Newspapers declare that time in Aquitaine has stopped.
Unlike the other glorious seasons, winter here is on the whole mostly mud and comfortingly unremarkable. So we were unprepared for this unusually fierce cold snap; weeks of sub zero, broken pipes, snow that doesn’t melt, ice. Without salt or sand, we’re using cinders from the fireplace for traction on the driveway, but the hilly road is impassable.
We hike through the woods to the village for bread. Wrapped in silence, over ice covered creeks, crossing animal tracks. From deeper in the brush comes a mysterious sound like faint elfish bells. It takes a moment to register. Invisible children’s laughter.
Neighbors are on foot. With time stopped we have time to catch up. Now I know what baby has been born, who is sick, who has died. As we chat I expect complaints about the effect of this cold spell on arthritic joints and aching backs.
But we’re met instead with a litany of thanks. The locals pray each year for a period of cold that will freeze and harden the earth. They know nature needs a deep freeze to kill the pests that ravage the trees and crops. We’re advised from the oldest that when it breaks we’ll be able to prune the roses and flowering trees, only a fool does it earlier. They note our shepherd dog has grown a second coat, he’s never been inside a house, he can sleep in the snow. The only lament is that our human bodies aren’t so quick to adapt. They state shamelessly that hibernating isn’t just for animals and when they get back home they’ll eat cabbage and lardons and take a long nap in front of the fire.
Months ago, when we carted in the last of the fruit, the sight of the empty orchard filled me with sadness. The swallows had flown off like our summer friends, signaling mud and frost ahead. The man said don’t be silly. Mother Nature is exhausted, she loves her winter rest while time stops. Cold is an old friend.
