Our House is Certainly Not in Paris (10 page)

I spend a lot of time each day, letting my gaze drift and linger on the beloved
objets
we have gathered. I frequently muse about their past and who else once loved them. The price I've paid has nothing to do with my fondness for each and every item, for in fact, nothing cost much at all. It is what they represent and their unknown history that makes them valuable to me.

Last year, every waking moment of every single day, was consumed by the endless lists. We were utterly engulfed by them. What to buy, what to do and in what order.

Everything was imperative, everything was a priority. It bordered on the tragic when we had to use masking tape to attach the most urgent tasks for each day, to the inside of the front door. literally right in our face, there was no way possible each time we opened and shut the door that we could overlook the urgency of contacting the
plombier
yet again or face a potential flood in
la cave
. We are profoundly glad those days are behind us.

It is true that a year can make all the difference in the world. Our mutual waking thought is that we have to buy toothpicks. Can such mundane thoughts possibly be a greater contrast? We have invited Gérard and Dominique for
apéritifs.
We have bought the melon and prosciutto for the
amuse bouche
– how I love that term for a snack served with drinks
–
but have overlooked the critical toothpicks to assemble everything. We take care to check the word for toothpicks in the dictionary before we head out to shop.

While very good at gesturing, indicating and miming while in the
supermarché
and I can't find an item, I don't quite fancy the actions that would be involved in pointing at my teeth.

I wake from my afternoon sleep to be greeted by Stuart's announcement that he has moved four wheelbarrows of dirt, courtesy of Monsieur
Lapin
. Seriously, doesn't the rabbit know that we have more than enough work to do? After my
espresso
, I pull on my work clothes. What a wonderful reprieve to wait until day four this year before doing so. It was only last year that I would fall out of bed at daybreak and pull them on straight away from our very first day. A rapid
espresso
and it was off each day to
le jardin
to set to work with the dawn chorus greeting the new day. I know that Dominique's immaculate
jardin
will have a colourful profusion of summer
fleurs
. I'm determined that before their arrival, I will finish tidying up in front of our
petite maison
. I always have to remind myself though, that no matter how many weeds I wrench out and how much ivy I hack down, that it will always be a
rustique jardin
befitting an old farmhouse. A
château
it is not. However, since we have two months luxuriously stretching out in front of us, we plan to buy two baskets of pink petunias to decorate the front of
la grange
. They will hang from the iron trellis that was used to support the grapevines. In its former life,
la grange
was the hub of the farm where the cows lived and were milked.

We sleep in, we sleep in very late. I'm confused as I creep out for the light is dim and sombre. Still swimming up from sleep, I turn the
portable
on to check the time. The soft grey light tells me it's about seven. I repeat several times to Stuart that it is in fact after nine. Sleeping in is fine but it also means that it is a frantic rush to get to Brive before the shops shut at twelve. This is something you learn very quickly, shops shut on the dot of twelve and remain resolutely closed for the full two-hour
déjeuner
break. Dominique and Gérard had invited us to a pre-
déjeuner apéritif
. We'd declined, saying we were off to Brive to shop. Thank goodness, we agree or we would have segued straight from
petite déjeuner
to an
apéritif
in an exceptionally short space of time. Not that we are ever opposed to an
apéritif
but the time has come to accept that we are on a working
vacances
after all.

Over the
apéritif
hour the evening before with Gérard and Dominique, we had learnt some more about French customs. While they are very comfortable with us and seem to enjoy our Australian sense of humour, they are more formal in their approach to the ritual of the
apéritif,
than Jean-Claude and Françoise who casually offer us a beer while we are all relaxing round their
piscine
. As we chat happily with Gérard and Dominique for over an hour and an half, only one
apéritif
is ever accepted. In many ways, this sense of protocol suits us perfectly – we like the way it defines the time as a certain ritual before parting ways for
dîner
. As we get to know them more though over the summer, the French ‘rules' seem to relax more and Gérard is certainly happy both to accept, while at our
petite maison,
and also offer another drink, when we visit at the
apéritif
hour.

We have made plans with them to go a
ferme auberge
for lunch. It's an outing they are very fond of and last year we had listened wistfully as they described the
degustation
delights of a seven-course
déjeuner
, all produced from the farm fresh fare. We are astonished that so many courses are only sixteen
euro
. I almost jump up and down with excited anticipation.

For now, though it is on with the business of a renovating life. Despite taking the wrong
autoroute
exit into Brive on our first trip for the year, and despite by now the very limited time before lunch, we have a very successful trip to
Jardinière Chantalat.
At home, we rarely go to nurseries except to buy seedlings for our vegetable garden. Now, we have two yawning acres that have been neglected for many years. Somehow, in the damp drizzle, we manage to squeeze four tall Laurier, two photinia, two hanging baskets and a tray of orange marigolds in to our Renault. The daily stop for
pain,
home for our usual simple
déjeuner
of
pain
,
fromage, jambon
and
tomate
, then off to
le jardin
in the rain. Despite the fact that it gets heavier and heavier, and we're soon quite drenched, we press on. I remember from last year that once I started working, the more I did, the more I wanted to do. This could well be, that despite having found Albert to mow and help while we are away, the fact remains that our land is huge and there is still more than enough to do. Although there are still swathes of weeds and brambles, the transformation in just two years is amazing. On our very first visit, it had been so overgrown that we couldn't even attempt to walk around our property and we left for home without even seeing it all. From once a small terrace garden in Sydney, to Cuzance, when days can pass and I don't venture to all four corners of our garden. Life's journey has been both entirely unexpected and extraordinary.

I start with a tenacious vine at the front of
la grange
that has grown rapidly in the past year. It is in danger of taking over and crawling into the gutters and rafters.

Its tentacles reach into the gaps in the stone and over time, its invasiveness will cause the stone to crumble. Pretty as its bright orange flowers are, it has to go. I have to get the stepladder out and pry my secateurs into the crevices. When I step back, I'm very pleased with my effort – even if I am soaking wet by this stage. Time for afternoon tea and a new
chocolat mousse
to sample. Mmm;
La Mousse Gourmande Au Chocolat
. It more than lives up to its gourmet label.

We gaze out through the rain-soaked windows and admire the bright orange marigolds that Stuart has planted. They are in an old stone trough built into the low stone wall near our
très jollie
front steps. We think the old trough was originally for the farmer's pigs to feed from. The baskets of pale pink geraniums hanging up high either side of
la grange's
huge wooden doors are a perfect complement to the pale gold stone.

There were already five iron extensions protruding from
la grange's
walls, complete with hooks, just waiting for our
fleurs
. In less than a week, our
petite maison
looks more like a well-loved home every day.

When Gérard and Dominique arrived the previous evening, they stood for a few moments inside the doorway, while they took in all that we have achieved. Despite not visiting for a year, the fact that they notice our new lamp, impresses us. We bask in the warmth of their compliments. The gift of new friendship is like a beribboned, special occasion, glistening white box from the
patisserie,
tied in a shining bow.

They told us how our nearest neighbour, Monsieur Chanteur, had intently questioned them when they had stopped in spring to take photos of our
jardin
for us.

Who were they and what were they doing? Despite not being able to communicate very fluently with him, we're touched that he apparently keeps such a vigilant eye on Pied de la Croix in our absence. However, we are not at all pleased that he has chosen to plant five fir trees on our shared boundary. Eventually they will be enormous and block both the restful rural view and precious light from our
chambre
. Jean-Claude fills us in on why he has chosen to plant them so close to our
maison
. He says that he is an ‘old school architect' and is apparently offended by the sight of our outbuildings and particularly the addition of our new water tank. We find this quite perplexing. After all, have we not all chosen to live in a rural setting?

More amusing are Jean-Claude's accounts of our Parisian neighbours across the road. He deems them to be very ‘special'. This is his disparaging word for anyone who is at all different and does not quite fit in. We feel very fortunate to have escaped having this label applied to us. It would seem that the people from Paris scorn the bourgeois who own a second home. Stuart points out that this is a particularly strange attitude, for after all, their
petite maison
is where they escape to avoid the Parisian summer heat.

Even more entertaining is Jean-Claude's account of Monsieur Paris who took on a controlling role for the Cuzance
vide grenier
. This extended to telling an old woman from the village that her stall was somehow not to his liking. This story sheds more light on why there seems to be at times a great divide between people from Paris and the rural French. We discover later, that perversely, Monsieur Paris is not held in high regard in the village as his home is always surrounded by piles of discarded junk. As his house, like ours, is right on the road, it is an ugly sight indeed.

We have planned to go with Gérard and Dominique to an evening
vide grenier
in nearby Baladou. Just before we are about to leave, Dominique appears on our doorstep to tell us that they had discovered it is a barter-only
vide grenier.
We have not encountered one here before but it makes a lot of sense in a rural community. Dominique explains that you can swap any number of things – shoes, clothes,
confiture
, even your labour such as work in
le jardin
. We have nothing at all to swap and it is the
apéritif
hour after all, so that's what we decide to do instead. I certainly don't intend to labour in anyone else's
jardin
...

As Dominique is inviting us for a drink, Jean-Clause drops in on one of his daily visits. She says they have not seen much of him at all since they returned to Cuzance for the summer. He explains that he must devote all his spare time to us while we are here.

Everyone is gathered inside the doorway – Stuart and I stand each side of them to watch their animated gestures and
rapide
conversation
.
They joke and laugh together; it's like watching a lively stage play. As Dominique leaves, I tell her she could have called us on
la portable
rather than trek through the rain to let us know about the change in plans.

She tells us it is always a pleasure to visit us in our home. They admire our
fleurs
as they leave together and I feel elated that our
petite maison
is being transformed so fully into a welcoming
maison
and reflect on what a far cry it is from the past two years when all we did was relentlessly renovate. There has not even been a single
bricolage
trip yet and it is only today that a hardware list has been started. By this time last year, the
bricolage
was already Stuart's well established second home. As we later meander home through the gentle rain after our
apéritif
, I am once again filled with a sense of joy to have two lots of
amis
in our village to share our other French life with.

Jean-Claude has enthusiastically embarked on a quest for a dog. On Monday afternoon, perched on the old wooden chair in the corner of Françoise's
petite la cuisine
, I asked her what the chart on the wall meant. She explained that it was a diet plan from her doctor but confided that she was finding it difficult to follow the strict regime. It's no wonder she found it hard; cooking is both her forte and passion. I told her that when I get home from school each day I always feel tired but having Henri means I have to take him out for his daily walk. When I get back, I feel rejuvenated. While Françoise struggles to exercise, she agreed with my suggestion that by getting a
chien,
she too would be able to go for a gentle stroll each day through the village. This would go some way to combating the exquisite
cuisine
that Françoise conjures up for her friends and family.

We searched for Jean-Claude in
le jardin
to tell him of our plan. He has had dogs in the past and loves their company. He is the essence of all that a dog owner should be.