"Close is hardly the word"

this quote from a song (The Consul or something like that) by the inimitable Fish Show from the dim and distant past sprung to mind with the last few days weather. As does Crowded House's 4 season in one day.

Cold of a morning (4), very hot of an afternoon (28), plus thunder and lightening and hailstones.

We seem to be getting into the proper hot days now, with the plants going for it big time. Spuds are through, vegetable plants all in, just some seeding to do now - peas and runner beans tomorrow (according to my lunar gardening calendar), carrots at the weekend, and some more lettuce from the beginning of next month.

I was going to do some controlled experiments on my lunar planting, but haven't got around to it. Last year it was random, this year it's all lunar planned.

What do you think? Moon - Vegetables?

orstralians on wine

A good time was had by all, and the apero turned into dinner and we all pushed off about midnight. Part of growing up in this part of France seems to be training for late nights and early mornings. There doesn't seem to be any training for the siesta, (une petite sieste), I suppose it becomes necessary under the circumstances! For the record, here's the orstralians, well two of them anyway...

My partner in crime with the last hippy, (his name not mine) 

Me an the orstralians enjoying bunny's hospitality, possibly enjoying it a bit too much ... 

Ozzie rules

One thing that makes life here a little unpredictable from time to time is the fact that I speak English. Once the tourists start bumping into friends and neighbours, we start getting invitations to go round for the apero about 6. More often than not from May to September, there's an anglophone visitor sat in the corner somewhere on the way to getting bladdered on white wine or beer.

One of our neighbours, let's call him bunny, just stopped on his way past with such an invitation because he got rather carried away at lunch and has invited a couple of Orstrailians up for the apero this evening. During the process, he realised that neither their French nor his English was likely to be up to the challenge, hence my invitation. We might get a few shots for the blog: stand-by!

Haircuts, and lots of them

Yesterday was haircut day for the sheep at our fine French friends' farm. This is one of the big 10 themes that Mr shepherd explained to me at the start of our project together. We've been working over the past 18 months to capture some of the outstanding aspects of his work in creating superb organic cheese. We haven't yet decided what to do with the photographs; they would make a great little book, but neither of us has the time or money to do that. We'll probably end up with a couple of postcards for the cheese stand at the local markets! Ah well, fame and fortune will have to wait!

Ever seen a queue like this at the barber shop? 

The skilled hands of a craftsman gives a short back and sides in no time. 

It's all for the cheese, mmmmmm 

Back in body almost in spirit

I know I know, it's been a long time. It's also been a long way! I haven't counted the miles, but I've been to the UK twice, the US twice, and up north by car for a four-day-special family party. All that finished exactly a week ago, and I almost feel as if know what day it is and what time it is. What can I say, it's great to be back.

Cramped cattle class planes, anonymous hotels, and almost continuous noise. Being here, where the most disturbing noise is the score of 'little monks' (as sparrows are called here) arrayed around the guttering looking down on the courtyard of a morning. Bless 'em. I don't know if you've ever seen the cartoon short called 'For the Birds' before Monsters inc.? If not ensure you do so this year. It's a cure. I'm not sure what for, but it's a cure.

The photos below are from the Fete du Pain yesterday at the local village market. the sun shone, the people talked and danced, and the bread and veg looked great and smelled even better.

Well, now I'm back and in the groove, my daily torrent has started ...

Just a small selection of the family I married into, taken on day 5 of last week's four-day party. 

Remember the two old geezers in the Muppets? 

Typical Auvergnate dances and music to liven up the day. 

Beautiful bread, hand-made, warm and fresh. 

Everywhere you look, something to catch the eye. 

Aches and pains

From many TV programmes I have images of people in (usually hot and dry) developing countries breaking up poor ground to plant food crops. They work apparently more in hope than expectation. I can only admire their courage and effort.

I spent three hours in my vegetable garden yesterday, using a very similar tool to that on the TV, to break up the ground ready to plant my spuds when I get back at the end of next week. Now for some time I've been using my spade to turn over the ground for the first time in 3, 10 or 20 years, depending on which of the locals you talk to. I felt hardened to the work. BUT, change the tool, and you change all the movements and muscles used to make them. So, after three hours on the new pick-axe-type digging thingy, I am shattered today. Muscles I didn't know I had are introducing themeslves with every tap on the keyboard. And that was ground that has been rained on daily all week, is pretty rich in organic material, and has already been broken up with a spade. And it was about 16 in the shade, with a nice breeze.

How do people who have to do this for days and weeks to feed themselves and their families do it? I can think of just one word to say to them. Respect.

The weekend is precious

Here we are approaching the French weekend. This is somewhat different from the British weekend, since, especially families with children, Saturday bears a remarkable resemblance to weekdays.

Our bundle of joy will be going to school for the morning, and be back at lunchtime for her habitual pizza. She's invited a friend to play in the afternoon; and on Sunday we're going to eat with newly-met friends. So we won't have much time together this weekend. School on Monday, and I set off on the mad April tour before she gets back.

Knowing I'll be away for all but 36 hours in the next two weeks is only bearable because of the time I have already had, every day when I am mostly here. But I am so aware that that time is precious because of the time I spend away. The highs and lows, summer and winter, home and away, swings and roundabouts.

Now I wonder...

Yesterday's poser about where the women are has led me to wonder about three that I have met here. I'm pleased about that.

The pre-occupying focus of the day has been writing a business plan for a B&B that we've found for sale in the area. This afternoon, we saw one of three banks we're going to talk to about it, and met with some reticence. Not about the project, but about what their terms of business are likely to be. I felt like a boxer circling the ring with an opponent, both trying to suss out the opposition. Seconds away, round two tomorrow morning!

There's a woman in it

I have to apologise about the title - it's an in joke that probably only my sister would get. BUT, it does capture the essence of the post, so I don't feel bad about it.

Looking about places I've lived, which is Wales, England, Scotland and France, and others Ive visited, I became aware over the past few days that some of them have a more visible, what's the word ... ancestral, female presence than here. Native Americans, the Aborigines, and other societies have well-defined, well-known, strong female dimensions in their societies. Even in Wales, at least within living memory, the Welsh mam was a force to be reckoned with. In Scotland, or at least parts of it, the matrilinear tradition, and the often female seers are not lost in the mists of time. My experience in England doesn't have the same kind of traditional/ancestral memory to it, and I'm not sure what to make of that. But here in France, after nearly two years, I'm beginning to wonder where that female and feminine strand is in this society.

In some ways the rural Massif Central would be one place to expect to find a strong or at least a memory of a strong female role, but either I'm blind to its subtility here, or I'm not meeting the right people, but it just seems to be missing. And I'm now curious enough to open my 'eyes' and see what I can 'see'.

There I was feeling liberated from the snow and full of energy with the spring, but you should have seen this lot go. What with the weather over the past couple of months, yer farmer tends to keep his dairy cows inside most of the winter. And when they get let out for the first time, do they go for it? Yes they do. The whole village gets out its walking sticks and takes up strategic positions at track junctions and farm gates to guide the gals towards their new spring grass. I don't know if you can image what a herd of hippos doing some wild Irish step dancing (a la Riverdance) might look like, but if you can, that will give you some idea of yesterday's spectacle. It's a bit scary.