Cold steel and hot snails

Food is rarely far from the hearts, thoughts and dinner tables of the French and those ex-pats, like myself, who have chosen to make the culinary centre of the universe their home. During this season of festivities, the spotlight shines even more brightly on all things gastronomic with supermarkets, marche de noel and the humble kitchens of all and sundry, churning out amazing offerings: pate de foie gras; huitres by the bucket load; tantalising delicacies; wild boar; deer; duck and, surprisingly, kangaroo! The French have been unfairly criticised, I believe, for food which can seem too exclusive - not fare for the common man. Take tackling a snail for instance, a task that is not as easy as one would assume. Whilst dining with friends recently, Mark and I were warned of the dangers that could be faced when approaching 'les escargots'. If, we were cautioned, we didn't take sufficient care to warm our cold steel forks before plunging them into the hearts (do snails have hearts?) of our snails whilst they languished in their sizzling butter baths, the snail could very well explode, spraying us with molten garlic oil and scarring us for life!! Forewarned is fore armed or, as we say here 'un homme averti en vaut deux' (literally: one forwarned arm is worth two men). Anyway, to prove French food is quite inclusive, we found snails that would appeal to the most fussy of eaters - chocolate ones of course!!

see amid the winter snow

Yesterday was my favourite day of the year. I love most days, especially those that involve friends and presents, fireworks or dancing, but the day I get to decorate the Christmas tree is the one I most enjoy. This will be our first Christmas in France and, as we're still novices in the art of tracking down our own tree, we joined a group of friends, tooled up with saws and axes, and headed up a snowy, rutted track, determination written across our faces. Wrapped in scarves, boots and wooly hats (Mark had carefully selected his lumber jack shirt for the occassion), breath pluming in the chill air, we tramped into the woods in search of 'the one'. Our friends Lou and Billy, seasoned Christmas tree hunters, gave us an insider tip - find a really tall tree, fell it then cut off the top 6ft. Once we'd reached the location where past experience had taught our friends that the right calibre of trees were to be found, we spread out, each of us with a mental picture of our quarry in our mind. Our friend Sally struck lucky first - a 5 footer for the living room and a pot plant size specimen for her 2 year old grand daughter to decorate. Billy and Lou were next with a magnificent 20 foot tree that was brought to ground and trimmed to size before having it's lower boughs hewn off to decorate the mantel piece and hearth. Having watched our friends in action we felt it was time to strike. Mark had found a beautiful tree - branches evenly spaced and a sturdy trunk. With a little help it was only a matter of minutes before the tree had succumbed and was being dragged through the forest back to our car. How is it that Christmas trees, whether felled in a forest or picked out at the local supermarket, always seem twice as big when you try and force them into your living room? Just another life mystery I suspect. Mark draped the lights across the tree before letting me loose with the decorations. Harry cat helped selected the baubles whilst I scrutinised the tree for spare twigs to dangle them from. After only 3 hours we were finished and stepped back to admire our work. After a day of Christmas tree-centric activity, the stillness that surrounded us as we stood regarding our tree was pure peace on earth.

What you see is what you get

I keep a vision board on my office wall directly in front of me. For those of you who may not know what one of these is, put simply it is a board where you stick pictures , articles, ‘things’ that depict the life you wish to lead. Viewing these images on a daily basis keeps them at the forefront of your mind acting as a constant focus tool. Works for me. One of my prize purchases on my recent trip to the UK was an advent calendar – not one of those cartoon (non-Christmassy) affairs with chocolate but a ‘proper’ Victorian scene with lots of glitter, snow topped fir trees and little openings that act as stained glass windows once you’ve removed the dated cover. This scene has taken pride of place over my vision board since the 1st and, to prove the power of ‘what you focus on is what you get’ I woke up yesterday to find we had had our first snow. This caught us all by surprise (showers were forecast) so I pulled on my wellies, wrapped my scarf round my neck and let the 7 year old in me run riot in the garden. There is something quite magical about snow. On the one hand it is exhilarating making faces glow and fingers tingle. The desire to play is strong – snow angels, building snow men, pulling on branches and then letting go to release great snow showers. And then, by contrast there is the silence- muffled, creaking steps, the clarity of sound subdued, light filtered through a blue haze. For a confirmed Summer girl, the occasional snow shower is still a delight.

Up, up and away

One of the many wonderful things about this place is the sky. When it is stormy the drama of the leaden sky and lightening against the silhouette of Mont St Cyr is pure spectacle. When it is clear, you can see forever. We have no street lights and no pollution and if the moon is less than half full the stars, planets and Milky Way come into their own. And last week, thanks to Roy one of our house guests, we were introduced to another nocturnal wonder – the international space station. Roy tracks this manned satelite (the size of a football pitch) that is clearly visible to the naked eye and thought that we may all enjoy sharing this wonder with him. What you have to do is follow this link http://spaceflight1.nasa.gov/realdata/sightings/ enter the city nearest to where you are and then refer to a list telling you the time the station is due to appear and where in the sky to look. Simple. Last Thursday saw a crowd of us (word soon spreads here and space station spotting is something of an event) standing in the orchard, all eyes trained on 33 degrees to the north, north west. And lo, we saw a brilliant light moving steadily across the sky (no flashings) as we all stood slack jawed in awe. So, what else could we spot if we turned our attention skywards? Roy to the rescue once again but this time nearer to Earth. As I mentioned in an earlier blog Roy is a keen ornothologist and he has kindly provided a list of birds seen within a five mile radius of Les Cerisiers. So, in no particular order, I'd like to share Roys list with you (please bear in mind this is not a great time of year for birds so I think we've done pretty well with this lot): House Sparrow; Chaffinch; Robin; Jay; Crow; Jackdaw; Magpie; Kestrel; Buzzard; Coot; Mallard; Great Crested Grebe; Feral Pigeon; Little Egret; Blue Tit; Starling; Long Tailed Tit; Cormorant; Mute Swan; Heron; Black-headed Gull; Black bird; Missel thrush; Sparrowhawk; Black Redstart; Moorhen; Great White Egret; Goldfinch; Black Woodpecker; Marsh/Willow Tit; Wren; Great Tit. Unfortunately I don't have photos of either the ISS or any of the birds mentioned so I scrambled around for a bit thinking what photo would be appropriate to accompany todays offering. And then it dawned on me that we did have one more sky bound activity that I failed to mention thus far - archery. Mark is a keen archer and we offer archery lessons to our guests. So, please enjoy the picture of a bunch of happy holiday makers receiving archery instruction from mark in the November sunshine (Roy third from left in cap!-thanks).

We'll weather the weather whatever the weather

You can take the girl out of Britain but you can't take being British out of the girl and the weather remains an ongoing fascination. Like much of Europe it's been a bit blowy here over the past week or so and the winds have had quite an impact on both the scenery and cycle of life here. Having talked about my intention to sweep up the fallen leaves for a couple of weeks, I was thrilled to discover they had been lifted, whisked around and then deposited in neat little piles by the breezy gusts. I was even more impressed to discover that the size of each leaf pile was such that they fitted neatly into a bin liner - remarkable. We have a maple tree at the end of the garden (the most beautiful tree in the valley at this time of year to my mind) and I tirelessly watch it's fallen leaves frog hopping over each other as they chase around the lawn. What a show of colour and energy! The wind has shaken the remaining apples and quinces from our trees which were then washed by the rain before finding their way into a glut of pies and crumbles. The pods from the wisteria have shaken their black button seeds onto the ground (Warning: these closely resemble chocolate Minstrels and should not be eaten) some of which will find a suitable nook to start the process of becoming new plants. As the trees shake off their coats of leaves and prepare to face the winter months, previously shielded views open up around us, I can see the hedgerows dividing the fields, I see more cattle grazing, birds are more easy to spot (I have guests staying at the moment who are keen twitchers - I hope this is the right term, and they're preparing a list that I will share shortly) and sound travels unhindered. We hear our neighbours donkey, the cows calling to each other when the farmer deposits some hay or a salt block, the chug of tractors returning home at the end of the day and me letting Mark know that his tea is ready.

taking it easy

I thought one of the advantages of living in the French countryside would be the more relaxed pace of life here: waking up naturally when the daylight finally managed to penetrate the thickly lined bedroom curtains; leisurely breakfasts as we discussed plans for the day; a saunter across the court yard to the barn (the nerve centre of our operations); long, drawn out lunches; maybe a nap in the early afternoon... you get the picture. Whilst my cats have made a seamless transition to this way of living (as demonstrated by Harry in the accompanying photo), I find with so much going on there is little time for slumping on the sofa, coffe mug in hand. Here there seems to be at least one festival every week, sometimes two or more. Take this coming weekend - I am torn between celebrating chestnuts in Tramayes, leeks in St Christophe en Brionnais or pears in La Clayette. How do you even begin to choose between them? This got me thinking as to whether things like this exist in the UK and I just missed them (the result of tunnel vision) or whether I am truly living in a unique environment. I can remember my mother mentioning a festival to celebrate some fruit or vegetable in the UK (I thought it may have been beetroots as I grow a lot of these) but when I phoned she had no recollection. I searched on google but short of a garlic fair on the Isle of Wight, nothing. Are the Brits reluctant to celebrate the ordinary and the small wonders? Next June celebrated poet (at least we can celebrate our creative stars) Valeria Melchioretto will be running a workshop here 'Inspired by the senses' where reality will be addressed through what can be seen, heard, smelt, tasted, and touched. I have no doubts that this corner of France will afford plenty of raw material for her and her writers.

Remember, remember the 5th of November...

Bonfire night has long been one of my favourite festivals. Fire, loud bangs, hotdogs, wonder - brill, bring it on. If I ever decided to become a criminal (which is unlikely) I just know I'd want to be an arsonist. I just adore the drama of it all. Well, November 5th is with us again and we gathered for a spot of gunpowder, treason and plot at my friend Sallys house. The term 'changeable' hardly did justice to the weather during the day - blue skies, thick fog, torrential rain, light showers and high winds. But us Brits are made of stern stuff so we stiffened our upper lips and determined to have a good time. After a bit of friendly deliberation ('it's you turn', ' no I did it last year', 'but you'll enjoy it') it was democratically decided that Mark would be in charge of standing in the drizzle to light the touch papers. As the Brits danced around writing their names with sparklers and a rain sodden Mark battled with soaked fuses that fizzled and sputtered, our French friends looked on bemused. We'd tried to explain the background to Bonfire Night to them last year chez nous but it all got a bit tense - 'so, you are burning ze naughty catholics?' Things could have been worse, Marks sister had provided some childrens clothing so we could make 'little guys'. If our neighbours weren't impressed by our burning of catholics, they would have been outraged by throwing effigies of toddlers onto the blaze. As it was, the event (both last night and last year) went off well - no injuries, lots of laughter and wooly hats soon dry from being draped over radiators. Mulled wine anyone?