As I am writing this our first summer in Bourgogne is slowly fading. It is early September, we wake up to cold mornings, cobwebs in the garden, and the workers who arrive early to continue painting, drilling, and patching our house.
This is our year of firsts, our big year of adjustments, ups and downs, adventures good and bad. Our life over the last six years has been one big discovery and transition - from the USA to France, and then from a big city to a tiny village in the middle of France - saying that this was a dramatic change would be an understatement! It's been almost a year since we signed the deed and were handed the keys to this house. Since then we pulled up our roots again and moved to this village, to the region we didn't really know very well.
My dream has always been living in an old stone house. The most modern place we were in was in Seattle, the 1960s building with its cookie cutter apartments was fine for a while, but lacked enough character. Our New York house was built in the 1920s, oozed charm, with its wooden floors and crystal doorknobs. In Lyon we happened to live in two Haussmannian apartments, both of them with high ceilings, ornate fireplaces, and amazing hardwood floors.
Now we are in this old house that dates from the late 18th century. Its thick stone walls offer coolness on hot summer days, and hold warmth in winter. It lived through some transformations, some of them not very flattering. But the original features it managed to retain charmed us, as well as the big walled garden. We knew it had potential, and as they say "good bones", even if it was livable but not comfortable, however we were going to put up with the quirks while we were awaiting the "travaux". The house had electricity (some of it dated to a hundred years ago with one outlet per room...), water, and the heating system in working order.
And the region - we were taken by the forests, meadows, fields, wineries. The cleaner air, quieter life. So we were willing to put up with some inconveniences and put in some euros into making a life the way we imagined.
We signed the closing papers at the end of September last year. You already know how our move from Lyon went. Although we started to live here full time at the beginning of December, we were gradually moving in our more fragile items through the fall.
Our first Autumn and Winter (not as cozy as we hoped...)
The stillness of the countryside in winter.... one has to experience it to understand its appeal. While autumns are dazzling with the brilliance of the golden leaves, crisp mornings turning into warm days, forests beckoning with the abundance of mushrooms. In spite of its many charms winter's stillness and frigidity scares many. A lot of people decamp to Paris, or other parts of France and Europe, keeping the residences here only for the warmer months. Nevertheless I was enchanted by the quiet of the season. The first time in my life I felt calm and stillness and I was really enjoying it. But there were other realities that were not as nice... We lived without central heat most of the winter...
From the moment we arrived with the first moving boxes, we encountered problems with the heat. The thermostat read 13 degrees Celsius in the entry way (that's 55.4 Fahrenheit)... In November. We called the recommended "plombier" (plumber) who arrived the next day and informed us that our fuel tank is empty, although it wasn't supposed to be... Voila, the explanation for the lack of the heat. We scheduled the fuel delivery and we thought foolishly that we were set for the season.
I don't want to go into the details, but our "plombier" became a frequent visitor. He is a lovely and competent man, and tolerates our silly French when we try to explain the vagaries of out "chaudiere" (heater). A couple of times we offered him coffee and cake, and spent a very nice time chatting about the village and the region.
But even his expertise couldn't predict the unfortunate events, that caused us to live the rest of the winter without heat. We purchased two heaters, drank countless cups of hot tea, wore layers of Heattech underwear (by Uniqlo, I highly recommend), and slept under piles of blankets to keep us warm. Mandy the dog wore a coat indoors to keep her warm. I took up baking, the heat of the oven warmed up the kitchen for a couple of hours and we had a lovely cake to eat. Thinking about Peter Mayle's experiences in his book "A Year in Provence" made me feel about our miserable circumstances somewhat better. But it is always more real when you live it yourself, n'est-ce pas? If you read the above mentioned novel, or "Under the Tuscan Sun" by Frances Mayes, you may remember the mishaps and costly mistakes that were made. If you think this can't happen to you, the reality will differ...
But life goes on - after the vagaries of the heating system we decided to install a heating pump (pompe a chaleur) - catchink! - so we should be more comfortable the next winter. But I am keeping my electric heater and a good supply of wood just in case!
Spring and a side of Ups and Downs
The birds knew it first. Shortly after, the garden started waking up. The carpet of primroses covered the grass at home and in the entire countryside. I started keeping a journal of already established plants in our garden. I was grateful for them, but I was also glad that much of this space is a "tabula rasa", a clean slate so to speak, ready to be re-imagined.
I marked the outlines of our future "potager" excitedly anticipating having our own veggies in the future . Even with the markets offering fresh everything, the thrill of having your own tomatoes, herbs, and other veggies ripe and ready for your summer meals is worth all the work for me.
Spring was also the time when we were developing the restoration plans with our architect. However uncomfortable the life in this old house was during this time, it was essential to getting to know what this house needs, to "feel" it, and take our time for it. One needs to live in the space for a few months to get to know it, so in a way the inconveniences we had endured so far were necessary. Same goes for the garden. One needs to observe how does the sunshine comes in, where do the shadows fall each season, how do we use the spaces. What are the quirks, and how do we live with them, or don't. You may think that you will want to move walls, but after a while you realize that they are there for a reason. The bedrooms are on the street side because later in the day the sun will shine on the other side of the house so the bedrooms will stay cool for the evening. The long corridor you thought is a wasted space is actually a necessary transitional space. Listen to the house.
It was also the time for us to adjust to the rhythm of life here. We lost an easy access to city's conveniences. But with this loss came the gain of so many more things. We go to a weekly farmer's market in nearby Donzy or La Charite, we discover small producers in the area, we look for our neighbours' advice and find that the best is almost on our doorstep. Best fresh eggs can be found in our village bakery, a neighbour has his own apiary so we get honey directly from him. We took a few short trips here and there but we only just began to discover the richness of this region. Lyon remained a destination where we need to go to every few months. I don't miss living there but going over to the Puces du Canal is required for me whenever I am there.
The restoration was scheduled to start mid June. But as it happens life had other plans. Mid June Mother Nature decided to dump inordinate amounts of water onto my region. The thunderstorm was violent, happened at night, and I slept right through it. In the morning as usual I headed downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and found myself with water up to my ankles. Like most of the village I woke up to a nasty surprise. Many houses were flooded, including ours. The flooding was not very significant, the few centimeters of water in the kitchen and hallway were easily mopped up. The situation was more serious in the workshop were we decided to store our boxes for the time of the restoration project... All of the floor was covered in mud, and the moisture soaked into the lower layer of the piles of boxes...
My husband happened to be in the USA during this time. We briefly considered him coming back, but as it quickly turned out I wasn't left alone with this damp misery. My neighbour selflessly helped move the heaviest boxes, another one provided new ones and palettes which I placed on the floor of the workshop to protect the contents from a possible future damage. Everyone in the village pulled together to help each other. My architect came over to help move some things for me. I felt an immense sense of gratitude. I still think it could have been much worse. After the initial shock, and the assessment of damage, I decided to move the date of the start of our project by two weeks.
Our First Summer in the Country
So onwards and upwards. Fast forward a few weeks, the restoration project started, we are living in one bedroom, and managing in a laundry room which is our kitchen, and bathroom.... These spaces will be the last to be worked on. At this moment the kitchen walls are stripped to the stone. the "razzle dazzle" floors are gone. So is the violent orange paint of the corridor. The updated electricity and plumbing are in. The old wallpaper is down, the new fresh plaster is up. Even in August, when all of France was on vacation, we had people working here. We are still at the stage when things are progressing relatively slowly. When we get to the point when the essential mechanic systems are in , and the cosmetic phase starts, then things will get more exciting. But even now our salon became an open airy room thanks to the old wall paper coming down and new plaster going up. Now it is the dining room's turn.
I am not a summer person. I love transitional seasons, spring and fall. However this summer was the nicest one for me in a long time. Even with the three heatwaves we experienced, when the temperatures went up to way over 30 degrees Celsius (so around 90 Fahrenheit), these were short lived, and the thick stone walls of the house retained their coolness. I was comparing our weather to Lyon's and I was patting myself on the back. I still remembered the miserable summers we spent there. There was no escape from the relentless heat. Air conditioning is not a norm in France.
We escape the noise and the dust in the garden. My husband set up a tiny office in one of the outbuildings, a workshop. We have to get creative getting our meals ready with a one burner hotplate. I lost access to most of my wardrobe, since it's stored in boxes and suitcases. But despite all of these (temporary) inconveniences we are delighting in living in this small burgundian village. We are meeting so many lovely people here and feel that we found a sense of community. As the only Americans here we can be easily found, and instead of giving our exact address we can say that our house is the one with all the "travaux". We met many neighbours, were invited to many meals, were treated to many a basket overflowing with garden lettuce, tomatoes, and what not. The good feeling of belonging meets us in the village shops, we don't have to give our proof of id when we pick up a package ta La Poste, or at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. In such a small place saying "bonjour" to everyone you see on the street is expected. But even a 5 minute walk to the local "brasserie" can take longer when you meet a few people you know and with each one you need to exchange a few sentences. I love that!
As we are sliding into an early fall, with the days getting cooler and rainier, I want to think that the work on the house is about half done... I miss my wardrobe and the kitchen. I am hoping for a warmer winter from the last one. I miss all the things that are stored in numerous boxes in the outbuildings and the attic. But I am planning the garden, and mentally arranging the art on the walls and the furniture in the rooms.
To be continued...
xoxo
Joanna
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