Snowed in or Living it Up

 

 

 

 

Waking up the next morning was a delight. Completely forgotten was last night uncomfortable feeling of being snowed in. We truly were lost in wonder. A largely unusual, dazzling and rather exotic landscape was stretching out before our bewitched eyes.

S.P.’s phone rang. It was V., his childhood friend, who had settled down in Brittany a couple of years before. V. is a very experienced snowboarder whose only regret after moving definitely to Brittany is being so far away from the Alps.

“We all are very busy”, he said. “But this is something so unusual that I vote for a snowboarding session at Les Tertres. I brought my snowboard over when I moved from Paris."

Where then? Well, in the meadow that slopes down along the garden and ends on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the beach.

Why not?

In brief, we’d have only one snowboard handy but we could convert one of our many wakeboards into a sled… This is called being resourceful. Now the only problem we had was finding the right and very warm clothes to have fun in the deep snow for a few hours!  

It was sunny and yet much colder than the night before. We have no mountain/snow gear in Brittany for a very good reason. We had to be inventive, adding up layers of sweaters, slipping on waterproof boating pants over our regular pants and for lack of anything better, we put on very old pairs of snowboarding socks (meant to end as polishing stuff for ages). The brilliant finishing touches were rubber boots for some of us…

V. arrived without further delay, on foot and carrying his snowboard. He doesn’t live very far away but the narrow road was blocked by snowdrifts. Snowdrifts 800 meters from the beach!

He insisted on wearing a mask since he is a very active sea rescuer and does a lot of training in teams even in wintertime. Remember, those were harsh Covid times.
 

Our first move was to pack down the powder snow and make a couple of ski runs of sorts. Snowboarding is a very serious undertaking. No ski-lifts though, which is something that our V. remarked upon when tasked with the chore of preparing the grounds. There were several tries. And then we all had a field day that lasted for a few hours!

 

 

 

We weren't snowed in for too long. Within three days, roads were cleared, naturally of course. The coastal part of Brittany is not really well-equipped with snowploughs, etc. Which is not hard to understand  with one snowstorm every fifty years or more. But with such a drastic climate change though, snowstorms may become more and  more common - routine maybe. 

 

This snowy episode which really took us off guard will be one of our best memories from Les Tertres, especially in Covid times. We were very close to a third national lockdown and we had no idea of what life would be like for months to come. 

 

Carpe diem!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Good Night and Good Luck* 

 

 

 

Didn't it Snow , Children... Didn't it, Didn't it, Didn't it... Didn't it Snow?

 

 

 

“She” sent a message from faraway lands. “I am packing for good. Will I need my snow boots?” He had a good chuckle over it. She had never enjoyed the snowy winters in Boston. Wasn’t she lucky to spend her first European winter in Brittany where it never snows, at least where we are living - by the sea and with the Gulf Stream floating around our coast!

So the answer was no. No need to bring her snow boots. Those would wait until the following winter in London… maybe…

New Year’s Eve surprised us with a flurry of snowflakes which vanished within the next hour… 

Fall and early winter had been exceptionally warm and wet. So wet that torrents of rainwater flowing from the fields had dug deep canyons on the beach below our house, something that was hard to believe and even harder to cross during our daily walks.

 

Then it became sunnier and much colder. "She" was a brave soldier but one could easily see that she was missing the Indian scorching heat.

On the 8th of February, our national weather forecast sent out a heavy snow warning for our coastal area… which it kept repeating every hour. Strange! We usually shrug off most of those warnings. Météo France has lost its credibility ever since 1999 when our meteorologists didn’t even realise that France was going to be hit by a serious hurricane. Plus heavy snow on a coastal area, who could believe it?

On the 9th, it started snowing in the early morning hours. A few snowflakes here and there… By noon, the skies were darkening and we were heading right into a real snowstorm, the kind of which most Britons had probably never seen in Brittany. On the ground, the dusting had turned into a thin blanket of snow. A few hours later, it was metamorphosing into a rather thick comforter everywhere.

We kept shrugging it off. By the end of the day, it was bound to stop and melt at least in our area. We live right above the beach for goodness sake and this is Brittany, not New England!

Guess what? The snowstorm did not abate. Not at all and a strong northern wind started to blow. The sea could hardly be seen but it was rumbling at the bottom of the cliff.

Around 5 pm, we couldn’t resist to brave the snowstorm (even though we were so ill-equipped). The wind was biting and temperatures were falling and heading below freezing point. But out we went. 

 

 

We wanted to take a short walk around the garden, which was very daring! We start swimming quite early in the season and our natural pond is not heated of course but taking a walk during a snowstorm fueled by a nasty northern wind, this was eccentric and maybe raving madness!

 

 

We ended up being very surprised by the thickness of the blanket of snow stepped up by the wind in some areas. The snow was already sticking to the plants which were bending beneath its weight. It was an amazing sight. Beautiful but worrisome. Plants, bushes and trees, they all looked so pitiful... and cold!

 

 

Because we had never done such a crazy thing in such a long time, we started building a snowman. We enjoyed every minute of it of course, feeling so young again… and wondering how many snowmen we had ever built considering the places where we had been spending most winters in our life!

Our snowman was great! Tall and fat. I have to admit it lacked decorations - no carrot-nose, no scarf, no real smile. A victim to a dire lack of time. It was getting dark and honestly, did we, being grown-ups after all,  did we really need a fancy snowman? Plus we were convinced that it would collapse pretty soon over the lawn which was already breaking out wherever we had used the blanket of snow to handcraft the three balls… It might even disappear during the night, not running away of course but melting exactly the way its fellow creatures depart every winter. No exception granted to a snowman from Les Tertres…

And then we went back in. We took off most of our layers. A nice fire was roaring in the fireplace but no chestnuts roasting there. (Not really Breton!)

I remember we settled down on the couch to sip a nice cup of Rooibos. It was completely dark outside and we had no idea nor any desire to open the door nor a window to check if it was still snowing.

“Mañana será otro día”, said Popeye, reminiscing about some very cold winters of his youth in Madrid and acknowledging he never had as much fun in his youth as during this weird snowy episode in Brittany, by the sea.
 

And someone was really feeling sorry she had listened to her husband and left her snow boots at her parents’ place where the temperature was currently 35°C at night!

And this someone got even sorrier when we turned the garden lights on just before going to bed, precisely to check on the thawing process. The joke was on us! Thank you, Météo France! We were snowed in and it was still snowing...

 

 

 

 

*Good Night, and Good Luck*

"Murder", she cried. "Fighting", he replied.

Moles are delightful furry animals. Quite small even though on the pudgy side. They do look weirdly funny with their rather big hands and small feet.

If you get to see one... Alive, I mean. Moles are rather blind and not really prone to run around in the open. They dig tunnels and spend their time trapping earthworms which they hoard up by hundreds, so people say since I have never been inside one of those tunnels...

In Brittany and elsewhere (except in Germany I think), moles are pests. They are lurking about in the gardens and in the fields and along the roads. Everywhere... Right below your feet but invisible until one day, you take a walk on the lawn and you feel some unusual softness here and there. It hasn’t rained in a while so you really wonder what is going on... but only for the first time it happens in your life.

Because you learn fast. The following morning when you open the shutters, your beautiful lawn has turned into a battlefield. Molehills everywhere!


And then what?

Well, our lawn is not beautiful. It looks like an oldish and quite worn rug and it is currently waiting for a facelift, this fall. So no worries about our lawn.

The thing is that we have set off on a new adventure, garden-wise.

Its latest version I wrote about last year was unsatisfactory since it still left too much space to the worn-out lawn. This became obvious last fall and we started planning a new version.

Planning and designing a garden filled with flowers. Flowers from Brittany and from exotic places as well since our friend Yves loves to try out strange plants, especially in our garden. We wanted bright colors, fascinating and unusual shapes, and above all, plants that would attract hundreds of insects and passerines.

Color, beauty, scents, buzzing and warbling.

As usual, it will take quite a few more months and probably years to reach our dream! But we are patient and ready to plant and wait and plant again and wait... Nature is a slow worker and needs to be acknowledged as such.

 

 

Upon his arrival to Les Tertres, by the end of July, Popeye had a fit... Lots of molehills everywhere... but confined to our “lawn”... It was exceptionally rainy and wet and the ground had turned very soft. Earthworms were having a field day. Not for long though.

Moles adore earthworms. But they also have a weakness for young and yummy roots... And one day, they invaded (creating their own underground passages) the forbidden zone -- our very young and fragile flower garden.

 

“This is unforgivable”, said Popeye who knows how to stop them.

I hate this kind of situation where we have to kill and destroy... well, hornets are different. We act pitilessly whenever hornets build a nest in our chimney (which happened this summer too).

But moles...

Popeye called the mole-catcher who answered that he was overbooked... Rainy days, soft grounds, earthworms and... moles! (And our village boasts one of the most extraordinary golf course in France... which is the reason why our mole-catcher was very busy. Molehills are not welcome on a golf course.)

Popeye is a very good sailor but he has more than one trick up his sleeve. He's spent years watching the mole-catcher and he felt he was ready to set traps on his own.

Setting traps is not this easy. You have to discover which way the mole is going and re-create the tunnels using your imagination. Remember, everything happens underground...

First traps and no results. More molehills everywhere. But Popeye is as stubborn as a mule.

The moles were very bright. They sensed the traps and they steered clear of them...

Until Saturday night, quite late...

From the far end of the garden, someone started whooping with unconcealed joy. Popeye had made a kill!

I am not squeamish about blood nor dead animals. I have lived in the country long enough to face harsh reality but... it really bothered me to listen to Popeye being so jubilant about his “victory”.

Actually I think he was mostly happy because now he could tell the mole-catcher he did not need him this bad anymore...

I ended up walking to the scene of the crime. She looked perfect. Asleep, sort of. And I was mesmerized because I had never seen a mole in all my life...

And of course, being a photographer... I could not resist... even though I was still upset! Photographers can be real vultures, I know!

Popeye checked his traps, straightened a couple of them which meant that a mole (or two or three) had been there and was still having a good laugh about the whole thing...

Not quite though because on Sunday morning, right after breakfast, there were new whooping sounds... One more mole. Two more moles. Three more moles.

It started looking like battlegrounds with corpses lined up... Not very pleasant.

But so interesting to study moles very closely after all. Beautiful fur and extremely efficient paws.

Impressive shadow of one hand!

It was quite a surprise to discover their strong jaw and perfect sharp teeth... I had always imagined that earthworms would be quite easy to gobble down... sucked up like a strand of spaghetti! Obviously not. Moles do chomp.

Popeye had to go back to (real) work on Sunday night. 

 

I am not a mole-catcher. Our friend Bernard came to check the traps. He was quite impressed with Popeye’s cunning. (He knows how to trap moles, being a farmer.) The traps were empty though. And new molehills had come out... So our garden moles are still alive and well. Most of them that is.

Except for the three casualties. Let me reassure you. They did not suffer. The traps work speedily and very efficiently. One click and they are dead.

I know because I was there when the third one got caught... Not that I was waiting for the kill. I was watching Popeye while he was setting the trap. He was getting ready to set a stone above the opening when she ran "blindly" into the trap. And she died instantly.

 

And thus I got used to watching my mate making kills to protect our territory, just like in prehistoric times.

*Good Luck, and Good Night*

Today, I had a long talk with our Wollemi

Today was a perfect summer day in Brittany. Such a perfect summer day that we decided not to feel sorry about the threatening drought (already obvious in our garden though).

We put up part of the garden furniture... since Summer is here to stay.
Excuse me? What did you say? Summer is still one month away? Oh really?

Then we got visitors. Friends of friends who wanted to have a look at our garden... because they had heard about it. Our wild and poetic and romantic garden we love so much.

And then we were asked: “Where is your... your...?”

Our... our “Wollemi Pine”, that’s what they wanted to see more than anything, I guess.

We took them to the very secluded spot where “Wollemi” is growing. They looked at it. And they did look doubtful. Not knowing what to say.

And then one of them cried out: “Oh look at this perfect rosebush!” And off they went to admire our beautiful rosebushes...

After they left, I went back to have a few words with “Wollemi”.

I do believe it is very important to talk to plants and trees. I am not a plant whisperer though. I just talk to them. I touch them. I take pictures. Well, I love them, all of them. Some more than others but I try not to make a difference.

“Wollemi” is a very special tree though. Its real name is Wollemia nobilis and it is not a pine tree.

More fascinating even, it is dating back from prehistoric times. It was thought extinct until 1994 when an Austalian forest ranger found a few of them in a canyon.

I am sure you’ll want to read the whole story in Wikipedia or go to the official site.

To make the story short, Australia decided to find dedicated botanical gardens which would be ready to “adopt” a Wollemia in order to help the species to survive.

At the time not much was known about those trees but Northern Brittany looked good enough to get three Wollemia “baby” specimens (clones, they said at the time).

We were the only non-botanical garden to get one because Yves, our garden dreamer/green activist/friend, managed to get one for us. I should say... for me.

At the time, I was barely surviving from a very bad cancer and a very strong chemo... Yves thought it would be keep me going if he could get one of those survivors for me...

I fell in love with “Wollemi” when it arrived to Les Tertres in 2006. December 26th.

Directly from Australia.

Swee’ Pea was there, of course. How could he miss such an important arrival in our life?

Not much was known about Wollemia trees at the time and we felt a little bit lost.

Yves was so enthusiastic about the whole experience that we decided everything would be fine and that our “Wollemi” would outlive us... and Swee’ Pea’s children-to-be and his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren... which is the reason why people plant trees, isn’t it?

Five years later, “Wollemi” is doing fine. It seems to thrive even when winters are really cold and snowy and summers very hot and dry.

It is growing amazingly fast. We love to watch its growth from season to season.

The way it protects the end of its leaves with tiny resinous “gloves” when it starts getting cold...

The way its tender leaves sprout... when it gets warmer. Sometimes several times in a few months.

The way it started growing three trunks and not branches...

The way it looks so fragile... and it is so strong with a thick knobby bark.

The way it looks so adolescent... a forceful tree in the making though!

The way it looks so strange. Not quite a tree. Not quite a fern. Not quite like any tree we’ve seen so far.
It was about 15 inches when it arrived to Les Tertres. Less than 5 years later, it is almost 5 ft 5... I know it still has a long way to grow. Its Australian parents are well over 130 feet high.

People come to see it because they have heard about it... They know we have one growing in our garden. So they come. And they leave, looking very disappointed.

We will never understand what they expect from a Wollemia.

We have lived so close to this tree that beyond its strange look, we see the hope it holds. Because a Wollemia is all about survival and life.

Our friend was so right the day he called me to tell me with such a joyful voice: “I have finally found your Wollemia. You are going to love it.”




To those of you who will have noticed the wire fence around “Wollemi”... We are not keeping it in jail. We are protecting it from the wild rabbits and hares that live in our garden. Every six months, the wire fence is enlarged so that “Wollemi” gets as much space as it needs to grow freely.







*Good Luck, and Good Night*

Lonely in Brittany

Well, that's it.

I'm alone in Brittany. This winter, I had decided to skip my staying-after-everybody-has-gone-back-to-work. But at the last minute, it was too hard for me not to stay by myself for a few more days. Even though it started snowing again this morning.

The snow did not last. It's raining right now. There was no sunset tonight. There has been no sunset ever since we got to Les Tertres a couple of days before Christmas.

We did watch one sunset. A beautiful one, but 30 miles from home. Don't smile. We were getting very tired of seeing our islet lost in wintry fogs, the kind of fog where there is no dividing line between the dark grey skies and a very unfriendly sea. We left Les Tertres and went on discovery trips... not very far but far enough to find some sunny skies at last.

Those trips deserve stories of their own. They took us to very interesting places we hadn't even thought existed so close to our home. And the sky was blue, the sun was shining even though it was very, very cold.

We had never seen the beach below our house so empty in our whole life in Penthièvre (our area in Brittany). So surprising. A little bit distressing. We did feel like we were living at the end of the earth, in a godforsaken place, a void.

We mostly stayed home, reading and listening to music, watching movies. Wishing that the sun would come out and warm up the air and our hearts.

A few friends dropped round but we never felt like taking a walk on the beach. The house was so warm and cosy.

Yesterday, we did go down to the beach and we took a long walk there. It was very amazing to be totally on our own on a 6 miles long beach.

We did not feel alone in the world though because tens of sandpipers were there while the tide was coming up. They were really friendly and funny. Friendly because they were not afraid of the two huge human beings who were invading their kingdom and space. Funny because they kept running around searching for sea slugs. They were really running around on very tiny and twiggy feet. They were so engrossed in their search for food that they kept running around and around, so close to us.

Tonight, I drove Popeye to the train station. He's going back to work.

Will I feel lonely? I don't think so. I'm so used of being on my own.

I'll keep busy telling stories and sorting pictures if it still is too cold to take walks on the beach.





*Good Luck, and Good Night* and a Happy New Year to all of you.

I'm really, really, really going mad... A story about pollution

The sea, a legacy in jeopardy

This summer will remain in memories as being the worst ever, considering that summer is supposed to be sunny, warm, well summery... at our latitude, that is.

I’m not suffering from a tourist’s ‘wasted-holiday-syndrome’. I only needed a few more rays of sun, less wind and since the sky is always cloudy, a little bit of rain to take walks on the beach, ‘just singin’ in the rain’.

The skies are overcast, the sea is rough, the wind is cold... And that’s it! No sun. No rain.

To top it all, we’re going through one of the worst period of drought ever.

In fact, I’m in a mean mood. The least little thing drives me crazy...

So when our friend Bernard who farms our fields came to Les Tertres to tell us that he has made a deal with the city hall and that he will spread liquid sludge from the city sewage system on our fields (which are very close to our home and to the sea), I went bersek! Really bersek!

I even broke two Périer water bottles while pulling out my raincoat!!! Quite a mess... Glass shards scattered everywhere!

Ever since we’ve been living in Brittany, we have been very environmental minded. Choosing and using products that would be safer for the environment than others, etc.

Since we were not linked to the village sewage system, our waste water went through pipes and ended up somewhere (obviously in the ground, 100 meters away from the house but more likely right into the sea after a while or a rainy day).
We also had a septic tank which we took great care of!
But we felt guilty anyway because we were somehow polluting Nature.

All this belongs to the past ever since two years ago, we got a letter from the city hall telling us to get our own ‘sewage plant’!!! Which we did, of course. Guilt over.

It’s quite big for two people (over 1.500 gallons) but we decided that we had to think big just in case... for the generations to come. It’s underground and will be covered with grass anyway.
Actually we never had any other choice than to accept the city hall ultimatum plus the experts’ decisions and the contractors they chose for us more or less.

So our waste is now taken care of as well as it can be done nowadays. We feel much better, no kidding.

Our beautiful garden has always been 100% organic. No pesticides, no fertilizers. No watering (which is the hardest thing to accept for my better half) . And it grows just fine anyway. We had a lot of fruits this year by the way.

Back to Bernard and his liquid sludge from the aging municipal treatment plant. The plant is actually overflowing. They desperately need to get rid of the liquid sludge. How do you think they will get rid of it? There are a few solutions. Some clean, some dirty. Of course they chose the dirtiest one. Which they call ‘sustainable development’? This is a joke, isn’t it? A nightmare? Please, I want to wake up!

European environmental laws are tough... but obviously unheard of in Brittany. The fields are there... We used to have liquid manure spread in a lot of fields. Now we’ll have liquid manure and liquid sludge...


So if I made myself clear, we spent a lot of money, time and energy to be in line with the city hall environmental policy (and our beliefs)... quite simply to get our precious fields polluted by farmers with the help of the same city hall which seems to be so deeply environmentally involved!

I went bersek because black is black and white is white. I hate shady greys especially when applied to the environment.

The city hall gives money to the farmers to get rid of the sludge. It pays a handsome fee for the transportation and the spreading of the sludge plus the plowing of the fields.

Of course, we said ‘NO’ and offered Bernard to pay him for compensation (compensation for not polluting our environment. Let’s have a good laugh!). Up until now, we never checked his use of our fields and never asked for rent either. Our fields were mainly used to grow alfafa for his flock of Suffolks. Or they would lie fallow from time to time... which was quite allright.

But what about the city hall? Our tap water is toxic but we pay high rates for the water we use at home. We have to buy our drinking mineral water. We have to set up very costly miniature private sewage plants... And yet the city ends up being the first and foremost polluter.

We still don’t know whether or not Bernard has accepted our ‘NO’. We are long time friends but the pressure from the city hall may be too strong.

We’ll see. The first spreading should start on August 24... on the fields that are very close to the top of the cliff and to the sea...

Should we get ready to immolate ourselves in front of the citry hall to protest against a truly wicked measure? I guess we won’t go this far.

Write to newspapers? Use my Facebook network? Ah, ah, ah!

Actually, we are lost and feeling defeated, which is one thing I do hate in life, especially when I believe the issue is worth fighting for!



I’m really, really, really  going MAD!

If you want to know more about Brittany, please read I love Brittany.

*Good Night, and Good Luck* (to you because we haven't been sleeping well at all lately)

The reason why we do not watch TV in Brittany

Why worry about a tv set?

As soon as we get to Les Tertres, we don't find much time to do anything else but to watch the magical scenery right in front us. Byerly has been there all his life but he still gets on top of his favorite observation post and is on watch all day long. Don't tell me he's looking for birds or rabbits.

Low tide, high tide. Every six hours, the scenery changes. Windy skies, moving clouds. Sunny weather, fine drizzle, mists... The weather changes all the time and so do the delicate sea colors, from grey to green and deep pacific blue. The sand turns golden and seconds later, it's almost dark grey.

Amazing place.

Then there is Le Verdelet, this small island almost in front of our house. I've been taking pictures for over 30 years now and none of them are the same. Magical place.

July 29th - We just got home.

July 30 - Waking up

July 31 - A very fleeting ray of sun over the garden

July 31 - A few minutes later

August 1 - Today around 2 p.m.

 (You'll find more pictures at 'Les Tertres'. )



Who needs to watch tv? I don't.



*'Good night, and good luck'*