Huge apologies for the tardiness of my journal this morning - when you read next Sunday’s entry you’ll know why this morning has so topsy turvy and upside down. Definitely a tale worth telling in its own time. Until then though, here are this week’s stories, I hope you’ll enjoy reading them.
Sunday 12th May
Sometimes you need a little bustle, to soak up a little city life and energy for a few hours. So we sit outside our favourite cafe in Place de la Republique, the coffee is good, the patisserie even better, a little fraisier for me, a giant mille feuille for Tim. The boys sipping coke from glass bottles in the sunshine, a reward for enduring a morning at the market.
The market is full of people, the queue for strawberries snaking its way down a whole aisle. We decide there’ll be none left by the time we make it to the front. Instead we pick up a takeaway dinner from the Indian food truck and drive home for a quiet afternoon. A quick rest before another busy week ahead, the jobs can wait until tomorrow because there are no guests staying over tonight. We all curl up under blankets on the sofas together, a little family time on this rare night off.
Monday 13th May
My feet seem not to touch the ground. Every moment of the day is busy. Tim is shopping, Nicky is cleaning and I am washing, drying, folding, cooking and doing the flowers all at once. Each job happening in the spaces between the others.
The roses are just beginning to burst, the ranunculus in the polytunnel holding on. While the brownies bake, I cut both, plunging the stems into buckets of cold water. I pick the roses just before they open, when the outside petals are just beginning to loosen, the centres still in bud. This loose petal stage gives the longest vase life, the roses slowly opening, revealing their hearts as the week moves on.
The tumble dryer rumbles, another load of towels spin in the washing machine, while I arrange the roses and ranunculus with sweetly scented Apple mint. Each little vase is lined up on a tray, ready to be carried around the house to brighten up quiet corners.
It’s warm in the afternoon, the heat building, air heavy and muggy, a storm brewing perhaps. Tim arrives home with a crate of five kilos of strawberries from the supermarket, perfect for jam without the huge market queues.
They won’t keep, so before I cook dinner for us and then our guests, I stand at the island, the back door open, letting the warm spring air into the kitchen and slice each strawberry into quarters. I tuck them into my three biggest bowls with jam sugar and lemon and leave them to macerate overnight.
Tuesday 14th May
A leaden, moody morning after a night of heavy rain. The air is beautifully fresh though, a cool breeze pinching at my cheeks. I breathe it in, enjoying the peace of the early morning before another no doubt busy day.
We live on leftovers in the summer months, heels of bread, the last scrapings of jam, crumbly corners of cheese. The edges of things that don’t make it into meals for our guests. The gnarly bits of tomato that don’t look pretty in a salad are still beautiful in a sandwich. Tucked into some leftover baguette with the wonky bit of cheese that didn’t look right on the cheese board, a little salt, some tomato and chilli chutney; an apple on the side and there is lunch.
This morning there is a drying slice of my favourite rye sourdough loaf from the baker, its crust crisp, deeply brown and salty. I whisk an egg with some milk, a splash of vanilla and a good pinch of cinnamon. I watch the bread soak up this simple custard, turning it over and over again, while I heat a little oil and butter in a pan.
It sizzles gently, the scent of cinnamon and butter making my stomach growl. I keep the heat low to gently brown the edges, impatiently waiting while the egg cooks through inside. The last few spoonfuls of berry compote, a dollop of Greek yogurt. A breakfast of leftovers fit for a queen, or a châtelaine at least, before a morning of B&B chores and jam making.
Wednesday 15th May
I am trying to untangle fading daffodil foliage, trying to find a way to make it look less of a mess in the borders. I gather it into neater clumps, draping it this way and that, hoping to encourage the other plants to show themselves a little more.
It’s been a good long time since I mulched the back borders and the soil feels heavy after all the rain, it sticks to my trowel and gloves in sodden clumps as I try to tuck new salvias into the bare spots.
The showers keep rolling in. The wind suddenly rising, sweeping in across the fields, making the leaves dance. Most times I heed this warning, gathering my discarded jumper and the old pool float I use as a kneeler and running into the shelter of the kitchen before the downpour starts. Other times I try to ignore it. Hoping it will just be a few fat drops of rain, only to get a drenching on the run back to the house. At least the new plants are getting a good water in.
Thursday 16th May
We need to be organised, even more organised than we usually have to be. Nicky is away this weekend so Tim and I have to manage a whole house and gîte changeover without her. A reminder of the days when we had no help at all.
Once today’s chores are done I make extra desserts for tomorrow, organise piles of bedding, put away clean towels in the linen cupboards. Working every free moment making sure everything is ready for us to work as fast as we can in the morning. But first another dinner to cook for our guests, who are cosied up in the salon because it’s still a little too chill to be outside.
Friday 17th May
We stand at the end of the drive, waiting for Rufus’ lift to the station. The sun is just rising, a mist shimmering over the fields. A hare runs across the opposite meadow, leaping over tufts of grass, he stops momentarily, pausing to look back at us, one front paw raised, ready to leap, ears twitching and then he is gone.
I walk back to the house, Margot by my side. She climbs the wooden posts of the barbed wire fence, perching on the top and meowing at me. I hold out my arm to make a bridge to my shoulder, she walks daintily along it and sits purring into my ear for a few seconds before climbing down my back as I squat to the ground. We play this game three times before we reach the woods and she disappears in search of mice.
There’s no time for me to dawdle today, we wave off our guests after breakfast and get straight to work. Making beds, cleaning rooms, dusting every surface, vacuuming every floor, getting everything ready again for our new arrivals. We manage with just a little time to spare, both hot and weary with the effort. Grateful that tonight there are just grazing boards to make before we can put our feet up for a while.
Saturday 18th May
Frogs are calling from the ponds in François meadow, a throaty chorus, deep and rhythmic. The crickets are strumming in the grass, adding their strings to the frogs and the birdsong. It’s warm in the sunshine, it seems almost summery today, warm enough for shorts.
I’m hardening off sunflowers and phlox. Bringing the trays outside for a few hours each day to toughen up the baby plants. There are telltale silvery strands on the dahlias in cold frames. I lift every pot, searching out the perpetrators; three snails and four slugs are flung into the meadows for the birds and hedgehogs.
Back in the kitchen I am spreading croissants with Dijon mustard and stuffing them with grated comté before soaking them in a savoury custard to make comté and croissant soufflés. Tim is loading trays with cutlery and glasses to set the dinner tables. The sky suddenly darkens and there is a flash of lightening, then a clap of thunder straight over the house, the noise so loud and the force so great that it rattles the windows in their frames. We all jump in shock. The rain comes then, pouring down in torrents from a black sky, soaking the garden in seconds. It rolls and roars for a good hour while I cook, Tim setting the tables in the salon, both of us wondering when those balmy summer evenings will arrive so that our guests will be able to eat on the terrace.
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We were there to share some of this week and I did wonder what you did with the leftover food left by your guests - I know how versatile you are Rebecca and know you will have recipes and plans to use whatever you are able too.
We loved our stay good food perfect company and as always exceptional hosts - we hope to do it again at some stage - hope the rest of your season goes well and you get some kind of rest in between - thanks again for your wonderful hospitality. Xx
My Sunday read!