What didn't we do last week?

It's 7am and another beautiful day is beginning and before it completely gets away from me, I wanted to give a brief update.

First of all, my Mom and Gary arrived a little over a week ago and were put to work immediately clearing old vine roots, gardening, setting tile, hanging cabinets, prepping paint, you name it. I still cannot believe how they barely let the 9-hour jet lag (not-to-mention, 7-hour drive from Paris immediately following their 13-hr flight) slow them down. I'm calling them "super seniors" from now on as they wake up ready and willing to take any and all tasks we throw at them and I'm sure they are going to need a vacation from their "vacation" soon. Fortunately, they do plan to go to Italy for a week or so and can hopefully relax and get their strength for Phase II.

Phase I having been just completed last Saturday when Hank was finally able to hook up the kitchen sink.  We still have plaster and paint touch ups to finish, as well as hanging curtains, decorating, etc., but we have a kitchen for the first time in 4 1/2 months! There's new electrical, plumbing, cabinetry, a sweet oeil de beouf window, and cathedral ceilings with exposed wood beams. Not only is it beautiful, looking almost exactly the way Hank envisioned it, it is surprisingly functional for it's size.  I still have to stop myself from schlepping the dinner dishes down the hallway into the laundry room sink out of habit or looking for plates and utensils in the living room, but given time, I'm sure I will eventually adjust.

We also began our kitchen garden after having hand "plowed" the the fields with the help of Patrick's rototiller. We have been fortunate to have him here to share information and give advise with just about everything pertaining to the maintenance of Petit Clos. He is the kind man who keeps his two horses and a donkey on our property in exchange for helping maintain some of it. But he does so much more really. When I voiced interest in having a garden, I'm pretty sure he tried hiding his disbelief that this city girl could do it so he generously offered his assistance that I readily took when he unexpectedly arrived the same afternoon that my mom was due to arrive. As I have learned by now, you must grab situations as they present themselves and in this case, he was offering his time and expertise so I jumped on it knowing that I would be a muddy mess by the time my mom arrived.


He measured and lined up our rows of tomatoes, green beans, pommes de terre (potatoes), eschalots, (shallots) framboise (raspberries), strawberries and radis (radish) with the precision of a professional surveyor. If I would place a seed barely outside of the line, he would be sure to relocate it to the proper place. My only regret about our method of planting was that it was nearly impossible to communicate to him that I also desired an aesthetically pleasing garden layout so this year it looks like I'm going to have to settle for a more industrial looking garden which is actually probably a lot more practical since we may seriously have to consider being self-sufficient on this farm if I don't get some work soon.

The week was also incredibly rewarding because Patrick also assisted us in setting our large burning pile on fire which in turn allowed us to enhance the view and roughly set up our "Sunset Plaza" dining area where we have enjoyed a few bbq's overlooking the grape vines and admire the incredible coucher de soleil.

We let the workers off on Wednesday and took them to La Roque Gageac, Beynac and Dome and after lunch, rented canoes on the Dordogne.

Lastly, we acquired our lovely brown laying hens. As usual, Hank and I found ourselves in a sort of surreal french farm situation when again, Patrick dropped by out of the blue and offered to take us to the property where he resides and the owner, a woman named Christine, assisted us in picking out chickens. First of all, while walking by rows and rows of caged pigeons, rabbits and chickens, I'm pretty sure that I complicated the transaction after attempting to converse with Patrick's girlfriend by telling her how I much I enjoyed preparing lapin (this being one of the few french sentences I was confident enough to sputter out since I had recently learned how to cook rabbit). She then tried translating what I said to Christine, telling her that we were looking for chickens to eat rather than laying eggs, which I then attempted to correct in French. By the time we left, all I sort of knew was that we had just purchased 5 chickens (for eating or laying, I wasn't quite sure), and that we had no idea of the cost (they would be charged based on weight and we would not know until the following week). Oh, but we knew they were brown chickens.

A few days later, Patrick came by with the hens and all I can say is they are not the cutest chickens in the world (having long, stringy and featherless necks), but they do lay some beautiful and tasty brown eggs. Of course, since acquiring them, I cannot help but notice everyone else's beautiful and brightly colored chickens roaming in their yards so the jury is still out on whether these will be laying chickens or eatin' ones.


So, today we are scheduled to go to our third vide grenier (garage sale) and hopefully meet up with some new acquaintances who run a B&B down the road. Tomorrow it's off to the big city (Bordeaux) to buy lots of paint at Brico Depot. I'm feeling like there is definitely a end in sight and looking forward to having some of our first clients who have kindly offered to be our first guinea pigs when they make their honeymoon journey from Paris to Spain sometime near the end of May.

The Paint Factory

For months now I have carried a stack of ripped out pages from Maisons de Campagne magazine and color samples from The Little Green paint company trying to fine tune the perfect shade to paint each of the rooms in the house, including variations of the chosen hue for trim, moldings, built-ins and doors. 


"This time, I'm really going to do it right," I think to myself as I pour through even more examples of the perfect French country decor. I have purchased and painted samples on the walls of every gradation of "gris suede" and similar grey/blues that Arlette suggested as well as the creamier, french linen whites and offwhites that are so fresh and inviting. I've  contemplated if I should try a lime, ochre, or tea-stain technique that I have read about on various websites and decorating books. And Hank and I have discussed (and argued un peu) on whether the texture of Venicien plaster would work best in the hallway and warrant the additional time it would take to apply.


To me, this is truly going to be the most rewarding part of the renovation because it will have such an instant effect and best of all, paint is cheap. Except of course in France. I'm not sure why, and I really ought to look this up, but most of the local DIY stores charge about 50 euros for 2.5 litres (about 1/2 a gallon). With todays exchange rate, that's just under $150 a gallon! And seeing that we're going to need beaucoup gallons, but do not have beaucoup d'argent ($$), I've been researching online and asking the locals where they buy their paint. 


Most people recommend Brico Depot or Leroy Merlin in Bordeaux and we have bought some paint at Brico that was more in the 30 euros per 1/2 gallon range. Better, but still not great. Then, we heard about a little place outside of Bergerac called The Paint Factory. 
"You can get about 5 gallons for 50 euros," said a British expat we recently met. Now, that's what I'm talking about and I then proceeded to take about 3 weeks just to find the damn place. First time we tried to go by memory off just her verbal description; the second attempt, I actually printed directions from mappy.com which were mainly effective in getting us lost (again) causing each of us to blame the other as we drove in circles (literally) around each and every round-about in Bergerac.  But of course, the third time was the charm with Caleigh by my side giving me directions and voila, I finally found the bloody Paint Factory.


I swear that the sun rays appeared to shoot down through the clouds and I heard angels sing, I was so flippin' happy. As we walked into the warehouse, I could see hundreds, probably thousands of huge containers of beautiful paint. Since the only sales guy was helping someone else, Caleigh and I proceeded to look around and try to locate the color samples so I can match my inch-thick paperclipped magazine pictures to them. Only problem was, there wasn't a sample chart anywhere and the only thing remotely close to one was a large 6' x 4' board with 8 colors on it. This surely couldn't be it. There was so much paint in this place.


By this time I'm wondering if there was possibly a different, special, "french" method of selecting paint that I'm not privvy too yet. Maybe they are just super hi-tech and the samples were on the computer? And then, part of me started feeling a bit awkward as more and more professional painter types had walked into the store and I contemplated just going back to Bricomarche and speak to the nice bilingual sales person and pay the 50 euros for 1/2 gallon. But hell, we were here and I just couldn't leave now without attempting to buy some paint. Once the sales guy was finished with the previous customer, he walked up and asked if he could help us.  My brain, obviously wiped out from making a dentist, an orthodontist AND a Prefecture's appointment earlier in the day in French went completely blank and I turned bright red and barely managed to sputter out that I was looking for paint samples. Caleigh jumped in and saved me and after seeing how embarrassed I was, the nice, and I should add, attractive salesman, kindly steered me into his office and away from some of the now smirking customers. He then explained that they did not have color samples other than the 8 shown on the picket fence example which included peche (peach), abricot (apricot) and vert d'eau (pastel type green that I'm almost sure the previous owners bought here to paint the hallway).


"You're kidding," I thought but did not say to him. "Oh, okay...then I'll take one 2.5 liters of satin Ivorie please," needing to buy something after all this effort and knowing that we could probably use it somewhere in the house for trim.


And so that's where we're at. My mom arrives later today and thank God she's great with color and can help me with translating the shade closest to the ones in my pictures when we go to Brico Depot next week to hopefully finally buy some paint.

Lapin Chasseur (Rabbit)

In an attempt to get the imagery or "taste" of last week's blog out of your minds, I thought I would share a recipe that my dear friend Colette taught me last week and I also thought it could be a perfect dish for the upcoming Easter holiday. Now, you've got to be willing to try preparing rabbit which is in abundant supply over here; but if your local butcher at Vons isn't carrying it this week, this recipe works almost as well with chicken. And since I'm not quite yet ready to buy the whole rabbit and have to remove the head (complete with a little face that resembles a bad facelift) and cut the rest into morceaux (or pieces), the following recipe is based on using legs and thighs, although if you can find the derrière, Colette swears that it is the best part. Lastly, although she provides me with her recipes in neatly written French, between the translation barrier and the fact that she typically ballparks the quantities of ingredients, you might need to improvise slightly to suite your taste (i.e. for the liquid used, she used a small bowl rather than measuring cup, so I'm guessing here). Although in this recipe, I have found that it is nearly impossible to go wrong. And better yet, it is really easy to make.


Lapin Chasseur (serves 4)


4 legs with thighs (or 8 pieces)
1/2 cup flower
1 T vegetable oil
4-5 Shallots, peeled
8 1-inch size sliced pieces of thick, smoked bacon (ou 2 doigt potrine fumée cubed)
1 Bouquet Garni with parsley, thyme & bay leaf
1 1/2 - 2 cups chicken bouillon (or any other "aromatique" cube diluted in water)
1 1/2 - 2 cups dry white wine (Colette says Sauvignon Blanc is the best to use)
1 can mushrooms (champignons "de Paris")
4 - 5 garlic cloves without the germ, or sprout thingy removed to prevent bitterness...comme ça:

Heat the oil and saute the bacon and shallots for about 10 minutes. Remove from pan. 

Roll rabbit in flour and brown on all sides. 

Put bacon, shallots, rabbit and all their juices into a large pot. 


Add bouillon, wine, bouquet garni, garlic and heat to boil. 

Then add mushrooms and lower to simmer with the lid on and cook for 30 - 40 minutes. 

Add fresh, parsley and serve with steamed new potatoes or pasta. 


While we were preparing lunch, speaking half French and half English as we typically do, Colette entertained me with more interesting tales of her life. On this day she told me about how two German soldiers lived in her grandparents house a year and a half during WWII. I asked if the villagers were resentful as the French Resistance was very active in the area. 


"Oh, not really," she told me. My grandfather was the village butcher and he made sure to save the best cuts for the villagers (that the Germans later told him they knew about but chose to allow it because it kept the people from being more antagonistic toward the soldiers). He was also instrumental in ferrying the locals across the river to the village since all of the bridges had been destroyed.


She went on to tell me how she had actually done a little resistance work herself, carrying messages back and forth in the basket of her bicycle when she was only 12 years old. I can just picture her.


So, after my weekly language, cooking and history lessons, I headed home so glad that I took a break from all the nonstop work at home to enjoy some quality time with my 82-year old bonne amie.

.

Printemps (Spring)

Ah, the spring. We knew it was coming early when we witnessed the Grus (stork-like cranes) making their beautifully coordinated V-shaped migration back to northern Europe late last month. Then the wild daffodils and tulips bloomed in full force a few weeks ago. The weather started hitting the mid-seventies on a regular basis, making working outside a must. What better time to start cleaning up and prepping the old weed-infested kitchen garden so we could begin planting in early April?


So, that was one of the many projects I decided to tackle last week. First, I decided to start with clearing the large pile of ashes adjacent to the old outhouse in the garden. Seemed like a no-brainer. Just shovel the 3-foot pile of ashes into the wheel barrel and take about a dozen trips over to our burning pile (we can burn garden waste on our property). Only problem was, after the top layer of ash had been removed, my shovel hit something much harder and it was not so easy to shovel it anymore. "Ah, this must have been an old compost pile," I think to myself and at first I thought it was just dirt, but upon closer inspection, I knew it was something more than dirt, but could just not pin-point exactly what. It was brown, but not dull, dirt-color brown like the clay soil we had dug up recently for the trees. It was glossy, kind of a slick cocoa brown...wait a minute; if I didn't know any better... I would think it was, "Holy shit! Hank, come here quick!"


Yep, what I had just shoveled into was what I have now learned was called "night soil." Or, more precisely, a combination of human excrement, compost, soil and ashes. How do I know such a thing? It's weird, but I just happened to be reading Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers" at 3am the night before and in it he describes the stories of successful rice farmers who have been using night soil for oh, about a 1000 years (gonna think twice now about not doing the extra rinse of your rice now, aren't you?).  Plus, Colette nonchalantly confirmed that the practice did indeed exist.


It was then that I finally had a major, "ah ha" moment as I flashed back to the prolific tomato plants in the garden last September and current sprawling strawberry patch. And then remembered how we always used to joke about how healthy the plants all looked near the septic tank in Topanga...


So another what to do French moment? Go with the flow and use the ancient wisdom and practices and just plow the "merde combo" into our garden or try finding the closest toxic removal professional? Seeing that the outhouse had not been used in at least 50 years and the fact that no one had lived here in the past two, we figured that the special compost could not possibly contain any potentially harmful bacteria now. But still, "in my garden?"
No, I'm not quite that organic yet. I'll be sticking with the bagged amendment found at the local Gamm Vert this Spring.

Oeil de boeuf

Last week we had the tv crew out to record some "during" footage of our renovation and one of the days was spent with Isabelle shopping brocantes in search of our "oeil de boeuf," or "bullseye" window. It's typically a small, round window that allows you to see who's coming up your drive or walkway and since Hank drew it in his kitchen plan, we have been determined to find one. Only problem was, it was becoming clear after a half dozen attempts to find it, that they were not so easily to be found.

So, we search another 6-8 places with Isabelle to no avail but ended up having a very nice day together, something that neither of us had previously had the time to do. In fact, it was on this day that Isabelle gave me the go-ahead to address her with the familiar "tu" rather than the more formal and proper, "vous." I'm so excited about this except for the fact that I am not at all used to conjugating this tense so it's sure to slow me down again in my attempts to speak french. But, it's so worth it as I've considered Isabelle very much a "tu" in my life for quite some time.

Even though we did not find the window on this outing, Hank and I did have a backup plan and were able to purchase an arched window the next morning at a used window shop. The film crew scheduled the mason so they could film he and Hank knocking through the stone wall, but what they failed to mention was that he was not available to put the actual window in for two weeks. And as luck would have it, the weather changed for the worse right after they left, and yes, voila, more freezing cold winds blowing through the kitchen just when we had finished the insulation and drywall on the ceiling and thought our conditions were improving.

We also had some more bureaucratic tasks to deal with as well and were fortunately put in contact with a local financial advisor to assist us in getting through it all. First of all, I had had this brilliant idea to "get into the system" right off the bat and think I wrote about going down to CPAM in Marmande about three different times with all of the required paperwork. The goal was to acquire french healthcare, but we incorrectly assumed that we would be charged a reasonable fee as foreigners. A few weeks later, we received the "we are pleased to inform you" letter stating that yes, we had been approved and that it would cost about $7000 euros a year to cover just Hank and I (just under $10k U.S. dollars). Oh, and the letter further stated, Caleigh would not be covered because they discovered that she was not actually in France legally..."What?!" So, we drove down to the main Prefecture (government office) for our department in Agen with all the papers I am assuming will be requested and impossible to believe, but true, we had every single one that they required and did not have to return the next day with something we had forgotten (I think I am actually made for this stuff as much as I detest it). The kind woman who helped us told us to come back in two weeks and we would have what was essentially a document (called a "DCEM") stating that Caleigh was here legally so she wouldn't get detained in let's say Spain or Belgium if on a school field trip.

So, another near catastrophe averted except for the healthcare issue which was quoted nearly as high as COBRA coverage would have been in the U.S. Thus, the financial advisor, who will hopefully make this all go away for us as she obtains private coverage and helps up set up our business and make it into the system as tax paying residents (versus the rich lay-abouts that I think they incorrectly assumed we were).

Hank has almost completed the mechanicals in the kitchen and he and our very nice, young electrician/plumber are soon to get us up to this century's codes. We hope to purchase our lower cabinetry this week and are meticulously trying to utilize every centimeter of space because storage will be challenging.

One of the things we have found to be both challenging and endearing are the many visits we have throughout the week by kind friends and neighbors. It's almost like clockwork when we just get started on a project, some kind, helpful visitor decides to pay us a visit and is usually bearing gifts or loaning us tools. What can you do, other than invite them in for tea, coffee or wine depending on the time of day or afternoon. In fact, I now make sure now that I am always prepared with either biscuits (cookies) or nuts, crackers, etc. for these unplanned visits. But as much work as we always seem to have to do, there really wouldn't be a point for living in France if we did not take the time to enjoy these special moments.

I've continued stripping the wallpaper and am close to being done. Next, I'm onto stripping old paint from doors, windows and built-ins and then hopefully something rewarding, like new paint and hanging curtains. We continue shopping for antique beds, armoires and vanities for the upstairs bedrooms and I plan on painting, glazing, whitewashing, you name it, just to lighten the old pieces up. We have received some great recommendations for some fun (and affordable) shops like Troc d'ile in Bergerac and Flash in downtown Bordeaux.

Caleigh seems genuinely happy for the first time in months. Her friends, JoJo, the horse and the possibility or a scooter or small motorcycle in her near future seem to have brightened her outlook of living in France. Because many of her new friends are french, her comprehension and conversation have really improved. I'm also hoping to hear back from a tutor who can also help her get up to speed at school even quicker.

The weather has improved (very California-esque) and I've begun planning our kitchen garden. We actually took the morning off today and enjoyed the nearby Sunday market in Issigeac and shared delicious roasted partridge, porc pie (british influence), olives, bread, saucisson and a few local cheeses with fresh bread with a glass of rose with our Scottish friends, Thomas and Audrey. Must say that today felt very "joie to vie-y" and withstanding the financial restraints and the fact that there's still a hole in our kitchen wall, I was terribly thankful for all that we have.

70 Years to Celebrate

Today is my father’s 70th birthday and and since he is primarily to blame for us moving to France in the first place, I thought it would be only fitting to dedicate this blog to him (not to mention the the fact that I failed to send a gift off in time and he'll be tres disappointed). First of all, my dad has always loved to travel and especially to meet new people and experience other cultures. So much in fact that he actually absorbs their mannerisms and changes his accent according to what language is being spoken. When I joked about Hank’s “Pepe Lapieu” accent in an earlier post, my father’s "talents" with multitple accents put my husband's to shame. And even though very little is usually understood by the kind, foreign victim of my father's attempts, the communication of humor and kindness has always been successfully conveyed.

In 2007, he and his wonderful wife, Ginny invited us to France to share a week with them in La Roque Gageac in the southwestern, Dordogne region of France. Since this was not their first trip to the region, my dad was an amazing tour guide (sorry Ginny, I cannot credit you as you deserve because as anyone who knows my dad can attest, he will expect this entry to be entirely about him) Anyway, they took us to Sarlat, Dome, Beynac Castle. We canoed, visited the caves where prehistoric man once lived and ate fois gras, walnuts (some of us actually went to a walnut museum if you can believe it) & baquettes until we had massive muffin tops.

In fact, we were so inspired by this trip that we began our decent into francophilia over the next few years and when we decided to put our house on the market and move to France two years ago, it was Wylie who said, "That's cool. Go for it!" So I listened to him for once and we did indeed go for it albeit not exactly as planned as anyone who has followed my blog knows.

And purchasing our farm probably would not have happened as smoothly had it not been for my father (and Ginny bien sur!) as I had inadvertently miscalculated dollars vs. euros right before the final transaction. And to think that I was a business manager for 25 years...no wonder that I often felt like it was the wrong calling for me.

Anyway, so, now it's your big day Pops and unfortunately, I am not there to celebrate with you. But, as you can see now, it is actually your own fault if you really think about it. You taught me to venture out and embrace other cultures or I wouldn't be putting myself up to the embarrassing encounters I have with the locals every single day. You were right though. People are just people and as long as you try, they'll usually react kindly and most of the time, will even help you.

So, although I am very sorry that we are not physically there to share in this great (and tres vieux) celebration, we do plan to celebrate your 70th in style, in France, ensemble (together) in the Fall.

A santé Dad!

Busy Week

I have little time to write these days (if you'll notice, Hank's writing has been prolific lately :), but everything has improved since my last entry. First of all, we have hot, clear water that doesn't shake the whole house down when we turn it on. Our container arrived and even though we cannot unpack a whole lot yet, we've made our living areas actually a little homey. The weather has warmed up considerably and flowers are actually starting to bloom.
Began taking down the wallpaper in one of the upstairs rooms
voila! next, plaster and paint, and oh yeah, add some new century electricity
Having lived without a kitchen for almost 2 months now, we finally found my beautiful new cuisiniere
existing kitchen to date
the container arrived and Caleigh finally has her own suite


as do we...
and sort of a living room

All in all, I can't complain.