The Tunnel I love

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(Leaves and seed. I pick something up every time I go walking)

I went on my walk this morning (of course I did!) a bit earlier than usual because it’s not so pleasant to walk in the heat. Anyway, there’s a stretch of the road which I call the tunnel (or tunnel as I like to say in French) and I absolutely love it. It’s dark and incredibly quiet in there. You can just about make out the light from the sky in the distance. This morning I had to stop and get a good feel of its magic.

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(Duck. From the riverside in Vouvant)

I never bring the camera out on my walk, much too much distraction, but two nights ago I had my phone and I took a picture. It might not be very clear but I wanted to give you a visual sense of my tunnel.

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(My tunnel, sigh)

So… I’m standing in my tunnel this morning and the phrase the darkest hour is just before the dawn comes to mind. And it got me thinking… my tunnel is such a comforting place to be, I wonder how it would work if the next time I’m feeling down, I imagine myself in my tunnel. A place to be held safely in the dark until it’s time to venture out into the sun. I’m definitely going to try it. (By the way, in case I forget and you notice I’m needing my tunnel, could you remind me please?)

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(Love this quote from Maya Angelou, it’s now in one of the journals I’ve been creating here)

With only a week left (I think I’ll keep saying that every day from now on….) I’ve been thinking of all the things I want to do before we leave and on the very top of the list is… getting a video of the hens running to me (their surrogate mother…) So far we have a startled looking hen standing very still so hopefully they’re not camera-shy. If we do manage to capture momentum I’ll find a way to share it with you.

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(Very cute sign in Vouvant)

From the sunny swing, Mairead.

Being Grateful

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(St. John’s Gate – Parthenay)

I’m sitting on the swing as I write, in a little bit of shade, it’s way too hot out there under the bright light for my pale complexion. The really surprising thing about a hot day here is how cool it is inside in the cottage. It’s almost like there’s air conditioning in there. I think it must be the thickness of the walls. Caves are like that too, so it makes them a constant temperature year round, cooler than the summer heat and warmer than the cold winter.

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(Half-timber house – Parthenay)

I realised a moment ago that we will be starting our journey home in just over a week. It was starting to feel like we could stay here forever! So it makes me think about some of the things I am grateful for here… The warmth – it’s been very hot this week and I love how sparkly everything is in the sun, including the spider’s webs (some photos of those would be nice). The garden – it’s lovely to be among green growing things. The peace – it’s so quiet, not silent, there’s buzzing and I can hear some neighbours chatting. I think I hear a farm machine in the distance and every now and then a bird singing. The trestle table – it has been (and will continue to be for the next week, I hope) fantastic to be able to work outside at this big wooden table made by human hands and planks of wood.

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(Very cute house – Parthenay)

The distance from a retail hub – well, this was a big surprise to me, that I could be grateful not to be near a village, town or city. How would I spend my days? How would I fill the time? Where would I get some chocolate or croissants? Where would we eat? For as long as I can remember I have lived in a town (or a city) and always very close to (either next door to or a few hundred yards/meters away from) a shop. In Cashel where I grew up as a child besides the shops there were so many amazing places to visit (really, they did seem amazing!) There was the Rock of Cashel where stone staircases led to turrets that let up to the battlements, hundreds of feet up in the air and unprotected… Any parent’s nightmare – fortunately our parents never knew we were up there! And Hoare Abbey, an old ruined monastery, protected by huge cows (I was/am afraid of cows, so I only ventured in when they were eating the grass round the back). The town of Parthenay reminded me a lot of Cashel.

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(Steep, unprotected steps, at the castle – Parthenay)

So I have come to understand that having no shops and castles and monasteries next door to wander around has actually been an advantage to me. Instead, I can wander around glue and paint, paper and canvas, scissors and fabric.

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(See the seashell? Symbol of Camino – Parthenay)

I am also grateful that the only cows around here are firmly behind fences, Mairead.

Apple Tart Omelette

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(Mmmm Bread and Butter Pudding Version 1.0)

Another wet day today which is making me kinda sleepy. I might have a little snooze after I finish this. Well, I finally made my version of a bread and butter pudding. Lets call it version 1.0. I have a feeling there might need to be more versions… It didn’t turn out all that well. But it did have some positive attributes. It smelled lovely, the apples and cinnamon, I think. It looked pretty good too. But the taste…. it tasted a bit like apple tart omelette. If you, like me, have never tasted apple tart omelette and wondered… wonder no more, it’s not great.

1709b

(More pictures of the beautiful forest walk around Mervant Lake)

You might remember I had a plan to feed it to the hens if it didn’t work, but then I worried about the ethics of feeding hens their own eggs? Well, I went back to the hen forum (still no sign of Liam) and feeding them cooked eggs is not a problem. (The eggs in this case are definitely cooked, in fact you could call them over-cooked.) The only problem it seems is letting the hens realise how delicious their eggs are in case they eat them before you have a chance to get them in the fridge.

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(Our picnic spot…. water and peach spot really)

Right so, what to do for next time… the omelette taste wasn’t so good so maybe I’ll leave the egg out… and the bread was a bit chewy so maybe I’ll leave the bread out, if there’s no bread then I’ll probably leave the butter out. And I found something that looks very like flour in the bottom of the cupboard so maybe I’ll put that in. Of course that kind of defeats the purpose of using up stale bread and finding a home for free eggs… but I do like the apples…

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(Can you see the person in the red sweater sitting on the rock way, way up there?)

Watch this space for Bread and Butter Pudding Version 1.2, without the bread and the butter, probably should call it Just Pudding, Mairead.

Bright lights, big city, sleepy time.

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(The street full of restaurants in La Rochelle)

Not a lot happening here today, working away on my crafting. Forgot to mention that we went to the big city on Friday. After our first weekend and becoming accustomed to how things work in France – opening times, closed days, etc. – we came to a decision that weekends would consist heretofore of a Friday and a Sunday. The Friday could include shopping expeditions, trips to the big city and general touristy things. The Sunday would be for long walks and lunch out while remembering to be at a lunch establishment within the golden hour of 12.30pm to 1.30pm… just in case. Just in case they closed!

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(Pretty boats)

So, we got up early on Friday as excited as children on Christmas morning (well I was, Denis was just complaining about the time.) We let the hens out with enough food and water to last until Monday and we were driving down the road by 10am. By 10.10am we were driving past our back gate for the second time. It did look familiar. We had driven off before the sat nav had connected with the satellites (seemingly that’s how it works – there isn’t someone in there) and by the time connection happened we were facing the wrong direction. Usually the nice lady says “Take the next U-turn” but around here there are so many road options she decided to take us around in a circle back to the start. Off we went again.

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(While Denis was taking pictures of the slipway (above) he heard some shouts of “Monsieur, s’il vous plait?” He had got in the way of the photographers taking pictures of (possibly) famous people?)

The big city was La Rochelle and it was an hour away. Living in the country, tuning into the wild life and my creative impulses and communing with the hens seems to have had an effect already. As we got closer to the city I was becoming more and more restless. There was a lot of traffic and a lot of people and the nice lady in the sat nav was giving lots of instructions and did I mention the traffic? By the time we got to Decathlon (for the runners and the rucksack) I was ready to go home to the nice peaceful place, yes peace, hmmmmm. But as there was promise of lunch I put on a brave face and struggled on.

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(Here’s a good look at the (potentially) famous people…. any ideas?)

By the time we left Decathlon it was dangerously close to the start of the golden hour (yes, 90 minutes in a sports supermarket!) Twenty minutes later we were moving through the pretty port of La Rochelle very slowly in heavy traffic looking for a place to park. There were plenty of places and we managed to park very close to a street full of restaurants. We picked one and either they were all really good or we were incredible lucky (again.) It was great. I had Sea Bream on a bed of risotto on top of a little fat crepe – yum. No idea what Denis had I hardly lifted my head to breathe – yum,yum. Sorry, no pictures 😦

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(One of the towers protecting the port of La Rochelle)

After lunch we walked around the streets remembering the last time we were here but soon I had enough and we headed back to the car. We had more shopping to do – grocery shopping. We had spotted a huge supermarket on the way in that morning and decided we go back there and get everything under one roof. The normal sized supermarket for this particular chain is called Super U and this one was called Hyper U. I know where it gets its name. It made me feel very hyper. It was ginormous. The sales assistants wore roller blades to get around! An hour passed like a flash. Less than an hour after that we finally found the car (note to self: write down the car park section number, you never remember it) and promised each other we would never, never do that again. Fridays next time would consist of either hyper shopping or little shopping or tourist-ing but never all three.

I’m tired just thinking about it, Mairead.

Rain or Shine, some more hen pictures

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(We went for a ramble around the lake at Mervant this morning)

It’s Sunday afternoon, I’ve just brought the hens their afternoon treat – porridge. They love it! Being from France they possibly haven’t tasted it  (you can only buy it here in the English section at the supermarket) but they get very excited when they realise that’s what I’ve brought. Their excitement is followed by very noisy pecking in the feeding dish. This weekend they’ve had a lot of excitement food-wise.

1509a

(Some swallows gathering on the wire outside our house)

It rained heavily all day yesterday (Saturday) which was fine as I had planned a day of answering long unanswered emails, so I sat most of the day on the sofa in front of the windows to the garden. After a while I kinda forgot where I was. You miss a lot of reality when you’re on the computer. So it was lunchtime before I realised the hens were probably drenched, I went to investigate. I had let them out of the house earlier in the morning when the rain was only starting and was surprised that they seemed very eager to be outside.

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(Can you see the rain?)

Now when I reached their enclosure I couldn’t believe the state of them. They were indeed drenched, they looked like they’d been for a swim, feathers plastered against their heads, beaks to the ground. I remember the bird ‘flu crisis we had in Ireland a few years ago, so I knew birds could get the ‘flu, is this how it started?

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(The poor chicken… notice the muddy beak?)

I went straight back to the house (the one we’re in not the hens) and had Denis check if his brother Liam (he and Kate live with the hens I was hen-sitting last summer) was online to get advice. He wasn’t. So instead we searched for a hen forum (where hen owners gather on the internet to chat… really…)

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(Soaking)

We found one in America. There was lots of chat about hens in the rain but the main message –  they’re fine. They love the rain. Why? Because it provides the other thing they love – worms. It has been a very dry summer here in the Vendee and so the ground is very hard, making it difficult for worms to get to the surface or hens to get through to them. Not yesterday. Soft earth. Lots of worm potential. Happy hens.

So how do birds get the ‘flu? Mairead.

Free Food! Free Food! Free Food!

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(The sky last night and that’s a small plane up there)

I want to walk every day after breakfast while I’m here, just for twenty minutes, a budding exercise routine. So this morning I got up a bit earlier than usual (to let the girls out) and went out the back gate and down another lane. It’s a farm lane I’m guessing, because it’s not paved but perfect for walking. Unusual for my experience of France the lane is bounded by ditches and sometimes hedges of trees. They are old trees, like oak and horse-chestnut. Beyond these are crops still growing, like sunflower or wheat. There are also newly cut fields and there’s one ploughed field.

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(Droopy headed sunflowers as far as the eye can see)

On my way back I decided to pick up some cooking apples. Now, I’m talking literally “pick up” – from the ground. Before Mara left she showed me an apple tree in the next field, it didn’t seem to belong to anyone, she said, no one was picking up the windfalls. So we did and this morning I did. I felt very oddly excited by the fact that I would not have to exchange some coins for this bounty. And I wasn’t just taking them because they were lying around I have a plan.

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(Little blue butterfly)

Each day I’ve been making little treats for the hens with the bits and pieces of leftover food from our table. This always includes some bread because the bread seems to go stale very quickly. But hard stale bread seemed a poor gift so I was softening it with some warm milk. It gets lovely and mushy… and that’s when I remembered Bread and Butter Pudding. I used to love that as a child and I often have fond memories of it, I even asked my mother for the recipe once but never made it – there’s milk in it, I don’t like milk! Despite that I still like the idea of it and I love the memory of it, warm and comforting, mmmmm.

1209d

(The apple shop)

So, I’m going to make a different version of Bread and Butter Pudding. I’m usually not good at making up recipes – I worry that it’ll be awful and after all the hard work I’ll have to throw it out. No problem here – the hens eat everything, even stuff that seems really yuck. And I’d be throwing out the bread anyway (to the hens!) and the apples were free and… and it might be a good time to let go of worrying about getting something wrong! So my version will have stale bread, cooking apples, rice milk and cinnamon. Oh and eggs, of course eggs, the other thing we can just “pick up” here. Oh and blackberries, yum.

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(Soon to be Bread and Apple Pudding)

There’s one small problem, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to start, we’ve eaten all the bread. Hang on, there’s another problem… I don’t know if it’s ethically sound to offer cooked eggs to hens?

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(Oh and free drying too)

From a cloudy with sunny spells back garden in France, Mairead.

Wake up and smell the eggs!

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(Two of the girls… saying something in French)

A wonderful thing happened! Our host went away this morning for a long weekend and left me in charge of the hens! Well, Denis too but I don’t intend to allow him any access. The recommendation must have come through from Kate because it’s quite a specialised job and my experience in the area will definitely have helped me get a foothold into hen-sitting in France.

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(Great profile)

So this morning when I heard Mara’s car pull away I rambled up the garden to the hens, just so they’d know there was someone responsible in charge. I had also prepared a bread and warm milk treat, so they’d know it was me and not Denis whom they could trust. The hen-house was open when I arrived but two of the three girls were still inside, and as soon as they saw me they came outside to see what I’d brought. While they were munching (or is it sucking?) I went to see if they had left anything for me. They had indeed left something but not eggs. Part of my role includes cleaning up their bedding area, that’s were they leave the eggs and also the droppings. There was plenty of droppings but no eggs, possibly Mara collected them before she left.

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(Front door)

By the way Mara explained something I’d rather not have known…. so if you’re squeamish about where your eggs come from, look away now. She says the eggs and the droppings exit the hen from the same slot…… I don’t believe her, I much prefer the egg magically appears story.

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(Back door)

Anyway, after the clean up job I went off for a walk and when I came back I set up my work area in the garden on the trestle table. I was hardly five minutes into my routine when I heard one of the hens squawking loudly. I hadn’t heard that before and thought maybe it was stuck in the fence, so I went up to investigate. She seemed fine but how would I know? The only contact person I have in the area is a handyman Mara introduced me to in case anything stopped working in our cottage. She said he’s very knowledgable. About hens? Could my short hen-sitting career in France be coming to an end?

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(Checking out some insects)

Just in case he didn’t know much about hens I chatted away confidently to the noisy one and the others gathered around also. Then I wandered around to see if there were any predators lurking. No, nothing. Then I went to look in the house and guess what I found? You’ll never guess – two eggs! Aren’t hens great?

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(The two eggs!)

So intelligent, Mairead.

Sunday’s are quiet.

It’s Sunday as I write and this morning we went off for a drive, as you do. We were getting a feel for the surrounding area, checking out the nearest mini market, the restaurants, forest walks, pretty towns and villages. We found the nearest shop five minutes away and there was a restaurant right next door, so we’ll back to sample that. We found  lots of forest walks about ten minutes away, we’ll be back to them also. And we found a really pretty town about fifteen minutes away. Its real name is Vouvant but it’s also called Village de Peintres, which I believe means village of the painters.

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(My coffee and croissant this morning)

While I think of it I need to tell you something about how my French fluency is progressing… or not. There’s been a bit of a problem. Now I want you all to know I was not previously aware of a particular situation that pertains to this area of France. I had no idea until yesterday… the problem is, everyone speaks English here! Well, they also speak French but they don’t seem to recognise my particular version of French and move very quickly to a very fine version of English.

08 09b

(Aren’t they cute little acorns?)

I became aware that this was serious when I tried to order “Moules et Frites” (Mussels and Fries) for lunch yesterday and the lady behind the counter told me in a lovely English accent that the chips were all gone. It’s possible I may return home without the expected increase in my French literacy. Also, with all my talk of getting fluent in a week I received a comment from my friend Ann who gives French classes, unfortunately the comment is in French…  I will continue to search out French speakers and keep you posted on my progress and yes Ann you may be my last hope.

08 09c

(The Mélusine Tower, there’s a story about a fairy called Mélusine, who’s half-woman, half-snake, don’t know the full story yet)

Anyway, Vouvant is very pretty. The brochure says it’s the only fortified town in the Vendee, we saw some of the fortification and it looked great. We didn’t stay long so we’ll be back here too. On the way home we decided to stop off in Decathlon, it’s a big sports shop. I needed runners (well, walkers….) and Denis wanted a small rucksack. We found the shop and we also learned something we had forgotten….. shops generally don’t open on Sundays in France… oh yea.

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(A bit of the great looking fortification (or wall) of Vouvant)

We were the only car driving around the huge shopping complex, enormous car parks empty. Where was everyone? Could it be possible that they relax at home on Sundays? As we drove to our home pondering this we passed a full car park and saw one of the things the French do do on a Sunday afternoon – they go to football matches! Wasn’t that what we used to do too? Is this why we love France?

Right so I’m off to relax, Mairead.

It’s Saturday in the countryside and I’m feeling lucky.

We finally arrived. The boat stopped and we were amazingly lucky to be in the line that moved out first. Not that it really matters who gets off first but it feels like being allowed out to play from school, so we were very excited. This is the time when it’s easy to forget that you have to drive on the other side of the road… And I forgot! Luckily I wasn’t driving 🙂 It was 11.15am by then and we decided it might be nice to travel on the small roads and give the motorways a miss until later. Within an hour we were sitting at a picnic spot beside a stream eating egg salad and apples and feeling very, very lucky.

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(The bridge over the Loire)

We did get back on the big roads just before Nantes in order to cross the river Loire and we arrived at out destination in the Vendee at 6.30pm. Just ten minutes away from our home for a month a black cat ran across the road in front of the car. We didn’t hit it. Lucky for us and the cat.

Sep0713

(The door into the garden)

We found our accommodation on Airbnb again and it’s very pretty with a flower garden mixed in with a vegetable garden, some fruit trees and hens! You may remember my love affair with Liam and Kate’s hens in Ireland. I’m trying to find a way to tell our host about my previous experience in this area… maybe I’ll ask Kate for a written reference? Although, there seem  to be even bigger predicators here – wild boar – I’m not sure if they eat hens or if I’d be willing to get in their way…..

Sep0713a

(A busy bee)

We went to the supermarket (Super U) earlier and now I’m sitting typing in the garden surrounded by rose bushes, hydrangeas and lettuces. I’m under the shade of a big tree and I can hear a bird chirping and some bees buzzing. Tomorrow morning I’ll sit here with coffee and a croissant. I am completely lucky.

Sep0713b

(The French girls)

Thing is…. as we’re out in the country there’s no boulangaire (I think that’s the spelling for a bakery) so I bought the croissants in the Super U and tomorrow I’ll reheat them in the little oven. That means… It’s possible to be this lucky anywhere. So if you are reading this on Sunday morning you can join me for coffee and croissants or tea and toast or whatever you have in the cupboard.

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(The neighbours – a field of sunflowers ready for harvest)

Together we can notice how lucky we are, Mairead.