Sunday 15th September
The greenhouse is warm, my jumper slung over the shelf, hiding a pile of tattered plastic seed trays. I mix grit into my compost, scooping it in cupped hands and then letting it scatter back into the potting tray over-and-over-again until the tiny shards of grit are evenly distributed through the compost. I’m potting on clary sage, sweet rocket and sweet Williams, moving the little seedlings from their forty cell trays into fifteen cell trays to give them more space to grow on, hoping in a few weeks they’ll be sturdy enough to be hardened off and planted in the cutting garden.
Outside there’s the rumble of lawn mowers, the boys cutting the lawns at the front and back of the house, Tim cutting the paths in the potager. The air full of that green scent of freshly shorn grass. Everywhere is still so green after this wet summer; having two boys happy to cut lawns has been a boon, it’s saved us so much time and work.
I deadhead cosmos, the seed heads are determined to form but I’m holding them off, coaxing out more flowers, just for a few more weeks. Cutting the stems back as far as I can to a set of healthy, frothy leaves. They’re starting to struggle though, I know how they feel, we’ve all been working very hard this summer, we’re all waiting to go to seed.
Monday 16th September
Both boy cats are in the kitchen, prowling about, looking suspicious. It’s still dark and I’m half asleep. I can hear Steve clicking the cat flap. Looking down at him I see him flicking a ginger tail with his paw. “Leave Brian alone Steve,” I say. “And Brian get out of the way so Steve can go outside.” I turn from the kitchen sink with my glass of water and see Brian sitting behind me on the floor.
I flick on another light and apprehensively turn back to the cat flap. It’s not Brian’s tail, obviously, because he’s still hunched on the floor behind me, instead I see that it’s the hind leg of a red squirrel, half way through the cat flap, its toes tentatively touching the step into the kitchen. It looks almost as if it’s sneaking in to rob us in the night and has been caught red-handed, or its stealing away with its stolen bounty back towards the woods.
I wince, my brow furrowing with concern and disgust. The foot is unmoving, the leg still as Steve gingerly pats it with his paw. Dead things are most definitely a boy job in this house. I shoo the cats away and wait for Tim to deal with it, bundling the body up out the way of eager-eyed felines. I can’t imagine the cats catching a squirrel, they aren’t quick enough and they all look unscathed, no tell-tale signs of a woodland brawl, no faces scratched by long squirrel claws. More likely they are taking credit for someone else’s kill, bringing home a prize they didn’t earn. I let them know that I’m not grateful for it. Tell them I’m unimpressed by their early morning antics and send them out into the garden to think about it.
Thankfully the rest of the day is uneventful. I spend the morning in the flowers, cutting and conditioning, arranging little posies for every room. I take a good while trying to create an arrangement of cafe au laits in an old earthenware jug for the salon fireplace, but it just feels off, something not quite right, despite the gorgeous creamy faces of the flowers. I decide it will have to do, I’m running out of time.
There are loads of leftovers today, so I hastily pile and plonk them into a big confit pot, not one stem considered or thought about, just a wild jumble of dahlias, ammi, cosmos and anemones. I love it, it’s better than anything I’ve made all morning. I carry it to the salon and swap it for the cafe au laits. Sometimes you need to stop thinking and trying and just create something wild instead.
Tuesday 17th September
Rufus and I bookend our day with walks down the drive. The first hasty, in the darkness with a head torch to catch his lift to the train station, the second, slower, after a busy day, the sun setting over the fields behind us, the colours leeching out of the landscape. Rufus kicks a football along as we walk and talk, Monty and Brian running around us.
The moon is rising, a rare harvest-blood-super moon. It’s huge and golden, climbing rapidly into the darkening sky. We stand at the end of the drive, staring at it, taking in its mountains and valleys, clearly visible, trying but failing to capture it on camera. There are bats flitting everywhere, ducking and diving around us in the moonlight as the night falls.
We dare each other to walk back through the woods. Teenage bravado egging us on. We hold hands in the darkness under the trees, me trying not to think about the watching eyes, Rufus seemingly unbothered in the gloom. I want to run the last little bit, feel my feet involuntarily speeding up, my heart pounding, but I hold my nerve and we stroll out nonchalantly into the back meadow, through the pale moonlit garden, towards the welcoming lights of home.
Wednesday 18th September
I get nothing I had planned done today. The hours slip away in tending to everyone and everything else. I feel pulled in all directions and none of them are the direction I was hoping to travel.
We have lived in France for seven years now. We moved in seven years ago yesterday. I wanted to write about it today, but I just haven’t had the time. The words and thoughts are still in my head, swirling around while I bake batches of brownies and answer emails and messages, my afternoon off disappearing in load-after-load of laundry, errands and entertaining. Some days time just seems to slip away. Maybe tomorrow there will be more minutes in the day.
Thursday 19th September
The light today is beautiful, hazy and golden. It’s warm too, the air soft in a way it hasn’t been for a few weeks. Each room looks sun-kissed, a flood of autumn warmth flowing through every window as we clean the rooms, changing beds, topping up coffees and teas, putting fresh flowers in place and plumping pillows for our next guests.
Everywhere is still very green, but there are hints of autumn. The paths in the woods are scattered with the first fallen leaves, enough of them to crunch as you walk through the trees. On the drive, conkers bounce, their armoured green shells splitting open as they hit the ground, revealing their shiny chestnut treasures nestled inside their velvety soft inner skins. The hedgerows are full of hawthorn berries and rosehips, glowing red amongst the green, a harvest waiting for me to have time to pick them.
Not today though, we have dinner for 10 to cook tonight and a whole new house-full of guests to welcome. It’s just warm enough for dinner on the terrace, possibly the last of the season, darkness falling quickly, dinner by candle and festoon lights, guests wrapped up with blankets making the most of the the last balmy evening before the rain returns.
Friday 20th September
A bar of dark chocolate is melting with a little warm water and a pinch of good, flaky salt over a bain-marie, turning glossy and silky as I stir it gently, waiting for each chunk of chocolate to melt.
The mixer is whirring, egg whites whipping, first to a foamy froth then turning to stiff white peaks. I scatter over a little sugar, letting the whisk spin until each granule of sugar has dissolved into the egg whites. I roll a pinch of the meringue between my thumb and fore finger to check it’s smooth, searching for a scratch of remaining sugar.
The chocolate is cooling now away from the heat, I stir through the egg yolks, feeling the chocolate thicken under my spoon. The first scoop of egg whites is stirred in smartly, loosening and lightening the chocolate, making it easier for me to gently fold in the rest. I turn the bowl and the spoon, rhythmically stirring and folding the chocolate into the meringue, the meringue into the chocolate until it all becomes one. It’s ladled into little glass pots, my jam funnel making the job faster and cleaner, though I still inexplicably end up with chocolate up my arms.
The mousse will set in the fridge all day while we clean rooms and the gîte, preparing for our next guests. It’ll be ready just in time for pudding, a sweet treat after the grazing boards laden with charcuterie and cheese for tonight.
Saturday 21st September 2024
The thunder smashes through the air, shaking the windows, waking me up with a start just in time to see the lighting crack across the sky, I hear it snap and flash, the electricity buzzing through the night. The rain is deafening, beating heavily down, pummelling the dark garden in rhythmic pulses. The thunder comes again, and then the lightening, the storm raging right above the house. I lie in bed, waiting for it to move off, for the rain to subside and for sleep to come again.
By morning there’s no sign of the storm, though the fields are steaming and the air feels cleaner. The sun is shining weakly through an autumnal haze. It’s almost here now autumn, the equinox is tomorrow, the day and night equal in length, Mabon, harvest time. I’m ready for it, ready for socks and jumpers, for shorter days and longer nights, for less work and more rest.
Back in the kitchen the air is scented with cinnamon and honey, a tray of granola cooling on the side. I wonder if this will be the last batch of the season, or whether I’ll be making one more to see us out? There’s just one more week of our summer season left, one more week of caring for our guests before our long winter rest. My mind is already filling with plans, making lists, gathering ideas; I’m itching for a change of pace, not long to wait now.
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I always enjoy reading your posts but this one was a little more special..!!! maybe because we’ve just gotten home from staying with you ..😁😁 ..have a good week..🌺🌺
Another lovely Sunday read as I sip my coffee and reminisce about our week in your lovely home. We saw that Moon as we headed home in a taxi from the airport. I can only imagine how gorgeous it was shinning over your glorious spot in the world. Thank you again for sharing your life and your home through written word and and your gracious hosting.I am forever grateful 🙏.