Tis the bleak midwinter

We knew that south west France had extremes of temperature.

We had been warned that the summers could get very hot (and we had first-hand experience of the high 30s whilst tiling the roof) and the winters could get very cold.... but we weren't quite prepared for how cold....

It has been between -8 and -13 degrees every night for the past 10 days.

We had a 6 inch snowfall that will not melt, as daytime temperatures remain below -3 degrees....

And we are waging an anti-freeze war inside the house; an extra jacket for the water heater; extra lagging for the waste pipes and every day we take the heaters down to the cellar to defrost the pipes that have frozen again overnight.  The paint has frozen in the barns, and even our trusty JCB has now frozen and burst a hose!

But when the sun shines the Dordogne looks amazing under a thick layer of snow and ice...

The snug stone houses with the chimneys smoking..

And the bare plum orchards....

And even our own potager looks stunning buried under a thick layer of snow, against the clear blue sky.....

Christmas in the Dordogne

Christmas and New Year were very different down here in Dordogne.  I have always enjoyed the build up to Christmas; the mounting excitement at work, the ever-growing list of parties and the spectacular light displays throughout London.  But as the lead-up to Christmas started so early, it was easy to become tired of the commercialism before the actual day had arrived.   We usually flew out to Canada mid December to spend the festive season in the Rockies, playing in the snow, ice skating on the lakes and avoiding the crowds.

I expected Christmas in rural France to be quieter and more traditional, but I was not anticipating how beautiful it could be.  We visited Sarlat, a mediaeval town less than an hour from us, and the cobbled old town was stunning...

The Christmas lights were subtle, and the place was almost deserted, with most people heading for the Christmas market at the lower end of the old town - a warren of small wooden cabins selling crafts, mulled wine and local gourmet food.   We preferred to wander round the empty streets soaking in the atmosphere, and imagining Christmases of years gone by...

We spent Christmas Eve in Bergerac, which is as beautiful as Sarlat in our opinion.  The old town was buzzing, shops were all open, the traditional red carpet had been laid between the shops and the Marché de Noël was in full swing.  Although there were more people, the focus seemed to be on socialising - enjoying mulled wine in the streets, chatting with friends and enjoying the music.  There was little evidence of the mad crush to buy last minute presents in the pre-Christmas frenzy we had seen so often in London, and the reason we used to seek the peace of the mountains in Canada.

In the stone farmhouse, that we are using temporarily as a home before renovating it - temperatures had started to drop dramatically, and the metre thick stone walls, and uninsulated roof and floors were devouring any heat from two small radiators.  So a lucky find on Lebancoin (the online market the french use in preference to Ebay) meant that we became the proud owners of an old Godin woodburner - a large double door version which can be used with the doors open  to really enjoy the heat and flames.

Christmas Day was spent in front of the logburner and a huge stack of oak logs, enjoying the warmth with plenty of good food and wine..... perfect.

Season of Mists

Misty mornings make Autumn a beautiful time of year,

And turn our east-facing fields into a magical place....

I remember misty mornings from the car window in England.  The 5 am alarm call; the instant coffee whilst checking my briefcase, and that first step out into the cold dark morning;  all vivid memories of my former life.  The darkness would gradually lighten part way around the M25, and I would glimpse the mist laying in the fields, in between taking calls and studying the presentation I was due to give that day.  It was a snapshot, an image of something that had no connection to me and my life, but something beautiful that made me smile.

Now I no longer wake in the dark, I have no alarm clock, and I rise with the sun. If the mist is rolling across the fields, I have the time to go outside with a freshly brewed coffee and take photos of the day as it unfolds.  It is one of the biggest luxuries that my new life affords me, and one of the things that I never want to compromise going forward.

The Seasons are Changing

A beautiful sunrise heralds another day down on the farm in Dordogne...

It still amazes me that it is now mid October, and yet the temperature remains hovering around 24 degrees in the afternoon, and the sun continues to  shine.

We had a white hot August, with little rain and temperatures up into the late 30s for much of the month.  The sunflowers bloomed and then crisped on the stalks; the fields cracked and the rivers evaporated into streams.  The shutters of the stone houses remained shut, leaving the villages looking deserted to the bemused visitors....

... whilst the locals stayed cool inside the metre thick walls of their old houses, only stepping out in the relative cool of the evening to chat over dinner on the terracotta tiled terraces.











September cooled slightly, taking the temperatures down to a more comfortable 30 - 35 degrees, and still the sun shone and the rain remained absent.  The farmers returned to the fields, and the harvest activity gathered pace.  The sunflowers were gathered in, having been allowed to dry, the beautiful golden faces now drooping and brown..

The mechanical harvesters rumbled through the plum orchards; side by side the machines rolled slowly through the avenues of trees;  one shaking and one collecting the tumbling fruit.  As they progressed into the distance, the gentle shake of the topmost branches marked their gentle progress.

And as we have gradually moved into October, the activity has slowed.  The last cut has been made to the fields, and the hay bales have been slowly gathered in.  The huge water pipes and reels have been loaded back on to trailers, and trundled back to the farms, and the last loads of tobacco leaves and maize have been taken back for drying.

In this part of france, there is a special cadence to the seasons - a rhythm that I had been barely aware of, whilst back in England.  Maybe it is because I spent so much of my time in concrete and steel offices under harsh artifical lights, or queuing in thick knots of traffic, but I don't remember the clarity of each season.

Maybe it is the passage of the farmers in this rural landscape that provide the tempo, the landscape that provides the harmony, or maybe I just have the time now to smell, see and hear the clarity of the music.