End of the heat wave?

I awoke to another early-morning thunderstorm today. It was 5:00 a.m. when the lightning started cracking, and the thunder clapped at a deafening level. The raindrops were so big they sounded like they might be hailstones as they pounded the Velux windows up in the loft space.

I got up and went downstairs to sit with the dog. She seemed less afraid than a week ago when we had a similar, even more violent storm. For now the thunder and lightning have stopped but it's raining — 22 mm, almost an inch, in the rain gauge in about 2 hours' time. It's not yet clear from the weather reports whether this patch of stormy weather spells the end of our heat wave.

Last week, we drove over to a village near the wine town of Bourgueil to meet and spend a couple of hours with two bloggers (not a couple) we had known only in cyberspace up until then. One lives over there with her husband and children, and the other was visiting from America with his wife and children. We left the Bourgueil area at about 9:30 p.m. for the 90-minute drive back to Saint-Aignan on local roads, having decided there was no need to take the fast road called the autoroute.

Click on the pictures to enlarge them.

You can see on the dashboard display that it was 10:03 p.m.
and 23ºC out when I took this picture in Tours.

We drove east along the north bank (the right bank) of the Loire River from Langeais (famous château) to Tours. The drive through the city was pretty, I thought. There was little traffic — it was dinnertime in France — and the light was soft and blue. It doesn't get dark until about 10:30 right now. At one point there was a café full of people along the road, and I snapped a picture. We continued on through Vouvray, Amboise, and Montrichard to Saint-Aignan.

Yesterday we went to spend the afternoon with some American friends who now live just over on the other side of Saint-Aignan from us. We had a mixed grill of French sausages — chipolatas, merguez, boudins noirs, andouillettes — and a chipotle potato salad that was delicious. For dessert, we had ripe juicy peaches and nectarines that were cut in half and lightly charred, cut side down, on the barbecue grill. Succulent is the only word for the result.

I couldn't get close to this butterfly on some lavender
in our back yard, but I managed to get a picture.

Last week our friends received their furniture shipment from the house they've just moved out of, so their "camping" days are over. Their house is beautiful. It's an old Touraine-style farmhouse called a longère — a "long house." It's very different from our tall, square 1960s house.

Today the varnishing recommences at La Renaudière. I think. The weather has cooled down, at least temporarily. It's time to get busy again.

Summer is for enjoying

So I think Bill from New Hampshire was right. He predicted earlier that our attic loft conversion project wouldn't be finished before November 15. Bill, you take the prize, from the look of it. November 15 might turn out to be slightly optimistic. The important thing, though, is that we are sleeping up there now.

Some specialize in photos of French doors and windows.
My specialty seems to be insects on flowers.

It's been too hot to do hard work like sanding and painting, with temperatures in the high 80s and low 90s F — 28 to 32ºC. That's a good excuse, don't you think? But remember — no A/C. Some, nights, sleeping has been uncomfortable. It's been too hot for us to enjoy sitting outside, even under the big-top lawn tent.

My camera is good at getting clear, detailed pictures with
the zoom at long distances. This butterfly wouldn't let
me get close at all. Those are grape leaves.

For the last few days in June, we had company from California. We did a lot in four days: three tours of local quarries now used as mushroom and wine cellars, an afternoon at the château de Chenonceau, and much shopping and cooking. We drove up to a village called Ouchamps, on the way to Blois, to buy some fresh poultry from an abattoir/processing plant. The people in the supermarkets around Saint-Aignan were starting calling us by our nicknames — that's how often they saw us come in.

Our house is the one with the dark brown roof.
The Loire Valley countryside is lush in this season.

Afterward, we were exhausted. Our friends left on Thursday, July 1, and we took the weekend off, to work in the garden and do some more cooking. It was July 4th weekend, after all. Then it was Monday again, and we got an invitation to drive over to a village near the famous wine town of Bourgueil to have drinks with a couple of fellow bloggers. We had been wanting to get to know them in person for a long time. Bourgueil is an hour's drive from Saint-Aignan, on the other side of Tours. So we got home late that night, again tiring us out for a couple of days.

Two of our neighbors' houses are visible in this picture,
plus an outbuilding. The vines await pruning.

Already, it was the Sixth of July, and now here it is the Eleventh, and we still haven't even started sanding, much less painting, the walls of the loft space. And we haven't even started varnishing the stairs either, partly because I'm afraid the varnish might not dry properly in this hot weather. Again, a good rationalization, don't you think?

This nice stand of daisies was here when we arrived seven
years ago, and it blooms faithfully every year.

Tomorrow, the high temperature is predicted to be 22ºC — that's the low 70s F — with rain. The recommendations on the tins of varnish say it is best applied at 20ºC. That seals it, as it were — tomorrow I'll start varnishing the staircase and banisters.

Callie the collie loves finding pulled-out vine stumps
on her walks and carrying them home.

A week from today I'll be taking the train to Paris for a week-long adventure with an old friend (don't take that the wrong way, CHM — by old, I mean un ami de très longue date). More about that when the time comes.

This is Callie's version of begging
waiting patiently for a morning walk.

Meanwhile, I'm posting some photos taken during walks with the dog over the past few days. Remember that you can click on the pictures to see them at a larger size.

Blue-foot mushrooms

I had never heard of blue-foot mushrooms before we moved to Saint-Aignan. They are one of the four or five varieties of mushrooms grown in the old limestone quarry tunnels at La Cave des Roches in Bourré, near Saint-Aignan and Montrichard.

Blue-foot mushrooms in a glass display case
at the Cave des Roches — not very blue-footed

In the past, the mushrooms produced here in the Loire Valley were mainly what are called in French « champignons de Paris » — "button" mushrooms. This standard variety was first grown commercially in the network of old quarry tunnels that lies under the city of Paris; hence the name.

This jar of champignons pieds bleus cost 6.50 €

Now the Cave des Roches grows several other varieties, including both brown and yellow oyster mushrooms, shitakes, and blue-foots. They sell them to chefs at high-end restaurants in France, Britain, the U.S., and elsewhere, who want something less run-of-the-mill than button mushrooms.

The label says to cook the blue-foots with butter, garlic,
and parsley on low heat for 10 to 15 minutes.

Look at this Google search result. One page listed here says the blue-foot is too mild-tasting to be interesting, and another says it is so strong-tasting that it can overpower your palate. We've eaten them twice in the past week, and our palates haven't been overwhelmed. The cooked pieds-bleus are crunchier than cooked button mushrooms, but they don't have a lot more flavor.

On these cooked pieds-bleus right out of the jar,
you can see the blue stems.

"Crunchy" isn't the right word, of course, but I can't find a word to describe the texture. I kind of like it, but I'm not sure Walt does — he says they are slimy as well. He says he prefers champignons de Paris. Eating a pied-bleu is a little like eating a crunchy cornichon or dill pickle — I'm talking only about texture, not taste. The blue-foot is not tender, soft, or mushy, that's for sure.

This is a gratuitous photo of our vegetable garden this year.

Click on the picture to see it full-size.

We probably won't be rushing over to Bourré to buy more pieds-bleus any time soon. But I think I will go over there and buy some oyster mushrooms (pleurottes in French), both the yellow and the gray kinds. I'm sure I've eaten them before but it's time to try them again.

Thunderstorms and a heat wave

In Saint-Aignan we had two strong thunderstorms during the night. The first one came through at about 11:00 p.m. It was spectacular, with bright lightning and loud thunder, along with a few minutes of heavy rain. It wasn't particularly scary, just exciting.

Then at about 4:00 a.m. I was awakened by a crack of sharp lightning close to the house, and an immediate thunder clap that literally rattled the roof tiles over our heads. We're still getting used to sleeping in the new space upstairs, right under the roof. I got up at 4:15 and went downstairs to make sure the dog wasn't too afraid. She won't come upstairs yet, so she was alone. And she was afraid, I could tell.

I lay down on the sofa for a while, with Callie on the floor right beside me. I kept my hand on her back to keep her calm as the thunder and lightning continued for the better part of an hour, gradually diminishing in intensity here as the storm moved off to the northeast. Then I dozed off.

When I woke up again at 6:45, I turned on Télématin to see the news and weather reports. The electricity promptly flickered off, causing the satellite decoder to reboot itself. That takes three or four minutes, but it had come back on before time came for the weather report. I was glad I hadn't yet turned my computer on.

At about 5:00 a.m., a car drove by, headlights beaming, headed down the hill toward the center of the village. That would surely have been our neighbor the mayor, going to work to make sure there was no damage from the violent storms. I hope there was no damage.

Yesterday the authorities declared an official « canicule », or heat wave, in three areas: Paris and its suburbs; Alsace including Strasbourg and the surrounding territories; and Lyon and the Rhône département where it's located. A canicule means that high temperatures are supposed to be 35ºC (95ºF) or above for three days or longer, with low temperatures around or above 20ºC/70ºF during the same period.

Remember, people don't have air conditioning in France. And they have a deep-rooted, long-held fear of getting ill from the nefarious effects of « courants d'air » — drafts. So they don't go in for cross-ventilation. They — especially older people — tend to close themselves up in their houses or apartments, with windows shut against the hot air and shutters closed to block out the hot sun. Then they suffocate, or get so hot that dehydration becomes nearly inevitable.

Remember also that a lot of older French people don't really believe in drinking tap water — the days when the local water was not safe to drink are not that distant. Or they just forget to drink water. The TV reports are constantly reminding people to "hydrate" themselves. In 2003, thousands of older people died from heat exhaustion when we experienced a canicule that lasted for many weeks.

Walt and I believe in opening the windows wide when it's hot. Our house is almost completely exposed to the hot afternoon sun, and the walls aren't very thick. We lower shutters to block out the sun, at least partially, but not such that no air can get in. It's about 70ºF this morning and very muggy. Now it just started raining again, so we have to close the house back up. At least the place has had a chance to cool down slightly.

Our neighbors across the street — he's 80 and she's about 75 — close their shutters up tight every night, even when it's very hot outside. Maybe their old house, with its thick stone walls, stays cooler than ours does. I hope so. This morning, their cleaning lady is here — I see her car — so I know that someone is checking up on them. They are in good health and very young and modern for their age, anyway.

This weather is supposed to stay with us for the next three or four days. We'll see. It's good for the garden, I think.