight booked. Bless my lovely daughter, my golden girl.
I won't talk about the hub... my house and the mountain of improvements that happened here, a new septic tank - very glamorous - the barn floor concreted over, the kitchen refurbished (above), the vine trained, subsidies from the government for 'la transition écologique' partially financing a wood-pellet boiler, insulation, double-glazing. I guess the latter isn't improving the national debt but bless, bless, bless! I won't talk about the solidarity of neighbours, ready to lend strong arms and know-how. I won't mention the many impromptu meals shared in the garden, the music sessions with Pierre on the harmonica, pottery and guitar lessons in Figeac. Bless the gentle, friendly people of the Lot.
Yes, celebrating openness is not a luxury : there is no downplaying the influence of a pandemic on one's soul. I can't remember who told me they noticed the French don't kiss so much any more when we greet, but it is true : distance has made an entrance. Life in a bubble still has faithful aficionados. The shock still lives in the collective psyche. And this is here, in a country with an excellent health system where the pandemic came and went, hopefully for good, in relative comfort for most.
Still, I'd rather continue to kiss.
So, of course, I caught the damn thing in February 2022 and it is only when I was huffing and puffing behind Laura, up some steep hillock in the Peak District in August that I realised I had lost some of the stamina to climb, something I never really enjoyed anyway but that I could do if it would get me somewhere.
There she is, Laura, really to tackle anything.
The following December, it was Phil's turn to succumb to the virus as he was at my home to celebrate the festive season. The consequences took us unawares : a mad dash to the A&E in Cahors with his blood pressure suddenly to the roof, followed by tablets, an appointment with the cardiologist. all rather a shock for him who never saw a doctor before. How will he be able to maintain his way of life on the boat?
However, he still managed to prune the trees in the orchard, saw, sand and paint and fit nifty lights in dark corners. His eagle eye spotted all the snags. Bless his generous, loving heart.
And then, a good month after Christmas, a postcard festive weather hit us with 20 cm of snow, and temperatures barely over 0°C for over a week. Snowball fights in the blizzard, feeling like kids again, leaving our prints on the pristine, pure, expanse.
It is only March so, it's not too late to send you all my warmest wishes. May this new year be good to you, may your plans come to fruition, may harmony reign in and around you, may your health and vitality remain strong and may we not forget how privileged we are.
'Ring out the old, ring in the new
Ring happy bells across the snow'
