I suppose everyone has their own version of dead wood. Stuff accumulates, it’s probably part of the law of Inertia. Not too consequential if you’re just clearing out a junky closet. But when the inertia has descended onto several acres over 40 years, it gives one pause. The hilltop across the valley has been an eyesore for longer than we care to remember. The real shame of it is that the grove of acacia trees – so valuable for their hard wood, intoxicating perfume, and bee-attracting flowers – has been devastated by the fatal appetites of mistletoe and thorn bushes. […]
Hearth
34 posts
Dark of winter. Dark when you rise, dark when you come in from chores. I ran into a neighboring farmer this week. He works with his mother now because as a family of two they can do the work of five paid employees. It’s how many small producers survive. He lamented his divorce: “In family agriculture we live by a different rhythm from the rest of society. By the seasons, by the sun, moon, the sap rising or falling, the needs of the animals. Income is a worry, but at least we believe in our work. Sometimes this is impossible […]
A kind reader pointed out that “Move to the Farm” needed an ending – a glimpse of the house at Stone’s Edge. So I shyly submit…
It has taken three years and we’re far from finished. But lock, stock and barrels, we have now officially moved to the farm. A hundred years ago John’s great-uncle bought this land on a hilltop, with its enchanting chateau on the river below. It was handed down to successive generations, and during the lifetime of his parents, family life in the big house made sense. When they died that logic seemed to evaporate. Some of the current descendents are separated by an ocean and the joint maintenance of a far-away petit chateau turned out to be more than blood alone […]
We always called her the Big House. The locals called it Le Chateau. As of this week it is the house that belongs to that nice family with two cute little boys. So I’ve taken my last look from the window. The children have walked the creaky floorboards, breathed in the reassuring aroma of our old room, closed up the iconic red portail for the last time. We’ve bid farewell to the fair lady. And tried to come to closure. It’s one thing to say goodbye to the stones and mortar one has loved and lived. Parting with the ephemera […]
“Everything” now is about preparation for harvest. Parcel inspections, maturity tests, last minute trimming… cleaning vats and tubes, dry runs of pumps and cooling systems, organizing equipment and helpers… In the midst of “everything” it is an astounding fruit year. We’ve been blessed by an extraordinary season’s end: sunny, warm, dry, breezy – perfect. And thus, more everything just came in around the harvest moon: wild peaches, figs, hazelnuts, pears, some of the apples… Even the oaks could be heard in the night silence, releasing their acorns like pensive, fertile drops of rain. Time of abundance. We have to […]
The English cousin called it a golden thread. The filament that brings them all back each year, to this place, to each other. They’ve known each other since they were toddlers. Our children, the neighbors from Carbonneau, scattered friends, the English cousins… They’ve been playing Marco Polo in the deep end of the pool since they could swim. Years of kayak rides down the Dordogne, croquet in the afternoons, “Deux-Cent-Un” around the old trees at dusk… Now in their twenties, they bring along girlfriends and boyfriends to play, toasting après-game with a glass of wine on the terrace. All year long […]
Friday I handed over the apartment keys, last vestige of city life, and boarded the train out of Paris. The end of four decades as city dwellers: living, loving and leaving a succession of homes in Washington DC, Philadelphia, New York, Brussels, London and Paris. In some ways we’ve “bet the farm” to get here. But more accurately, we’re betting on the farm to get us somewhere else. Sometimes places turn out to be vehicles that help us experience something we need to live. It now appears we need to live the farm. Of course there’s a pretty side to […]
When the children were small we started a ritual. Since their favorite fairy tales were mostly about dreams coming true, I wanted to help them make their dreams come true. So we started a Wish Box. That first year we rode our bikes to the Thames in the dark, lit candles, read a poem. Warm cinnamon cider from a thermos for them, brandy in a flask for us. We breathed our wishes into the river. At home we wrote them down on little index cards, packed them in a chocolate box we decorated, closed the box, breathed and wished hard. Ate […]