An Interlude

I'm having an interlude for a few days.

We'll be visiting family, seeing people, and not using the computer.

This exquisite rose is called 'Poetry in Motion' and has gorgeous perfume.

St Jean celebrations

This lady is not the village arsonist. she is the 'matriarch' of our small village , the OLD village to distinguish it from them up there in the new village. The fire she is lighting is traditionally lit on 23rd June to celebrate St Jean. The problem is that no one could tell me why. Which St Jean? Don't know, but it's what we do.

However, I did a bit of research, and found that it is the day of the birth of St John the Baptist. St John was regarded as the 'bringer of Light into the world, preceding Christ'. The Kings of France therefore, celebrated with bonfires and fireworks on the 23rd and 24th.

The lighting of the fire comes about half way through a thoroughly jolly evening organised by several of the older neighbours who have been doing it for years. The wobbly tables are put up on the lane, the bottles of bubbly are arranged, and the Boules pitch is lovingly swept. Boules are brought put, teams are chosen, and the first game of the season starts. Much chaffing as the one and only Englishman, my husband, scored the first points!

An hour or so later the game is over, and there is a mass run to the aperitifs, bubbly and crisps all round. One or two neighbours from the other end of the village join us, and the ritual of kiss kiss, handshake is solemnly observed, and very nice it is too. The Barbecue has been smoking away and eventually the chunks of baguette are brought out, and the saucisses brought round. 'Tomato sauce? Mustard?

My part of the tradition, observed now for several years , is to bake two enormous sponge cakes, chocolate being the favourite, filled liberally with more chocolate, and iced with.....of course, even more chocolate. This year I made a strawberry filled one as well. Always a cry of 'Bien fait, well done, English cakes are very good,' goes up! And the fire is lit, and burns , and everyone raises a glass to St Jean.

We stroll home, leaving our little village friends singing Breton songs by candlelight, sitting around the tables on the lane.

Just a PS

Just a Postscript to the writings below. The Coffee morning raised 400 euros for the two charities. The sun didn't shine till the afternoon but neither did it rain, so we were able to be outside a good part of the morning. Lots of people came.
I'm shattered, having got up at 6.30 feeling very ill, but as my mother used to say...it's just nerves, dear'!
But, a successful event, and the garden looked gorgeous, I was told.

Summer garden

I would love to invite you into my garden on Midsummers Day. Come and join my Charity Coffee morning, sit among the roses, take a coffee and a home made cake. buy a raffle ticket, and maybe win a bottle of champagne! Have a look at the little Bring and Buy stall, and see if there is anything you'd like.

Most of all, just enjoy the place where I am happiest.......my garden.

I love this path leading to my front door. For me, a path must be almost filled, overwhelmed with sprawling shapes. I'm not a neat gardener. I love plants to be nudging each other, pushing with their elbows for space, creating a painting full of colour and shape. I want to walk through the plants, feeling their touch, smelling the gorgeous scents of the roses. Here there are lavenders, so many different ones, Alchemilla mollis with a froth of pale green flowers, old roses, lamium, white lychnis....I could go on and on! And that's only the front path.

Then there are my roses, my passion. This one on the arch is Pierre de Ronsard, given to me in a plantpot 3 years ago. He's a very prolific rose, and obviously happy where he is.

There are roses all round my garden , amongst other plants, in beds on their own, and they all seem to be flowering well at the moment. One of the most lovely is Gertrude Jekyll, a deep hot pink with the most amazing perfume. We can sit on the terrace several feet away and smell the sweet scent, mingling with Nicotiana and Night scented stock. I've been lucky with cuttings from

some of the roses, and at least four of my roses have travelled as cuttings from one house to another to another.

.....and this is a pretty little golden tree planted when we first came here two years ago. It's called Gleditsia and looks marvellous against a blue sky. With 3000 square metres of what had been a field we had plenty to do to create a garden that has trees, orchard and planting areas

.

My pots of summer plants are scattered all round, and are full of geraniums and verbenas. They need lots of watering , feeding and care, but provide a glorious show.

I can spend hours just meandering in my garden, talking to plants.....yes I do that. I think it encourages them to know how lovely they are, or to have their flowers admired, or even to be promised a feed soon.

So, although I could show you dozens more photos, I'm going to go and get the place ready for a Coffee morning . I'm still hoping for the sun. I'm still making lists, as you do. And I'm going to have an early night so that I can, hopefully get up equally early to face the morning!

So what's this all about?

A what? Well, a Garden party obviously! This very nice blogger , who has a lovely garden herself, is asking people to show photos of gardens. It's happening on 21st June, Midsummer's Day, which seems appropriate. So I'm dusting off a few pictures, maybe going out with camera and taking a few new ones also.

I wonder who goes to Garden parties nowadays, apart from the great and the good at Buckingham Palace. I remember going with my mother to a very smart garden party many years ago. Ladies , of course, wore hats, gloves, best frocks, and I recall the feel of my mother's green and white silk, and the rustle it made. I was, naturally, in proper little girl's outfit, smocked to the hilt! Ladies toyed gently with a cup of china tea, held decorously in gloved hands, whilst admiring the roses, and chatting lightly about this and that.

This Midsummer Day, I am hosting a real garden event, should the weather ever improve. I'm having a Charity Coffee morning, something I do once every hundred years or so. This one is in aid of our Anglican church here in France, and also for a wonderful Charity called Hope and Homes for Children, which builds and provides family run homes for children in war torn countries.

Will people come? Will they buy things, drink coffee, risk a Raffle ticket?? Will the garden stand up to today's wind which is blowing petals off my carefully cultivated roses? I have the church Coffee making machine, which does around 60 cups, I have made half a dozen cakes, people have been kind enough to send gifts (including some very pretty UPL ceramics) All is set. Just send the sun!

School Fete in Brittany

Yesterday was the day of our local school fete, or Kermesse as it is known here. It bears little resemblance to a British school fete, but is fun to support, nevertheless.

There were not too many stalls, and of course the biggest was the Beer/soft drinks stand, not that much lemonade was drunk. Guy ,who ran it, raised his eyebrows when I asked for a soft drink, and had to plunge deep into the cold water bath in which the beers were floating. Well, that's the way you keep them cool.

The stalls were manned by the children, and we had the excitement of throwing balls at tins, (how many can you knock off?) rolling balls at bottles, (how many can you knock over?) and hurling hoops into a circle. We could also have tried the obstacle course, which meant walking backwards whilst holding a mirror, and bumping into various assorted objects. Hmmmm.

The oddest stall, which I'm sure wouldnt have met Health and Safety regs. was rescuing a door key from a plate of flour without using hands. Various people coated their faces with flour while trying to find the key with their teeth. Highly dangerous, I thought....visions of key swallowed, choking to death on dry flour etc.

As 5 o clock approached there was a murmur of 'cup of tea?' from my husband, so we followed the signs into the sports hall, and found an array of cakes and coffee, and with a laugh at the English habit of 'L'heure du the' the charming stallholder found a few tea bags.

Later in the evening was the Crepes soiree, and the Crepieres were being prepared for the many and various crepes and galettes that would surely be demanded. We didnt stay for that , but know from past experience what fun it would have been.

Sadly , we were the only non French people there, although our village has around twenty English families. We like to support the local events, it's part of living here.

Splashings

First swim tonight!

Oh, but that was brave. For days we have been looking longingly at the water, testing it for heat..22 degrees? No way. 24... well maybe.

Oh, 26 tonight, well definitely. The sun was out, full bore, for at least 10 minutes. Then the grey clouds drifted malevolently over.

Still, out with one set of swimwear, mine, husband has lost his so a pair of old shorts was found.

Gingerly, in he went, gasping, mmm, fine once you're in, he shivered. One foot first, not feeling at all like 26 degrees. Better to take the plunge and go, in, right in, and swim a length or two.

Cold it was, but I have to admit, only for a moment. Then, well, maybe 'refreshing' is what I would call it.

Maybe tomorrow it will be 28 and comfortable. With sun.

Hot evening in Vannes.

What do you do after an eye specialist appointment at 6pm, when you are only 5 minutes away from the city centre of Vannes? And the sun is shining. Well, you drive a little further, into the town, and make for the harbour, the Marina, actually. The Marina comes right up to the town and right there on the pavement, are two enormous cafe/brasseries. The parasols were out, shading the seating area, the tables and chairs

were very occupied. It was Happy hour. It was also the first day when warmth, the sort of warmth that comes up from the pavement, invites you to sit out side.

Both of the cafes have now, proudly, got big notices advertising the fact that you can watch 'le foot' on their huge outdoor television screens, so naturally the cafes were bursting at the seams tonight. We found, with some difficulty, a table and joined the throng.

This is the fascinating thing about France, this gathering of people, not just for a drink, but for purely social meeting. There were youngsters, many drinking only Cokes, but chatting, discussing notes on exams, bringing paper bags of sandwiches to share. There was a lady with her fluffy white poodle, sitting decorously on her knee, watching as she too ate a pain au raisin from a bag. Older couples met with their friends, sharing a carafe of wine together. Everywhere there was talk, chat, sharing, laughter. The hot and perspiring cyclists leant their bikes against a bollard and collapsed with a beer. Business men dumped brief cases, shook hands all round and settled down to cheer at the screens. Waiters ran with trays of glasses balanced on their arms. We did a rough calculation and reckoned there were probably a hundred or so people in each cafe. No rough stuff, no shouting, no anything except normal good fellowship.

So of course we stayed, seduced by the warmth, by the atmosphere, and had Moules Mariniere and a Tomato and mozzarella salad with a cool glass of wine. What could be better on a very hot evening?

My baby has gone.

It isnt the best photo, (click on it to enlarge) but I had to be very quick, as Woodpeckers are such timid birds.

We thought at first that we were seeing a pair of Woodpeckers. They would arrive at the peanuts, one would hammer furiously at the feeder, while the other one mooched about. Then one day we saw the parent bird feeding the second one, immediately known as Baby, or then again , Thug.

Baby was so demanding. He would come and sit on the rail, nearly as big as his parent, and hold his beak open ready for food. The small birds would make a dive for the feeder, but be batted off fiercely by parent Woodpecker. As soon as he flew off they would descend upon the feeder, guzzling mightily before he came back with his little Thug.

We thought the parent would have been better teaching him to find a nice tasty grub or three, but obviously fast food won, and they had discovered their own MacDonalds in our garden.

Day after day they came. We wasted hours gazing from the kitchen window. And then yesterday, no parent, no Thug.

Today, no birds. We can only hope that Baby has now learned to feed himself, parent has heaved a sigh of relief, and they are living happily in the huge trees behind our house.

Roses, and other people's porches........

I put the roses in today because I'm so pleased that they are finally flowering. Days have gone by with wet, mildewy buds dropping off the plants, but at last we have some sunny days, and , behold.....flowers! These are a mixture of Graham Thomas, a real old favourite, and one called Freesia, which has an amazing perfume. My garden is full of Alchemilla Mollis too, which I know some people find a bit pushy, but I love it with roses

I've been wandering about other people's blogs lately, reading, envying beautiful backgrounds, amazed by the energy of these writers, and loving looking at beautiful homes all over the world. Rhondi at Rose Coloured Glasses, in North Carolina, has offered to show photos of her Porch, and asked others to join her. This is the photo that she has on her blog. I envisage lazy summer evenings spent on this porch, the scent of flowers lingering around, maybe a rocking chair slowly squeaking to and fro. Did you ever read Frances Parkinson Keyes' books? I think one was called Blue Camellia, and they were almost all set in the deep South of America. There were plantations, camellias, and women brought up to have exquisite manners. I loved them, but I think they are now out of print

Anyway, I have added to the Porch photos with one of my own. Here we dont sit idly, sipping mint juleps. We dont sit at all, which is rather a shame, as the porch does catch all the evening sun , but I do enjoy coming back to my porch, watching the Wisteria as it gradually takes over, watering my pots of geraniums, and just liking being here.

Can you see the little ceramic dove over the door? That was a gift from a friend, sent all the way from Jacksonville. The bell on the right was from one of our daughters and has a large pig holding it up. Very chic.
I hope to have a look at some other porches today, from all over the world. It's amazing the way you almost feel you have travelled a distance whilst reading.

In the potager

I sent this photo of my first picking of Gooseberries to an American friend, who responded, bewilderedly , 'Are they Squash?' Apparently gooseberries are unusual in that part of the USA, in fact, maybe all over America, I dont know. Maybe someone will enlighten me.







Two whole pounds of gooseberries....! What to do? Not enough for jam, and our jam tends to stay in the cupboard, witness a sticky jamjar full of 2006 solid strawberry jam.


Husband begged for Gooseberry fool, which was just the best thing ever. Then yesterday I made Delia's odd shaped goosberry tart, with the pastry folded around the berries. That tasted good
too





What next? Broad beans are coming thick and fast, plants having been put in last November. Potatoes wont be long before we harvest, and oh, the joy of those first few mouthfuls, with a teeeeny bit of butter and sprinkled with finely chopped mint.














What do you do with a greenhouse full of lettuce? Lettuce soup? Or, as we have some Little Gem, I think I'll try sauteeing them lightly with onions and a little half fat cream.

Spinach goes on going on. Strawberries are ready but sadly soggy from the rain.



There will be , I am told by my ex farmer husband, French beans, runner beans, sweetcorn, radishes, carrots...and so it goes on, sounding rather like Ratty's picnic

(eggandcresssandwiches.... )


I am waiting eagerly for the 'tame' Blackberries, which, as you can see, have almost made themselves into a hedge, covered in flowers, busily being pollinated by the bees, What a harvest that will be!

We are so very fortunate to have so much space, a place to grow flowers, a space to produce fruit and vegetables. We both grew up in the country, in families that grew things, things to eat and things to admire. I always think of my Grandfather and his pride in having a Sweet pea with eight flowers on a perfectly straight stem, but also his greenhouse with tomatoes that we were NOT allowed to touch! We did, just occasionally, steal one, and the flavour was unlike any other.

I know how lucky I am to have my garden.

And this bit is mine!