...et Saint-Aignan s'éveille. Le soleil ne s'est pas encore levé. Nous avons rendez-vous en ville et nous allons quitter la maison dans quelques minutes. A suivre...
At 8:00 a.m., we are back at home, the first part of our mission accomplished. It's a busy day. More tomorrow.
12 August 2012
11 August 2012
Heureusement...
...qu'il y a le mois d'août. Thank goodness for August, in other words. See the map below for today's weather forecast in France. The weather has been beautiful for a while now. Fairly hot afternoons and pleasant evenings. Cool in the morning, so that our natural air-conditioning is working. The natural AC involves opening all the windows and doors early in the day to let the cool air into the house.
We said good-bye to the porteuse de pain — the bread lady — a couple of minutes ago. It was the "see you later" kind of au revoir. She's going on vacation for two weeks starting today. Her parting words, when we wished her a good vacation, were: Et bon courage à vous ! We aren't quite sure how to interpret that. We will have to scramble to keep ourselves in bread for the next 15 jours.
At seven a.m. Callie went crazy barking. It was a montgolfière — a hot-air ballon. When they fly over, dogs all around the area bark wildly. And the dogs get advance warning of the approach — they can hear the whoosh of the gas burner heating the air in the balloon long before we hear it. It always takes us a minute or two to figure out what the panic is about, especially if we are lying in bed half-awake.
The French weather map for Saturday, 11 August 2012
We said good-bye to the porteuse de pain — the bread lady — a couple of minutes ago. It was the "see you later" kind of au revoir. She's going on vacation for two weeks starting today. Her parting words, when we wished her a good vacation, were: Et bon courage à vous ! We aren't quite sure how to interpret that. We will have to scramble to keep ourselves in bread for the next 15 jours.
Today's temperatures. 30ºC = 86ºF.
At seven a.m. Callie went crazy barking. It was a montgolfière — a hot-air ballon. When they fly over, dogs all around the area bark wildly. And the dogs get advance warning of the approach — they can hear the whoosh of the gas burner heating the air in the balloon long before we hear it. It always takes us a minute or two to figure out what the panic is about, especially if we are lying in bed half-awake.
Au gré des vents = drifting in the wind
Yesterday morning I got some more gardening done. I tilled up a little plot of loose soil where we will plant carrots and long white radishes this weekend. It was my final tilling chore until late autumn, when we'll clean up the vegetable garden and get it ready to over-winter.
10 August 2012
Summer evenings
Yesterday we had some friends over for apéritifs. It was a beautiful day and a splendid evening. S. and F. are Dutch and have a house in Saint-Aignan where they spend summers. They both speak English (do all Dutch people speak English?), and S. speaks perfect French as well. Their daughter C., who lives in England, is visiting, and she we here too. The last time we'd seen her was three or four years ago. We know them because of this blog.
Walt made little melon balls that he stuck on toothpicks with a little piece of jambon cru (prosciutto), and I made something really exotic: tuna salad. I also made some cornmeal crackers to spread it on. We had all that with some white wine from the Domaine de la Renaudie, which meant we were drinking wine made from the grapes that grow in the vineyard out back.
After our friends left, Walt and I sat out on the terrace for another two or three hours, watching the stars come out and the bats swoop around. Actually, I never saw a bat, but Walt swore he saw them. I don't doubt it because we see them often at nightfall in summer. But you have to be quick, and maybe I wasn't...
What I did see, and Walt too, was a very big satellite pass by overhead. It was the international space station, and it was a fast-moving, very bright spot of light — much bigger than an airplane or any star. We saw several airplanes fly over too — you can tell they're airplanes because their light blinks on an off — and we saw at least one other satellite go over. Many stars twinkled.
In past summers, we've spent numerous evenings on the terrace , but this year we haven't had so much warm weather or so many clear skies. Yesterday afternoon, it was fairly hot out, but late in the afternoon there was a nice breeze. The breeze died down as nightfall approached, but there were no mosquitoes or other insects of any kind to force us to retreat into the house. Maybe the bats were eating them all.
The moon over the vines on a recent morning
Walt made little melon balls that he stuck on toothpicks with a little piece of jambon cru (prosciutto), and I made something really exotic: tuna salad. I also made some cornmeal crackers to spread it on. We had all that with some white wine from the Domaine de la Renaudie, which meant we were drinking wine made from the grapes that grow in the vineyard out back.
That same moon
After our friends left, Walt and I sat out on the terrace for another two or three hours, watching the stars come out and the bats swoop around. Actually, I never saw a bat, but Walt swore he saw them. I don't doubt it because we see them often at nightfall in summer. But you have to be quick, and maybe I wasn't...
Tiny pink flowers at the edge of the woods
What I did see, and Walt too, was a very big satellite pass by overhead. It was the international space station, and it was a fast-moving, very bright spot of light — much bigger than an airplane or any star. We saw several airplanes fly over too — you can tell they're airplanes because their light blinks on an off — and we saw at least one other satellite go over. Many stars twinkled.
Seed pods, I guess
In past summers, we've spent numerous evenings on the terrace , but this year we haven't had so much warm weather or so many clear skies. Yesterday afternoon, it was fairly hot out, but late in the afternoon there was a nice breeze. The breeze died down as nightfall approached, but there were no mosquitoes or other insects of any kind to force us to retreat into the house. Maybe the bats were eating them all.
09 August 2012
The drive-by butcher
Walt blogged about our newest rural service yesterday — it's a local butcher who comes around in his market truck once a week, on Tuesdays. He honks his horn, and one of us goes out to buy something. Monsieur Céran is a boucher/charcutier, which means he sells beef, chicken, veal, lamb, and pork, including cured pork products like sausages, pâtés, ham... well everything. Local specialites and standard French items.
His truck is a refrigerated market vehicle. One side panel of the truck goes up kind of like a garage door, revealing a display counter full of tempting items. His prices are comparable to regular shop or supermarket prices. And the quality looks to be excellent. Everything we've bought so far has been really good.
As Walt wrote yesterday, one of the big advantages of buying from an itinerant vendor is that you don't have to drive to his shop, of course, and you also don't have to wait in line while other customers are waited on. When we went to the Céran shop in Thésée a week or 10 days ago, we waited at least 15 minutes while others ordered large quantities of meats, some of which had to be cut and trimmed to order.
This is how it works in a culture where it isn't assumed that everybody owns and drives a car. The fact is, however, that nowadays, most people do drive — I wrote yesterday about the traffic jams in Saint-Aignan caused by high attendance at the Beauval zoo south of town, and Keir, our neighbor to the east, has confirmed it in a comment. I think we'll be buying things from Monsieur Céran every week to encourage him to keep coming by, just as we buy bread (good baguette tradition, it is too) every time the bread lady drives up and toots her horn.
His truck is a refrigerated market vehicle. One side panel of the truck goes up kind of like a garage door, revealing a display counter full of tempting items. His prices are comparable to regular shop or supermarket prices. And the quality looks to be excellent. Everything we've bought so far has been really good.
Thésée-la-Romaine is a village across and down the river
from us, about 5 miles.
from us, about 5 miles.
As Walt wrote yesterday, one of the big advantages of buying from an itinerant vendor is that you don't have to drive to his shop, of course, and you also don't have to wait in line while other customers are waited on. When we went to the Céran shop in Thésée a week or 10 days ago, we waited at least 15 minutes while others ordered large quantities of meats, some of which had to be cut and trimmed to order.
This is how it works in a culture where it isn't assumed that everybody owns and drives a car. The fact is, however, that nowadays, most people do drive — I wrote yesterday about the traffic jams in Saint-Aignan caused by high attendance at the Beauval zoo south of town, and Keir, our neighbor to the east, has confirmed it in a comment. I think we'll be buying things from Monsieur Céran every week to encourage him to keep coming by, just as we buy bread (good baguette tradition, it is too) every time the bread lady drives up and toots her horn.
08 August 2012
Tomatoes, grapes, and — yikes! — traffic
The tomatoes in the picture below might not be the most beautiful ones you've ever seen, but to us they look very fine. We should be getting a lot more because we're having warm sunny weather this week.
The other crop that seems to be enjoying the weather right now is the grapes. There are a lot of them, it seems to me, despite earlier predictions that the 2012 yield would be small. I haven't seen any grapes that look like they are starting to ripen, but it's still early.
Have I mentioned the Saint-Aignan zoo in a while? With the arrival of two giant pandas from China earlier this year, attendance has skyrocketed, according to news reports we've seen on the national TV channels. Yesterday I went shopping in Contres, 10 miles north of Saint-Aignan. When I headed home back around 10:30 a.m., I was caught in a traffic jam for 20 minutes, which is how long it took to drive the two miles from the train station, through the traffic circle, and across the Saint-Aignan bridge.
That may not sound so bad to you, but traffic around Saint-Aignan this summer is much worse than ever before. It's everybody going to the zoo. There's no bypass around the town, and there's only the one ancient, narrow bridge. The people who own and operate the Beauval zoo want the town to build a second bridge and a new road to make it easier for tourists to get to the zoo from the north (from Blois, Orleans, and Paris). It'll be interesting to see what changes take place here over the next few years.
Meanwhile, I have to think twice before going to SuperU (near the zoo) or Intermarché (across the river) to do my shopping, at least for the rest of August. It takes to long. Maybe I'll start driving over toward Montrichard, 10 miles west, to shop in the supermarkets there.
Tomates du jardin
The other crop that seems to be enjoying the weather right now is the grapes. There are a lot of them, it seems to me, despite earlier predictions that the 2012 yield would be small. I haven't seen any grapes that look like they are starting to ripen, but it's still early.
Grappes de raisin
Have I mentioned the Saint-Aignan zoo in a while? With the arrival of two giant pandas from China earlier this year, attendance has skyrocketed, according to news reports we've seen on the national TV channels. Yesterday I went shopping in Contres, 10 miles north of Saint-Aignan. When I headed home back around 10:30 a.m., I was caught in a traffic jam for 20 minutes, which is how long it took to drive the two miles from the train station, through the traffic circle, and across the Saint-Aignan bridge.
That may not sound so bad to you, but traffic around Saint-Aignan this summer is much worse than ever before. It's everybody going to the zoo. There's no bypass around the town, and there's only the one ancient, narrow bridge. The people who own and operate the Beauval zoo want the town to build a second bridge and a new road to make it easier for tourists to get to the zoo from the north (from Blois, Orleans, and Paris). It'll be interesting to see what changes take place here over the next few years.
Meanwhile, I have to think twice before going to SuperU (near the zoo) or Intermarché (across the river) to do my shopping, at least for the rest of August. It takes to long. Maybe I'll start driving over toward Montrichard, 10 miles west, to shop in the supermarkets there.
07 August 2012
Other things that have to go
The hedge in its present form has to go. No, not entirely — just parts of it. It's over 100 meters (or yards) long, and it's seven or eight feet high. Maintenance is too difficult, or too expensive.
If you've read Walt's blog or mine for the past few years, you know what the annual hedge trimming requires. It takes weeks, and it's back-breaking work. For nearly 10 years now, we've been trying to keep it looking as it did when we moved in. Enough's enough.
So we've asked a gardening contractor to cut down parts of the hedge to a manageable height. In other words, cut it down to about one meter high — that's just over three feet. Or maybe keep it at four feet. But cut it down low enough so that in future years it can be trimmed without anybody needing to climb a ladder.
The sections of hedge we are talking about cutting down don't provide any extra privacy — unlike the long sections along the road. We'll just have those privacy hedges along the road pruned only slightly, as usual, this year, trimming off the new growth. Then we'll make a decision about cutting them down more severely next year.
In fact, cutting down the part of the hedge shown on the photo above will give us a fine view of the vineyard from our back yard. The cherry tree behind the garden shed, by the way, is old and decrepit, and the few cherries it produces have a odd taste. Adieu, vieux cerisier — tu seras remplacé par un nouveau.
If you've read Walt's blog or mine for the past few years, you know what the annual hedge trimming requires. It takes weeks, and it's back-breaking work. For nearly 10 years now, we've been trying to keep it looking as it did when we moved in. Enough's enough.
Our house and yard as seen on Google maps — hedge sections
to be pruned back radically are marked with red lines.
to be pruned back radically are marked with red lines.
So we've asked a gardening contractor to cut down parts of the hedge to a manageable height. In other words, cut it down to about one meter high — that's just over three feet. Or maybe keep it at four feet. But cut it down low enough so that in future years it can be trimmed without anybody needing to climb a ladder.
This section of the hedge and a section that is hidden behind
the tree on the right will be reduced in height by half.
The sections of hedge we are talking about cutting down don't provide any extra privacy — unlike the long sections along the road. We'll just have those privacy hedges along the road pruned only slightly, as usual, this year, trimming off the new growth. Then we'll make a decision about cutting them down more severely next year.
This is the back of our yard, which faces the vineyard.
The pond in the foreground belongs to the village.
In fact, cutting down the part of the hedge shown on the photo above will give us a fine view of the vineyard from our back yard. The cherry tree behind the garden shed, by the way, is old and decrepit, and the few cherries it produces have a odd taste. Adieu, vieux cerisier — tu seras remplacé par un nouveau.
For old times' sake, here's a shot of Walt trimming the hedge
6 years ago. My job was to rake up and haul away the clippings.
6 years ago. My job was to rake up and haul away the clippings.
06 August 2012
Squash etc.
We had some more rain yesterday, but it was the kind of rain we want and need. Now temperatures are supposed to climb into the 80s again for most of the week, so the garden will be happy.
Walt planted several kinds of squash this year: butternuts, zucchini, potimarrons (little pumpkins), and patidoux (a little round squash called "sweet dumpling"). The plants, as you can see, are looking good.
The squash aren't the only happy plants out there in the garden. Tomatoes and eggplants are growing and starting to ripen. Bell peppers too. We picked the first tomato (photo below) over the weekend.
Here's a piece of news that I don't have any photos for. Bertie the black cat seems to have found a friend. Yesterday morning while we were out doing some cleanup work around the yard, we noticed a yellow tabby cat just outside the fence. We're pretty sure that the cat belongs to summertime neighbors from the Paris area who are spending the month of August in their house here in our hamlet.
Bertie and the tabby weren't fighting! They hung out together for an hour or two. The tabby let Walt get close enough for a little caresse. The two cats explored the new path we've cleared along the fence on the north side.
Callie saw them and barked at them, sticking her nose through the fence. The tabby took a swipe at Callie's nose, and the dog went yelping back toward the house. The balance of power may have changed. Too bad the tabby cat will be going back to Paris in a few weeks.
Summer and winter squash plants
Walt planted several kinds of squash this year: butternuts, zucchini, potimarrons (little pumpkins), and patidoux (a little round squash called "sweet dumpling"). The plants, as you can see, are looking good.
The squash aren't the only happy plants out there in the garden. Tomatoes and eggplants are growing and starting to ripen. Bell peppers too. We picked the first tomato (photo below) over the weekend.
Tomates et une aubergine
Here's a piece of news that I don't have any photos for. Bertie the black cat seems to have found a friend. Yesterday morning while we were out doing some cleanup work around the yard, we noticed a yellow tabby cat just outside the fence. We're pretty sure that the cat belongs to summertime neighbors from the Paris area who are spending the month of August in their house here in our hamlet.
Bertie and the tabby weren't fighting! They hung out together for an hour or two. The tabby let Walt get close enough for a little caresse. The two cats explored the new path we've cleared along the fence on the north side.
Callie saw them and barked at them, sticking her nose through the fence. The tabby took a swipe at Callie's nose, and the dog went yelping back toward the house. The balance of power may have changed. Too bad the tabby cat will be going back to Paris in a few weeks.
05 August 2012
When will it fall?
Every time Callie and I go down the hill and through the woods on our walk, I have to pass under a big tree that leans across the path. I duck under quickly and make sure not to touch the trunk. It will fall one day, inevitably, and I don't want it to fall on me.
This big tree and many others blew over in the big windstorm we had in February 2010. I don't know who owns the woods, but nobody has ever come to cut the leaning tree down and remove the danger.
It's hard to take photos in the woods because it's so dark under the canopy of leaves. The ground is still damp, after days of dry weather, and there are many big orange slugs on the ground. Many smaller trees have fallen across the path. I step over them and Callie jumps them. She seems to enjoy doing that.
Headed down the hill...
...and looking back up toward the vineyard
This big tree and many others blew over in the big windstorm we had in February 2010. I don't know who owns the woods, but nobody has ever come to cut the leaning tree down and remove the danger.
Ooh, that smells interesting!
It's hard to take photos in the woods because it's so dark under the canopy of leaves. The ground is still damp, after days of dry weather, and there are many big orange slugs on the ground. Many smaller trees have fallen across the path. I step over them and Callie jumps them. She seems to enjoy doing that.
04 August 2012
Things that have to go
On veut du changement. It's time for changes. One thing that has to go is the living room window. A window installer has ordered us a new double-glazed panel to replace the old single-glazed unit. The new one will be air-tight; it'll be nice to have less cold air seeping into the room in wintertime.
The new window, which won't have divided lights (as they are called) or what in French are called petits bois (little wooden frames around panes), will change the look of the room. The window faces north, and having big slabs of glass instead of little panes (which are a pain to wash) will maximize the light coming into the room from that side.
Another thing that has to go is the tall, unproductive row of hazelnut trees on the north side of the yard, near the vegetable garden. The trees are overgrown — too tall and bushy.
Besides, we never get any hazelnuts from them. The ones that the birds or squirrels don't steal turn out to be wormy. We didn't come here to be hazelnut growers.
The gardening contractor who came by the other day to give us an estimate on all the yard work we need done (mostly trimming that long, long bay laurel hedge) said he could cut the hazelnut row down to a height of less than four feet — just over a meter. His crew will go at them with their tronçonneuses (chainsaws). Then we'll be able to keep the bushes under control without having to climb on ladders, risking life and limb. The yard will have a cleaner look.
Too bad, but this window has to go.
The new window, which won't have divided lights (as they are called) or what in French are called petits bois (little wooden frames around panes), will change the look of the room. The window faces north, and having big slabs of glass instead of little panes (which are a pain to wash) will maximize the light coming into the room from that side.
Another thing that has to go is the tall, unproductive row of hazelnut trees on the north side of the yard, near the vegetable garden. The trees are overgrown — too tall and bushy.
Down will come the tall, bushy hazelnut trees. Or are
they shrubs? In French, they're arbustes, not arbres.
they shrubs? In French, they're arbustes, not arbres.
Besides, we never get any hazelnuts from them. The ones that the birds or squirrels don't steal turn out to be wormy. We didn't come here to be hazelnut growers.
The gardening contractor who came by the other day to give us an estimate on all the yard work we need done (mostly trimming that long, long bay laurel hedge) said he could cut the hazelnut row down to a height of less than four feet — just over a meter. His crew will go at them with their tronçonneuses (chainsaws). Then we'll be able to keep the bushes under control without having to climb on ladders, risking life and limb. The yard will have a cleaner look.
03 August 2012
Bocaux
Bocal means jar in French, and the most common kind of canning jar used here for putting up jams or jellies, tomatoes or tomato sauce, and all kinds of vegetables — even meat pâtés — is the bocal à joint. The plural of bocal [boh-KAHL] is bocaux [boh-KOH].
The joint [rhymes with foin, soin, moins] in bocal à joint is the rubber ring or gasket that fits onto the lid and makes it possible to seal the jar hermetically by filling it with boiling ingredients and closing it immediately. It becomes vacuum-sealed as it cools. For some ingredients, it's also recommended to boil the jars in water in a canning pot or pressure cooker to make sure everything is sterile.
Being an optimist, I'm convinced we are going to have a lot of produce from our garden to put up in jars for the winter. Actually, for sauce tomate and confiture (jam) I mostly reuse jelly, pickle, and mustard jars that I've saved after buying such items at the supermarket. They work fine as long as the screw-on lid is in good condition. Most people here reuse old store-bought jars in canning, especially for jams and jellies.
The bocaux à joint are safer, and I use them for putting up fruits and vegetables, but we also use them to store all kinds of things — ground coffee, tea bags, rice, dried beans, dried mushrooms, flours, couscous, wheat berries, dried hot peppers — in the kitchen. The rubber ring and the metal band and closure make sure that the jar is tightly closed, whether it has needed sterilizing or not for a particular use.
To use the jars for actual canning — not just dry storage — you need to replace the rubber ring with a new one each time. The rings are easy to find at the supermarket this time of year. (Joint is also the word for washer — the kind you put in your faucets or garden hose fittings to keep them from dripping.) There's a special tool that makes opening the sealed jars easy — it clamps onto the tab on the rubber ring and you twist it until the ring stretches far enough to break the seal. You can't reuse the stretched-out ring for canning.
I'm getting my jars ready for the autumn. I hope I'll be able to fill them all up with good produce that we'll enjoy all winter. The ten one-liter jars in the photos above were a windfall — long story.
Old jars, metal bands and rubber rings removed,
just washed in the dishwasher
just washed in the dishwasher
The joint [rhymes with foin, soin, moins] in bocal à joint is the rubber ring or gasket that fits onto the lid and makes it possible to seal the jar hermetically by filling it with boiling ingredients and closing it immediately. It becomes vacuum-sealed as it cools. For some ingredients, it's also recommended to boil the jars in water in a canning pot or pressure cooker to make sure everything is sterile.
Couscous "grain" stored in the kitchen in a bocal à joint
Being an optimist, I'm convinced we are going to have a lot of produce from our garden to put up in jars for the winter. Actually, for sauce tomate and confiture (jam) I mostly reuse jelly, pickle, and mustard jars that I've saved after buying such items at the supermarket. They work fine as long as the screw-on lid is in good condition. Most people here reuse old store-bought jars in canning, especially for jams and jellies.
Glass jars with glass lids
The bocaux à joint are safer, and I use them for putting up fruits and vegetables, but we also use them to store all kinds of things — ground coffee, tea bags, rice, dried beans, dried mushrooms, flours, couscous, wheat berries, dried hot peppers — in the kitchen. The rubber ring and the metal band and closure make sure that the jar is tightly closed, whether it has needed sterilizing or not for a particular use.
Jars don't need to be hermetically sealed for dry storage.
To use the jars for actual canning — not just dry storage — you need to replace the rubber ring with a new one each time. The rings are easy to find at the supermarket this time of year. (Joint is also the word for washer — the kind you put in your faucets or garden hose fittings to keep them from dripping.) There's a special tool that makes opening the sealed jars easy — it clamps onto the tab on the rubber ring and you twist it until the ring stretches far enough to break the seal. You can't reuse the stretched-out ring for canning.
This neat tool makes it easy to open the sealed jars.
I'm getting my jars ready for the autumn. I hope I'll be able to fill them all up with good produce that we'll enjoy all winter. The ten one-liter jars in the photos above were a windfall — long story.
02 August 2012
Chores and payoffs
We've just had two nice days for garden work, despite predictions of rain from the weather services. Tant mieux. We've tried to take advantage of good conditions to get outside and get things done.
It's a little strange to be tilling up garden plots in August. Usually all that work is done in April or May. This year, though — almost out of necessity — we'll try to have a fall crop of carrots, white radishes, greens, and chard. If mother nature cooperates, we'll be harvesting in November or even December.
But not all the summer crops are failing, by any means. Neighbors and friends around the area have been telling us that their tomato plants either aren't bearing fruit or that the tomatoes themselves are diseased because of dampness. Ours are doing fine, and we even have a couple of big tomates out there that are starting to turn red — not to mention dozens of green ones that look healthy.
Yesterday afternoon some friends came over for apéritifs and we took them on a garden tour (at their requiest) before they left to drive home. Walt pointed out an aubergine (eggplant) that I hadn't yet seen, and we noticed quite a few poivrons — long sweet peppers and bell peppers — on the plants nearby.
And beans! The long flat Romano beans Walt planted are really bearing fruit right now. They're called haricots cocos plats on the markets and at the supermarkets around Saint-Aignan, and they can be really delicious (and expensive). We picked a pound and a half of them, 700 grams, a couple of days ago, and we're having them for lunch today. That's just the beginning of the payoff from garden work, we hope.
Still tilling up garden plots for planting in August
It's a little strange to be tilling up garden plots in August. Usually all that work is done in April or May. This year, though — almost out of necessity — we'll try to have a fall crop of carrots, white radishes, greens, and chard. If mother nature cooperates, we'll be harvesting in November or even December.
The tomato plot seems to be healthy despite damp conditions.
But not all the summer crops are failing, by any means. Neighbors and friends around the area have been telling us that their tomato plants either aren't bearing fruit or that the tomatoes themselves are diseased because of dampness. Ours are doing fine, and we even have a couple of big tomates out there that are starting to turn red — not to mention dozens of green ones that look healthy.
Thank goodness for the rototiller. Getting it repaired
and serviced in June was a good thing to do.
and serviced in June was a good thing to do.
Yesterday afternoon some friends came over for apéritifs and we took them on a garden tour (at their requiest) before they left to drive home. Walt pointed out an aubergine (eggplant) that I hadn't yet seen, and we noticed quite a few poivrons — long sweet peppers and bell peppers — on the plants nearby.
A first harvest of cocos plats and a few haricots verts
And beans! The long flat Romano beans Walt planted are really bearing fruit right now. They're called haricots cocos plats on the markets and at the supermarkets around Saint-Aignan, and they can be really delicious (and expensive). We picked a pound and a half of them, 700 grams, a couple of days ago, and we're having them for lunch today. That's just the beginning of the payoff from garden work, we hope.
01 August 2012
Visiting with neighbors
"We were invited to dinner by friends on Bastille Day (le 14 juillet) over in Noyers. There were 28 people for dinner, and we sat outside under tents. I wore my scarf, my coat, and my hat all evening. That's how cold it was."
That was our neighbor (age 77 — her birthday was yesterday) last night, telling us about July's weather. She and her husband invited us over for wine and finger foods at the last minute, when Walt walked by their place on his way home after walking the dog. Three of the neighbors' daughters, all in their 40s and 50s, were there, along with one son-in-law and half a dozen grandchildren.
We talked about plants, gardening, and fruit trees. Like ours, the neighbors' apple trees are nearly bare. They have no redcurrants or raspberries this year. There are few pears, they said, and one of their cherry trees died in the big February freeze. The little yellow mirabelle plums are full of worms, they said — usually they give us a big basketful of them in August.
I asked about the little red plums on another tree. Those are the ones I like for making jams and tarts. « Il n'y en a pas », the neighbor said. « Les blaireaux ont tout bouffé. » — "There aren't any. The badgers ate them all." A colony or "clan" of badgers has dug its burrows, called a "sett," down the hill on the other side of the neighbors' property, where a creek runs through a steep-sided, narrow valley.
All the neighbors' children and their spouses know me and Walt, and many of the grandchildren do too. We stayed for a couple of hours, in the midst of all the lively, rapid-fire conversation covering many situations and people we don't know. We were able to keep up and participate. We drank champagne and rosé wine. We ate goat cheese, sausages, radishes, blinis, potato puff-pastry squares, and two desserts (apricot cake and crème caramel).
It was a fine evening. Nine years ago, when we moved to Saint-Aignan, these neighbors would have one or two big parties every summer, with anywhere from 50 to 125 guests for sit-down dinners under big-top tents pitched in their yard. Sometimes they'd be out there until two or three in the morning, singing and dancing. We were invited many times. Now, at age 77 (her) and 82 (him), they've slowed down a little. It was nice to catch up with them one more time.
That was our neighbor (age 77 — her birthday was yesterday) last night, telling us about July's weather. She and her husband invited us over for wine and finger foods at the last minute, when Walt walked by their place on his way home after walking the dog. Three of the neighbors' daughters, all in their 40s and 50s, were there, along with one son-in-law and half a dozen grandchildren.
The neighbors' house and yard seen from our kitchen window
just a couple of minutes ago
just a couple of minutes ago
We talked about plants, gardening, and fruit trees. Like ours, the neighbors' apple trees are nearly bare. They have no redcurrants or raspberries this year. There are few pears, they said, and one of their cherry trees died in the big February freeze. The little yellow mirabelle plums are full of worms, they said — usually they give us a big basketful of them in August.
I asked about the little red plums on another tree. Those are the ones I like for making jams and tarts. « Il n'y en a pas », the neighbor said. « Les blaireaux ont tout bouffé. » — "There aren't any. The badgers ate them all." A colony or "clan" of badgers has dug its burrows, called a "sett," down the hill on the other side of the neighbors' property, where a creek runs through a steep-sided, narrow valley.
All the neighbors' children and their spouses know me and Walt, and many of the grandchildren do too. We stayed for a couple of hours, in the midst of all the lively, rapid-fire conversation covering many situations and people we don't know. We were able to keep up and participate. We drank champagne and rosé wine. We ate goat cheese, sausages, radishes, blinis, potato puff-pastry squares, and two desserts (apricot cake and crème caramel).
Good memories: the neighbors' Bastille Day party in 2003,
a month after we arrived in Saint-Aignan
a month after we arrived in Saint-Aignan
It was a fine evening. Nine years ago, when we moved to Saint-Aignan, these neighbors would have one or two big parties every summer, with anywhere from 50 to 125 guests for sit-down dinners under big-top tents pitched in their yard. Sometimes they'd be out there until two or three in the morning, singing and dancing. We were invited many times. Now, at age 77 (her) and 82 (him), they've slowed down a little. It was nice to catch up with them one more time.
31 July 2012
La noisette et le noisetier
In French a "nut" is a walnut, and the word is noix, pronounced [NWAH]. It's a feminine noun, so you say la noix or une noix. The town across the river from Saint-Aignan is called Noyers [nwah-YAY], which means "walnut trees".
There aren't any walnuts on the tree out in the vineyard where we usually see them at this time of year. In autumn, Callie loves to find them on the ground, crack them open in her mouth, spit out the shells, and eat the nut meat. She'll be disappointed this year. Blame weird weather for the barren nut tree this summer.
There are, however, not many dozens of steps away, some trees/bushes that are covered in "little nuts" ("nutlets"?) or noisettes [nwah-ZEHT], which we call hazelnuts in the U.S., or filberts. In England, they can be called "cobnuts" — but I didn't know that term until I read it a minute ago. In France, the tree — or is it a shrub? — is called a noisetier [nwahz-TYAY] — two syllables — and it's a masculine word like noyer.
The noisetier can also be called a coudrier [koo-dree-AY], and a grove of hazelnut trees is called a coudraie [koo-DRAY], feminine, in France. La Coudraie is the name of a little hamlet in our village, about a kilometer from our own hamlet, and it's a place name that you see frequently around here. Worldwide, the biggest producer of hazelnuts is Turkey (75% of the world's crop). In North America, Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia are big hazelnut producers.
There aren't any walnuts on the tree out in the vineyard where we usually see them at this time of year. In autumn, Callie loves to find them on the ground, crack them open in her mouth, spit out the shells, and eat the nut meat. She'll be disappointed this year. Blame weird weather for the barren nut tree this summer.
An immature hazelnut or noisette
There are, however, not many dozens of steps away, some trees/bushes that are covered in "little nuts" ("nutlets"?) or noisettes [nwah-ZEHT], which we call hazelnuts in the U.S., or filberts. In England, they can be called "cobnuts" — but I didn't know that term until I read it a minute ago. In France, the tree — or is it a shrub? — is called a noisetier [nwahz-TYAY] — two syllables — and it's a masculine word like noyer.
The noisetier can also be called a coudrier [koo-dree-AY], and a grove of hazelnut trees is called a coudraie [koo-DRAY], feminine, in France. La Coudraie is the name of a little hamlet in our village, about a kilometer from our own hamlet, and it's a place name that you see frequently around here. Worldwide, the biggest producer of hazelnuts is Turkey (75% of the world's crop). In North America, Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia are big hazelnut producers.
30 July 2012
Decidedly less pleasant
I woke up at seven, still in semi-darkness, to the sound of big fat raindrops going splat splat splat on the Velux windows. This photo from yesterday morning's walk was a foreshadowing of what was to come.
Bang goes the tilling I planned to do out in the garden this morning. I couldn't do it yesterday because of Sunday noise restrictions in the village. Maybe tomorrow. I guess I'll go defrost the freezer this morning. Feels like a good day for that kind of work.
High temperature today: about 70ºF (21ºC). End of July! Good-bye July; it was nice to know you — but you won't be missed. As I've said, the weather was very pleasant for a couple of days there. Hurry up, August, and play nice.
Bang goes the tilling I planned to do out in the garden this morning. I couldn't do it yesterday because of Sunday noise restrictions in the village. Maybe tomorrow. I guess I'll go defrost the freezer this morning. Feels like a good day for that kind of work.
July goes out like a cold fish.
High temperature today: about 70ºF (21ºC). End of July! Good-bye July; it was nice to know you — but you won't be missed. As I've said, the weather was very pleasant for a couple of days there. Hurry up, August, and play nice.
29 July 2012
Very pleasant
It's 14ºC outside this morning. When Bert came and meowed at the door leading to the terrace at 6:15, I was surprised at how chilly the air felt when I let him in. Yesterday was a very pleasant day — much cooler than the previous days, but still plenty warm.
What Evelyn said in a blog comment yesterday about her daughter's poodle and her own cat really boosted my optimism. Only recently, she said, the poodle has stopped harassing the cat, and that after three years of interaction.
At this point, Callie hasn't quite stopped hovering over Bert and lunging at him, but she has definitely become less crazed about it. Bertie doesn't run away any more; he just hunkers down. I'm hoping that by next summer the two will be friends. Bertie is ready. Callie is mellowing. Please tell me it's possible.
Bertie the black cat is six years old now. That makes him a year older than Callie the border collie. On many recent afternoons, Callie has spent her time down in the utility room, lying on the cool concrete floor staring into the garage. I think she's waiting for Bert to come in.
What Callie hasn't realized on those days is that Bertie is up on the terrace or in the living room with Walt and me. He's getting his human contact while Callie is enjoying some peace, quiet, and coolness on the dog days of summer. Now that temperatures have fallen, that pattern might change.
Bertie posing for the camera
What Evelyn said in a blog comment yesterday about her daughter's poodle and her own cat really boosted my optimism. Only recently, she said, the poodle has stopped harassing the cat, and that after three years of interaction.
The closeup
At this point, Callie hasn't quite stopped hovering over Bert and lunging at him, but she has definitely become less crazed about it. Bertie doesn't run away any more; he just hunkers down. I'm hoping that by next summer the two will be friends. Bertie is ready. Callie is mellowing. Please tell me it's possible.
Attracted by something in the distance
Bertie the black cat is six years old now. That makes him a year older than Callie the border collie. On many recent afternoons, Callie has spent her time down in the utility room, lying on the cool concrete floor staring into the garage. I think she's waiting for Bert to come in.
Things — and cats — are looking up!
What Callie hasn't realized on those days is that Bertie is up on the terrace or in the living room with Walt and me. He's getting his human contact while Callie is enjoying some peace, quiet, and coolness on the dog days of summer. Now that temperatures have fallen, that pattern might change.
28 July 2012
Bertie on the balcony
Bertie the black cat is having a good summer, despite being harassed at every opportunity by Callie the collie. He's spending a lot of time around and in the house now.
Bertie's balcony perch
27 July 2012
Garden report
I have to keep reminding myself that it's not even August yet. With any luck, we've got at least two months of good weather ahead of us. The eggplant flowers will turn into eggplants, the green peppers will turn red, and we'll bring in a good crop of potatoes. We might even get green beans one day soon.
Yesterday afternoon I went out to check on my blackberries and found that some animal had eaten them all! There weren't that many of them — maybe enough to make one pie — so I'm not too disappointed. The vines are growing strong and that's the important thing for the future. I'd been tasting them nearly every day and was waiting for them to sweeten up a little before I picked them. Somebody beat me to it, and I hope it was an animal and not a person.
Callie and I walked in the woods, where it wasn't
quite as hot as it was out in the sun
Lunch yesterday was sardines out of a tin, cold boiled potatoes, coleslaw, and home-made mayonnaise. It was really too hot to cook much else. We don't have air-conditioning in the house, and we don't get enough truly hot weather to justify having it put in. Besides, I hate air-conditioning, if you want to know the truth. We didn't have it in San Francisco, either, because we didn't need it there. The last time I lived in an air-conditioned house was in Washington DC in the mid-1980s.
We did a lot of weeding yesterday morning, before the sun had had time to heat things up too much. We weeded in anticipation of rain today and over the next few days, when temperatures are supposed to fall back to "normal" levels, or even below normal. We'll have highs in the 70s F instead of the high 80s and low 90s. That'll be nice, but I hope we have some more hot weather before the season ends in October.
Waiting for tomatoes to ripen
Yesterday afternoon I went out to check on my blackberries and found that some animal had eaten them all! There weren't that many of them — maybe enough to make one pie — so I'm not too disappointed. The vines are growing strong and that's the important thing for the future. I'd been tasting them nearly every day and was waiting for them to sweeten up a little before I picked them. Somebody beat me to it, and I hope it was an animal and not a person.
Callie and I walked in the woods, where it wasn'tquite as hot as it was out in the sun
Summer skies
Lunch yesterday was sardines out of a tin, cold boiled potatoes, coleslaw, and home-made mayonnaise. It was really too hot to cook much else. We don't have air-conditioning in the house, and we don't get enough truly hot weather to justify having it put in. Besides, I hate air-conditioning, if you want to know the truth. We didn't have it in San Francisco, either, because we didn't need it there. The last time I lived in an air-conditioned house was in Washington DC in the mid-1980s.
Weeded
We did a lot of weeding yesterday morning, before the sun had had time to heat things up too much. We weeded in anticipation of rain today and over the next few days, when temperatures are supposed to fall back to "normal" levels, or even below normal. We'll have highs in the 70s F instead of the high 80s and low 90s. That'll be nice, but I hope we have some more hot weather before the season ends in October.
26 July 2012
A good reading spot, and more digging
No, not "Dick and Jane" or "See Spot run!" Just a nice spot to have a chair, in the shade but with good light, when we have the kind of weather we are having now. The heat encourages sitting still and reading.
Temperatures approaching 35ºC (95ºF) are predicted for this afternoon. And then thunderstorms tomorrow. Yesterday I finished reading As Always, Julia, which is the 1950s correspondence between Julia Child and her friend and publishing advisor Avis DeVoto. Very interesting.
But reading isn't the only activity around here. We got the second plum tree stump out of the ground yesterday. It was harder to dig out than the first one was — it seemed to have more roots anchoring it into the soil. The work required a pitchfork, two shovels, the garden hose, and an axe. And a lot of bug-slapping, grunting, and groaning.
I have wondered since the storm that blew the trees down what it was that made them so vulnerable. It could have been their location near the garden shed and the direction of the wind that February night in 2010. Maybe the strong wind blowing over and around the shed and its roof set up some kind of turbulence that the trees were caught in. I say that, but another plum tree on neighboring land also blew over, and our neighbors lost three apple trees to the wind also.
Whatever — more firewood for the winter, and now we have a place to plant a new tree. We'll buy one from a plant nursery, or maybe two. A cherry tree for sure. What else would be good? Ooh, a cognassier — that's a quince tree.
Temperatures approaching 35ºC (95ºF) are predicted for this afternoon. And then thunderstorms tomorrow. Yesterday I finished reading As Always, Julia, which is the 1950s correspondence between Julia Child and her friend and publishing advisor Avis DeVoto. Very interesting.
Yesterday we dug out another tree stump.
But reading isn't the only activity around here. We got the second plum tree stump out of the ground yesterday. It was harder to dig out than the first one was — it seemed to have more roots anchoring it into the soil. The work required a pitchfork, two shovels, the garden hose, and an axe. And a lot of bug-slapping, grunting, and groaning.
Two stumps that will become firewood
I have wondered since the storm that blew the trees down what it was that made them so vulnerable. It could have been their location near the garden shed and the direction of the wind that February night in 2010. Maybe the strong wind blowing over and around the shed and its roof set up some kind of turbulence that the trees were caught in. I say that, but another plum tree on neighboring land also blew over, and our neighbors lost three apple trees to the wind also.
New cones on the blue spruce tree under which
I've been doing my afternoon reading
I've been doing my afternoon reading
Whatever — more firewood for the winter, and now we have a place to plant a new tree. We'll buy one from a plant nursery, or maybe two. A cherry tree for sure. What else would be good? Ooh, a cognassier — that's a quince tree.
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