Tag Archives: garden

Journey to a New Life – Part Six (When the mayor knocks on your door)

At about 3:15 in the afternoon today, our doorbell rang. This was a surprise in itself, as we didn’t think it worked. However, having determined that we had, in fact, heard what we thought we had heard, I went to open the door. Standing before me was our village mayor and a woman. I assume she has something important to do as she was wearing a hi-viz gilet. The niceties were observed, accompanied by the obligatory shaking of hands, and M. Le Maire asked if they could look in our garden.

I have to say that my first thought was that we had contravened some bylaw or other and was anxious for a moment. When I asked why they needed to see our garden, he told me they were looking for guttering. Any particular guttering? I enquired. A piece about a metre or so long that might have been thrown into our property from the footpath that runs behind it. All was a little clearer although by now I was intrigued. Of course they could go and look, I responded, but I was going, too.

The mayor and his friend walked round the side of the house and up the drive. I changed my shoes and met them in the courtyard. The first thing the mayor said was that we should cut down the tree. Why? I asked. Because it overhangs the gutter of the outbuilding the other side of the courtyard from the house and the nuts would cause a blockage in the guttering. The mayor’s friend and I both looked puzzled. What nuts? I enquired. The nuts on the tree. It’s a hazelnut. More looking puzzled. It’s a magnolia, I stated, a sentence repeated by the mayor’s friend. Is it? he exclaimed. Yes, we both confirmed. Oh.

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Our garden with the church in the background.

Moving on into the garden, his first comment was a whistle and a gesture which conveyed ‘Isn’t it big?’, something I already knew. He went down into the undergrowth behind the maple and his friend went down the side, looking for the guttering. Sadly, it was not found. On enquiring, I was told it had been stolen from the church. A piece of lead guttering that size wouldn’t make much, so it’s possible it would have been used to make lead shot. There’s a lot of hunting round here. Either way, I can’t condone the theft, regardless of what the intended use was. Oh well, village life has come to our door, this time in the form of the mayor and his friend.

Journey to a New Life – Part One

It has been a long time since the last blog post, as access to the server was patchy at best, non-existent at worst.? Thank Orange France – another story for another day.

There have been many changes to family life in the last five months.? We have found, negotiated, bought and moved into a house in France.? This wasn’t the original intention but looking for the right house, at the right price, in the right area had been nine months of fruitless searching.? First, the market just seemed flat.? We had looked in ever increasing circle until we were even considering the West Country.? This would, however, have been at least a five hour drive – six, if you add an hour’s break which, at our age would be required – from any family and this was not an attractive prospect.? Even so, anywhere we could afford was in an isolated position or so small that we would have been uncomfortable.? And we had sold our house, so the clock was ticking.

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Map of the Pas de Calais

So we ended up in France.? Not a big city like Paris or Rheims.? Not a wine region (although that would have been cool) but a small village of less than seven hundred people, nestling in the Pas de Calais.? It is still, very much, a farming/rural community but that doesn’t mean we will be keeping cows.? Chickens, perhaps, and the odd duck, but nothing large and potentially dangerous.? Or that needs milking.

So when we decided that we would make this move, we started looking at one storey ex-farmhouses (fermettes) – thinking ahead to the years of our dotage.? We looked at lots online and then actually viewed some, but they were all in worse condition than they appeared in the photos.? On top of that, because they were constructed using a certain type and length of tree trunk for the roof beams, they were only ever ‘so’ wide, with one room running into another or a corridor running the length of the building.? The first option made the rooms less private and the second made them smaller.

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Front of the house

Then we saw Our House.? To begin with, it is three storeys, the top one being a loft conversion up to a possible thirteen years old. It was offered with six bedrooms, two bathrooms and a downstairs cloakroom, kitchen, salon (posh lounge) and salle (day to day lounge)/dining room.? It also has cellar and a range of outbuildings, as well as a half acre (about 2200 sq.m.) of garden. When we first saw the details it was way out of our range but, within a month, it had come down to a reasonable (for us) price and we agreed a deal with the owners.? So, here we are.

The house was actually built as the mayor’s house, by the mayor, in 1908.? His granddaughter lives next door in the house he built for his mother.? The house has quite a history and there are tantalisingly interesting stories abut the property that will be uncovered, I hope in due course.? We shall all have to wait for that.

 

Gardens are hard work

I love a well laid garden.? I love the variety of colour, the imaginative creativity, the assault on the senses.? I love the idea of cocktails on the patio and barbecuing every night.? I love the smell of freshly mown grass and the sight of fruit ripening.? I love all these things, as long as I’m not expected to work for it.

If I were to win the lottery, I would employ a gardener.? Even if I didn’t upgrade my house, I would still have someone come in, organise the garden to my instructions and return weekly (or whatever) to keep it under control.? I adore scented flowers, revelling in the cloud of perfume they produce – especially in the evening.? I want a bee and butterfly corner, fruit trees and a vegetable patch.? But please don’t ask me to actually work in the garden.

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It’s not that I wouldn’t want to.? In spite of the bees, worms, SPIDERS and other creepies that live in the environment, I used to thoroughly enjoy the rush of seeing a cleared patch of land, plant it with carefully chosen examples of flora and watch, as they grew and flourished.? Some producing flowers, some comestibles.? Mother nature at her finest.

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However, Mother Nature has also had a hidden agenda for some years now.? She has gradually whittled away my ability to actually do anything in the garden, however much I want to.? I can’t kneel and my hands are no longer strong,? complaining after too much use.? I know I should at least do some work and stop when my bones have had enough, but I never know how far I will get and that puts me off starting.? It’s a rubbish excuse, I know, and I feel myself talking myself out of the prevailing situation.? Perhaps I should find another way to garden – boxes, pots, raised beds – ways round not being able to kneel.? I could use the gardener money for something else.? Oh, yes – I know!? I could use it to pay for a gardener to set up the garden the way I want it!

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