Incremental Improvements

My daughter and I sometimes swap words that either make our skin crawl or that make us giggle or are ones that we love. Some of her worst ones are "bruising" and "tender" and one of my favourite words is "incremental". Don't ask me why but somehow it rolls off my tongue on the very rare occasions that I have the chance to use it.

So what has happened to make me even think of my favourite word? Maybe it is the fact that I have realised that every day, we delay a further five minutes before closing the wooden shutters in the evening, thus closing out the last of the daylight. Perhaps it is the increase in the depth of the excellent compost in the huge bin in the back garden, or the number of birds coming into the garden or that we are noticing the earlier arrival of the first rays of sun that tip the trees along the back of our property. Every day there are more grape hyacinths coming into flower and today we realised that we should have five narcissus blooms open by tomorrow.

I don't even know if "incremental" is the correct word to use for most of these scenarios, but I do know that suddenly there is more and more of the good stuff going on. We sat out in the courtyard at lunchtime, and while Jean barbequed some marinaded pork chops to perfection, I gave my Valentines Day cyclamen a nice big pot to expand into. While working, first I shed my tracksuit top and then I rolled up the sleeves on my flannel shirt before shedding it completely. Clad only in my short sleeved thermal vest, I realised that our suntrap was working overtime and that it is just about time to start re-organising my wardrobe.

For five years in Florida, we never had to wear anything warmer than a light sweater in January, but for the past two months, we have been lumbering about in endless layers, thick socks and solid shoes. Now it is time to unearth the tee shirts, dig out the shorts and do something about our lily white legs. I know that we are not supposed to risk removing a single layer of clothing until the end of March, but quite honestly I can't see myself working in the garden in my current kit of tracksuit pants, snow boots and an indeterminate number of upper layers.

I spent a very pleasant hour today lying in my hammock which is now suspended under the bay trees reading a fascinating manuscript given to me by the artist Barbara Robinson. All I had to do was to reach out a push on the branch next to me to set the hammock rocking gently. The neighbourhood dogs were taking a lunchbreak from barking and the passing village traffic had stilled while everyone had his knees under a table somewhere or other. The sun filtered down through the rustling bay leaves, and if I watched really closely, I am sure I could see the grass growing.

I know we might still get a cold snap, and although we made our own grow bag today and put in six tomato plants, I did fix them up with a cosy little frost blanket in case the night air was a bit chilly for them. I have already shed one blanket from the pile on the bed and we have stopped putting the heater on at night or warming up the bathroom before undertaking morning ablutions.

Spring is no longer being waited for impatiently - the incremental lengthening of the day, the shortening of the night, the increase in temperature, the appearance of the blossom and the softness of the air all lead us to believe that maybe winter is losing its grip and the French countryside is bursting back into life. No wonder it is one of my favourite words.

Looking back and Looking Forward

OK, I may not be Angelina, or Madonna or any number of women that I could name, who, if they were about to hit sixty, would be preparing lavish parties, wildly expensive holidays, booking appointments with plastic surgeons and reserving weeks at a health farm. But that's all right, because I have just skidded from the fifties into a nice neat sixty, and if today is a foretaste of how it is going to be, I can highly recommend it.

I can clearly recall my 40th birthday while still living in South Africa. A group of friends and family gathered at our lakeside holiday house, and as the wine flowed, the music played and the pace of dancing picked up, the full moon laid a path of silver from the range of hills behind the lake, right cross the water to our doorstep. I can still hear the voices of a group of girlfriends yelling "It's Raining Men" as a few lonely university guys wandered along to join in the fun.

Where did the intervening twenty years go? Sadly my marriage of 20 years ended, but Jean and I met, and together we embarked on rebuilding a derelict farm in South Africa while discovering whether or not our budding relationship had a chance of survival. My children left school and training and went off on their various adventures and the situation on our remote farm became more and more dangerous. It was time to leave Africa, and we flew back to England where we spent three years trying unsuccessfully to convince ourselves that it was where we wanted to be. A chance meeting resulted in us spending the next five years in Florida following which, we decided that we had spent enough time dodging hurricanes and longing for rising ground, and we returned to our European roots and moved to France.

I woke up this morning and saw the sunshine peeping in through the wooden shutters, and taking my courage in both hands, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and looked for signs that somehow overnight I had left the 50's and slid into the 60's. No change. My hair still stood on end, there was the usual crease down one side of my face from having slept so well, and my standard outfit of pink furry slippers and warm dressing gown were hiding signs that anything had slipped any further south.

An exciting pile of cards with postage stamps from a variety of countries awaited me, and I had only just finished opening them when the phone started ringing. My children in Australia had phoned with messages of love and encouragement, and my grandson James who believes in telling it like it is assured me that "60 is pretty old Granny". My mother who had been so ill over Christmas phoned me with real strength in her voice and pride in her daughter who had travelled so many paths through life to get this far.

Jean, as always, was wonderful and the day was a succession of treats, not the least of which was a visit to our local boulangerie for delicious deserts. A quick check up with the doctor confirmed that I was in the pink, and although she didn't actually kick my tyres, Jean reckoned that I had passed my MOT and was good to go. We spent two happy hours gardening this afternoon and suspended the hammock between two of the bay tree trunks. I can see myself spending some very happy hours here with a good book and a glass of something cool.

So is being sixty scary? Absolutely not as far as I am concerned. Am I looking forward to 70? Not just yet, because with my track record, I probably have quite a lot to do in the next ten years. But for now, I am incredibly grateful to all those wonderful people who have helped me make it this far, and to all of those who have made this day so special.

Sacristans and Lavender

Sacristans in all their icing sugar glory


The vegetable plants are starting to encourage the French gardeners



An endless choice of fresh herbs for kitchen and garden

A busy, and occasionally a slightly confusing day. The sun was absent this morning which meant that we were not lured from our bed as bright and early as would normally be the case. I then had to wash my hair and since we had various social visits to make, I thought I ought to do battle with my horrendously curly hair and I covered my head in rollers. It then occurred to me that I had wanted to phone my daughter in Australia and of course I couldn't get the headphones on in order to use Skype.

Time to go out into the garden and see how the transplanted bunch of bulbs were settling in. It was probably just as well that they were in for a cooler day, but so far so good and they are all standing to attention and looking perky, so here's hoping they will come into flower. Jean did stirling work and finished snapping all the smaller twigs from the bay hedge into pieces that would fit into the barbeque for starter fuel, and then it was time to get organised and head off to the Lunel market.

We always tell ourselves that we are only going to the market to look at the plant section which is well worth a visit, but of course, our first port of call was the bread stall. Fear gripped me as we approached and I could see that stocks were running low, but mercifully there was still a stack of delicious sacristans left, and we purchased four of them before they disappeared. For the uninitiated, sacristans are foot long twists of puff pastry, embedded with slivers of toasted almond and thickly dusted with icing sugar.

The great thing about French markets is that so many people wander around with icing sugar spattered down their jerseys, or fingers shiny from popping olives into their mouths, or peppered with crumbs from the crispy end of a baguette being sneakily bitten off, that nobody worries much. The only difficulty arises, when one is standing guard over a mound of extremely cheap lavender plants while trying to gobble down the last six inches of sacristan in order to dig out the euros, before someone else grabs the bargain first.

Laden with our purchases and feeling rather stuffed with sacristans, we drove up the steep range of hills behind Lunel and headed north to Ledignan for tea, pausing for a chilly picnic en route. The view across the valleys towards Nimes was dotted with tiny villages and winding roads and all it needed was a wash of sunshine and the dotted colours of early blossom. Apart from a few brave mimosas, everything else is poised on the very edge of bursting into colour but another week of this welcome warmer weather, and the white of the almond blossom and the first flush of green on the willow trees will convince us that winter is finally behind us.

We made our way back home via the little village of Bonsel where a friend of ours has bought a fascinating old house that was once a thriving winery. Stone archways, cool cellars, views out over an old vineyard and the prospect of warm summers enjoyed from her terrace only served to confirm what we have already known for some time. Life in the countryside in France is filled with so many delights and a constant stream of things to look forward to and to enjoy, and as our circle of friends extends, we find our pleasure is increased by sharing it.

Resting On Our Laurels

In actual fact, we have just spent a very contented hour resting under our laurels rather than on them. The old stone wall in the back garden has been completely cleared and now creates the most wonderful windbreak, and the sun bounces off it and provides us with much needed warmth.

I checked out the old compost bin at the top of the back garden this morning, and low and behold there was the most amazing crop of grape hyacinths growing in among the horse manure. No point in leaving them there, so I dug out a shallow pit in the newly cleared part of the garden and lowered the whole chunk of bulbs and compost straight in. Here's hoping they provide us with a good display and don't get confused at having moved house so close to flowering time.

We went our local large branch of Leroy Merlin this morning; that purveyor of all things horticultural and household - and there was a definite feeling that the end of hibernation was at hand among the customers. Despite a chilly wind blowing up from the coast, people were purchasing bags of potting mix and fertiliser; trolleys were laden with shiny new garden tools and there were more people gazing at the seed packets than there were in the electric light bulb section. The "Green Men" as we tend to call the generous number of staff who seem to know everything, were being rushed off their feet helping customers find hosepipe fittings, garden fence posts and new blades for lawnmowers. Even here in what should be a relatively balmy neck of the woods, we are all fed up with a long and unusually cold winter, and it is time to look forward to all the delights of the Spring season.

One addition to the front garden is a split bamboo screen. I fear that Postman Pat might not take too kindly to seeing me in dressing gown and curlers, and our kitchen window is rather exposed to the passing commuters en route to Montpellier. While waiting for the oleander bushes to fill out and create a natural fence, we are closing ourselves in a bit, thus fitting in with every other house in the village. I can honestly say that ours is about the only house that it is possible to see from the road, and just about every other building, from the smallest of cottages to the grandest of mansions is cut off from its neighbour and from passers-by with high walls, thick foliage and heavy gates. Having been used to the open plan front gardens of America, it is strange to see the French hiding themselves away, and it makes rubber-necking a rather fruitless pastime.

We only close the shutters at about 6.30 now and find that we are making do with less and less indoor heating. Gone are the slothful mornings when we stayed curled up in bed until 9am, and it is no longer possible to ignore the chinks of bright sunlight that find their way in through the wooden shutters and thick curtains. Once the real warmth starts, the house becomes somewhere to sleep and keep our clothes, and we will spend most of our time out in the garden or sitting on the terrace working on our laptops. We have cleaned out the old original barbeque and yesterday Jean cooked some delicious sausages on it, using dead wood that we had cut from the laurel hedge. From now on cooking outside becomes a most inventive and pleasant way of preparing the midday meal.

It is my 60th birthday this week and we are planning a festive lunch which is being delayed for a couple of weeks to ensure that the sun has continued gaining in warmth. The boules court has been swept and the gauntlet has been thrown down. The pastis is waiting to be opened and we are ready to face all challenges!

A You Tube video of the garden

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNcVkMc2mvw

Check out the video and you can see the back garden plus Jean labouring away!

Photos of the gardening developments

The stone block in position



The stone block in use!



Firing up the barbeque for the first time in years

Jean unearthed this board from the back of the woodshed along with the old original blue shutters. There must have been a good market for cherries way back when!

Springing Into Action

The courtyard poised and ready for action


The wall we never knew we had



The haircut commences




Jean doing stirling work

It is official; we have just sat out in the courtyard in the warm sunshine and eaten sausages for lunch that were cooked on the old barbeque in the corner of the garden. This is a first for all sorts of reasons. It is our first barbeque of the year, it is the first time that the old barbeque has been used for the best part of five years, and it is the first time we have been in France in February.

The onset of slightly warmer weather sent me scuttling out to the tool shed to unearth the secetaurs, the garden rake and the wheelbarrow. All along the right hand side of the back garden, we have a thick laurel hedge, and despite the fact that Jean said many years ago, he was co-opted by a family member to try and dig it out, burn it, poison it and generally do away with it, the hedge has thrived. Having cut away all the growth up to a height of about six feet, I then had to contend with heaps and heaps of bay leaves. I counted no less than twenty wheelbarrow loads that I carted away and we have the most fragrant compost heap imagineable. I posted a couple of dozen leaves off to my dear friend Maggie in England, but apart from hanging up a large bunch to dry off, there is little point in trying to dispose of the rest in any other fashion.

Now that we have extended the width of the garden by about six feet, we realised that there was a lovely old stone wall hidden behind the laurel hedge which gives protection from the sneaky north wind and provides a perfect spot to sit with a book on a sunny afternoon before the real heat begins. However, perfect spots need somewhere to balance a tea tray, so we joined forces and rolled the most enormous cut stone block from the back of the garden into position. We now have English neighbours not too far away and this being half term, they were all out in the garden with their children. They must have been slightly puzzled to hear the two of us swapping Anglo Saxon expletives and grunting and groaning, but eventually the rock was in place and we took turns in sitting on it to catch our breath.

We are planning a party at the beginning of March and it has occurred to me that we have four sets of boules in the garage just waiting to be played with. With the application of the garden rake and wheelbarrow, I have cleared the space for a game or two, and we can easily balance the bottle of pastis on the stone block. One certainly cannot have boules without pastis, and if anything it improves the throwers abilities even though it can make spotting the little cochonnet or small wooden ball, a trifle difficult at times.

Doors and windows have all been left open today and the first thing I heard this morning when I opened the wooden shutters, was a wood pigeon singing in the trees behind the house. Even he sounded as though he had taken off his woolly scarf and was making a good job of welcoming the onset of Spring.