Sunny French Interlude

How wonderful to be able to spend three whole weeks in our beloved Correze and how even more wonderful that it was sunny almost every day! Usually, in September, it's rainy and getting autumnal but not this time.  Lovely light effects from the top of the westernmost volcano of the Massif Central, a short walk up the hill from the house.

I never get tired of admiring the Limousin cattle - funnily enough I once came upon a local farmer in Cattaraugus County  who had a Limousin herd. He was impressed when I knew what they were. According to La Montagne, our local rag in France, they are getting more and more popular all over the world.

Back to those lovely forest lanes, although I didn't venture too far as it was hunting season - La Chasse - I may be doing them a grave injustice but I have a feeling the locals aren't too scrupulous about where they let fly. I don't know what they find to shoot though. In three weeks I never saw anything bigger than a red squirrel, though we've seen deer in the past.

Plenty of rural relics here, though the area has become a lot more second homey since we started going there. (Well we can talk.) But the good thing is that a lot of the crumbling old stone houses and barns have been rescued. And the farm on the hill is still thriving.

More light effects - I could fill a gallery with them. Every day was different. 

Now here's a new neigh-bour (sorry). Since last year the palomino pony farm has expanded. This of course is not a palomino. What's skewbald in French?*

The crossroads at Pisse (or Pisce) Lebre in the mist. That mail box stood with its door swinging open for ages and people still left their letters in it.

The lake was getting lower (it's actually a reservoir, controlled by the electricity company) so we couldn't sail. It didn't stop it looking pretty though,

with the morning mist coming off the surface. Warm enough to swim, even in September.

Earlier, up the hill, the mist filling the lake valley - just like western New York.

No second homers here yet - it's a proper working barn.

Another view of the mist, this time from the top of the volcano.

And walking down the hill the other way and looking east, you can just see the Massif Central in the far distance.

And on another day, a different shape to the mist.

Plenty of sustenance in the hedgerows. Though I sometimes wondered if the cows had been at them before me.

Another view of the lake - from the tiny beach where a Resistance memorial commemorates a 1944 gunfight here - our little bay is obscured.

The Limousin calves are reared "sous la mere" - out in the pastures with their mothers.

Though unfortunately for them, Tete de Veau is still on the menu here. It was former President Jacques Chirac's favourite dish. He was a local boy.

These pink flowers were everywhere - they look like orchids but I wish I knew what they're actually called.

As the mist lifts, a view to the west, over the Plateau de Millevaches and the Monedieres mountains. Keep going for a couple of hours and you'll get to Limoges.

King Charles was visiting Paris - French television was obsessed and we had wall-to-wall coverage. I hope they fumigated his room for bed bugs. When they ran out of things to say about Brexit, the French TV  talking heads brought on the team of chefs preparing the Royal banquet at Versailles. They lamented the fact that the drought had meant a lack of mushrooms. "We need a good thunderstorm". Well on our last evening down in Correze we had a good thunderstorm and guess what ....

Perfect cepes for a perfect breakfast. Sadly not enough to share with HM though.

*Pie. I looked it up. (But what's piebald then? It seems the French are like the Americans, who use "paint" for both. Is English the only language that differentiates?)

To be continued.....

A Beautiful Autumn Return

Dateline: Cattaraugus County, western New York state 

After six weeks in England and France - on which more later, we came back to a wonderful autumn.

A few days of bright blue skies, warmth and gorgeous colours. Leaves falling like golden snow and a Byzantine mosaic covering the ground.

After a long dry spell, the leaves were particularly vivid - though I need a better camera to do them justice!

It's always lovely to see the morning mist lying over the valleys...

...wherever you look.

The sumacs by the side of the lane always put on a brave show.

Meanwhile, in the jungle garden,  some flowers cling on.

That lovely, slightly neglected autumnal look - well we have been away!

I've given up trying to keep the deer away. I put some half-hearted netting around the rhododedrons but the rest will have to fend for itself. I just chased two impertinent deer away this evening. One stood brazenly staring at me, not at all frightened. They know we'll soon be going south and then the place will be theirs.

But these were the last warm days.

Suddenly, at the weekend, it turned cold, biting cold. Well not exactly winter cold but for us, now too  used to Florida, quite cold enough. Time to pack. Ready for another road trip for me, another flight for hubby. But wherever I am, I'm always sorry to leave.

The Jungle in August

 Dateline: Cattaraugus County, western New York State

The woodland cottage garden look is just about reaching its peak.

Of course it wasn't originally going to be a wild woodland English cottage garden but a perfectly manicured American-style one with neat clumps of the same time of flower separated by lots of mulch. That strategy did not work.

Even if the garden shed always manages to look tidy.

I caught a few dastardly Japanese beetles but thankfully their friends appear to have taken fright and scarpered and we didn't have any more trouble. I think the majority opinion around here is that traps just attract more of the brutes. So it's a case of grabbing them and chucking them in the slug bucket.

Back in July, Jack Daniels, as I call him, was at his best.

Later came the obedient plants - spreading everywhere. They're almost as bad as what I call the yellow perils. But they are very pretty.

I've never seen so many bees on a small clump of flowers. There must be something in them they love. This chap couldn't get enough.

The trumpet vine is out of control. The gift from my master-gardener brother-in-law that just keeps on giving.

No more flower beds but meadow beds. A free-for-all but I' was heartened again by this year's Chelsea Flower Show which seemed to favour the untidy look.

In front the daisies are always good value though one morning I came outside and found something large had landed in the middle of them and left a trough. Maybe the same culprit that uprooted everything earlier in the year.

The hardy hydrangeas are getting massive. 

I have to say that, although I complained about the slugs earlier in the year and they devoured all the lupins, they don't seem to have waddled off to eat anything else. Perhaps the melon rinds I scattered around enticed them and they got indigestion.

Another foe, the deer, do seem to have repelled by the Irish spring soap, judiciously tied to bamboo poles and smelling like inside of a minicab.

Alas all the blueberries got eaten once again, whether by chipmunks or birds. One attacks from above and one from below. We'll have to think up a new strategy next year. But on balance I think I can claim some modest success.

The Battle of Monmouth 2023

 Here's a bit of a flashback - in more ways than one! June found us in Monmouth County, New Jersey on the trail of hubby's ancestors. As it happened, they were re-enacting the Battle of Monmouth, which took place in 1778 (that's not the one that happened in Wales in 1233.) In this Battle of Monmouth, George Washington led the Continental Army - including one of the ancestors - against the British redcoats, seen here preparing for the fray. 

 And here some stalwart chaps are having a little break - they've all sleeping in those tents and have another night to go. Very authentic. No hotel comforts for them.

We asked these lads what the green uniform was. They replied curtly, "We are Jagers from Germany", as if we were clueless for asking.  In this case they were helping the British.

Re-enactments are tough work.

Everything the stalls sold was authentic too - sweets, tools, shoes... We bought some tea, as thrown overboard in Boston.

They didn't so selfies in 1778 - had to ask a friend.

George Washington chivvies his elegant officers along. The road does look a bit modern ....

But most other things were exactly as was. Including, campfires, cooking utensils

And the food

Though the clothes and uniforms...

may have been a little less pristine back in the day.

Just before the battle started there was an almighty clap of thunder and the rain poured down as we cowardly spectators rushed for cover, unlike the gallant combatants. But it was worth coming back as the sun soon returned.

And amid a lot of loud bangs of a different kind, the skirmish continued.

That was a good one!

It was all stirring stuff but, not following the commentary on the tannoy very well, I had to ask hubby  who won. "Well the British left the field,", he said, "but I suppose you could call it a draw. Though", he added, what matters is that WE won the war." OK ok, family pride, I get it!  There were plenty of dead bodies strewn across the field,  exhibiting remarkable self-discipline. None of them moved till the spectators started to disperse.

It was very impressive and I take my bonnet off to them. I'm always amazed at how fervently they do their history this side of the pond. Perhaps because they have somewhat less of it than the British, they preserve and cherish it more. The crowd was huge and enthusiastic, including a lot of children. Great that they were so interested in their heritage - or perhaps it was all the bangs and smoke.  I bought hubby a T shirt that said "Battle of Monmouth 1778". I made sure it was a red one though.