More flowers

 

I would say this is monkshood but if I'm wrong please say!

The white bell flowers I have no idea of a name.

Below is some sort of orchid. Ideas?

All of the flowers were within a close radius of the mill. I didn't have to walk very far at all. 

Apologies for the spacing, but sometimes Blogger can be a pain.

While I was photographing flowers, I was aware that one of those huge cows was in the next field, not 100 yards away. All that stood between us was a rather frail looking strip, no more than half an inch wide, strung between posts. I suppose it was electrified, but I did not feel like pushing my chances and veered away. Next day, the cow was still there, in the same place. And the third day. On the fourth day its head had dropped and it looked rather dead. No one had been to see it, no other cattle were around. But I suppose it was a gentle death in a flowery meadow rather than being dragged off to an abbatoir.But still, a rather sad  thing for our last day.

The flower fields of France

 

One of the things that impressed me the most about France in April was the abundance of wild flowers. I have never seen so many cowslips and primroses in the lanes and verges and there were so many other flowers I began taking photographs, but soon found I am not a natural botanical photographer! 

For a start, some of them  are so small that getting down to their level is difficult.  Then there is so much other stuff obscuring the picture or getting between the camera lens and the flower. I never did get a decent pic of the cowslips because the roads are so narrow we did not dare stop to take pictures as we would have blocked the road and probably caused a car crash.

Then focus is tricky when you wear glasses and suspect that another new pair of specs is on the horizon. However, I persevered and gradually got better at it, though the knees of my jeans suffered in the process.

I was really pleased with  the one that follows.....it meant I was getting somewhere! But the one beside it speaks more of the delight it gave me.

Lost dog!

Sunday 8^th May

Slow start to a sunny day with a promise of high temperatures. Bill took Perla out at 7.30 as he has done all this month and I had their breakfasts ready when they returned. Then we set off for an amble around the lake and Perla looked as if she wanted nothing more than her bed. Next time I looked round she was at the far side of the field nosing around the compost heap. I set off to persuade her away from it, and as I watched she walked around it and disappeared behind it into the woodland. Argh!

I got there as fast as I could and stood where the spring starts but could not see a splodge of white anywhere. Usually she is easy to spot in all the greenery around us, but not this morning. Bill and I searched various directions but not a trace of her. He checked the tracker we bought for her and ran for the car. “She’s up at the top of the hill near Le Granges and still moving.”

We got there, turned left and headed for the monastery at La Peyrouse and there she was - coming off the big field toward the road. I got out of the car and she came straight up to me, wagging her tail and looking surprised and pleased. “There you are!” she seemed to say.

A person, no more than a silhouette against the sun, stood 100 yards away, a small cat curling around their feet. Obviously they had either chased Perla or tried to catch her, but I don’t know which. I seem to remember that Perla hates cats, but the little cat looked happy enough, so hopefully there was not “an incident.” We bundled her into the back of the car and came home.

She had travelled more or less in a straight line up the hill through the woods, crossed the road twice – thank goodness it was Sunday morning and no white vans whizzing about – investigated the big house at the crossroads and then crossed back again. Thank goodness we found her when we did! And thank goodness for Bill’s foresight in buying the tracker to fix to her collar!

Lunch

 

Monday 2^nd May

Planted some small primroses, cowslips and something unnamed but pretty in the patch of rockery I have cleared over the last few days. I considered irises, but suspect they like somewhere damper. One has gone in. Hopefully it will flourish.

Friday 6^th May

After several days of working hard to pull out all the bramble canes, periwinkle and nettles from the area where the hazel trees edge the garden border, we had a day off on Friday to go and have lunch in Lalinde. (Thursday is market day, so we waited the extra day.) We walked by the side of the canal until we reached the Intermarche, and decided we would not shop there as we would have to carry everything back and it was hot, hot, hot.

Back in the shade in the corner of the old hall we discovered the dish of the day - the plat de jour – was fish and chips with goats cheese salad. Perfect. Beautifully cooked with a light batter, dressed salad and big, solid chips. We spent an hour there, watching the world go by. Even Perla is a people watcher, possibly because everything she sees is new to her. Big lunches in the middle of the day are not for us. I soon retired to bed and slept for a couple of hours! Woke up in time for dinner.

A la Mrs Strawbridge

 Friday 29^th April

on Friday we made our second visit to the restaurant Chez Julien at Paunat,

(https://www.northofthedordogne.com/paunat.php)

not far from Tremolat. There is the most imposing abbey church in the valley which was open. I lingered in the doorway, felt the chill air and did not go inside. How did people live, work and pray in such frigid temperatures? 

The village itself is worth at least an hours stroll around but it is hilly so be prepared. Many of the buildings were once attached to the abbey and are gloriously medieval in appearance. The gardens are mostly terraced and there are many curiosities to keep the interest. 

I ate a smoked saumon starter, cabillaud and chorizo as a main course and crème brulee for dessert. All beautifully presented and very tasty.

Streams run right through the centre of the village and this picture shows a rather more complex place than usual to do the washing in the ancient style.  The lavoir is almost Roman in appearance, but then the abbey has a hint of Roman architecture about it, too. I took lots of photographs so more might show up on Facebook in the coming days.

Sunday 1^st May (May Day Bank Holiday)

While in the shower this morning I found a small tick attached to me but soon detached it and I am afraid its destiny is life - if it has one - in the septic tank. The tiny critters are everywhere here in the long grass. I may have got it from Perla, or from ripping out the nettles in the lower patio – or even from the bedding which we line dry in the sunshine. I have known them drop from trees and wriggle down inside the collar of a shirt!

One other thing – I have begun wearing a scarf around my head a la Angela Strawbridge, though mine are not quite as crisp and stylish as hers. I wonder if her reason is the same as mine? Every morning when I wake, my hair is standing on end and refuses to lie down no matter how much I wet it. Must be the damp air pf France.

Lalinde

 

24^th April

The weather has turned ugly. Constant rain and no chance to get anything dry. One good thing is that the lonely dog on the hill has stopped howling, for which I am glad.

25^th April   The "Bastide" towns of southwest France are a remnant of the medieval townscapes six centuries ago. The layout has remained virtually unchanged and many of today's buildings have walls that date back to sometime between 1200 -1400.

The kings of England in those days were  French speaking Angevins, one of the four great French dynasties. They brought the population together in centres called bastides which could be more easily controlled and defended.

Lalinde was the first 'English' Bastide town, built by Henry III (the grandson of Eleanor of Aquitaine) and the Château de Lalinde was built by him in 1267. The foundations and cellars/dungeons still exist from this time.

It is one of our favourite places and  we sat and had coffee in

the wonderful sunshine. Perla watched everyone with great interest  and then walked with us around our favourite spots. The river, the great Dordogne, was in flood right against the walls of the chateau. No swans or sandbanks in sight, just a rolling brown swell of water rolling down to the sea.

I discovered  New Aquitaine courtesy of a wall decoration. I had heard of Aquitaine, who has not? After all, when Henry II married Eleanor the region belonged to England.  It was  vast  then, but now covers an eighth of the country of France and came into being on 1^st January 2016,. The new region merges the old regions of Poitou, Charente, Limousin and Aquitaine. It covers 450 miles of the Atlantic coastline and stretches from Poitou to the Pyrénees.

Plaques informing the discerning tourist of the history of certain buildings such as the Governor's House and an old auberge called Le p'it Loup were new to me. I took pictures, so I could read the info at leisure. I am consumed with curiosity about the name the Little Wolf. If anyone knows the story, do tell!

Lake adventure

 

Perla is still not speaking to Sam the lovely chocolate Labrador. In fact she shows her teeth, growls and tells him to stay away in forceful fashion. She is difficult to settle. She wants to be on the bed, the chairs, tried to settle on the tarp that covers the swimming pool, and wanders disconsolately around. Then she ate some of Sam’s biscuits. Poor Sam. He doesn’t deserve this nasty lady and is still trying to be nice to her.

Given that she only came to us on 16^th February she has hardly had a chance to settle before we’ve whisked her away to a new environment. There is little wonder she is unsettled.

Monday 18^th April

Until yesterday evening, when everything clouded over and the wind turned cold, we’ve had glorious sunny weather and made a start on the gardening. Not sure that “gardening” is is absolutely the right term, but it describes things like weeding, cutting the grass and hacking out brambles. Imagine all of those on an industrial scale!

The tractor trundled out of its two-year enforced lie-up with a splutter and a hiccup, then roared off and tackled the meadows around the house. I pulled out weeds from the cracks in the lower patio and then turned my attention to the brambles – so huge they grow right over the top of the hazel trees and bend them into poor hunched things struggling to grow. Four days on and we still have hundreds of the wretched things to clear.

Yesterday’s adventure involved the lake and Perla. She has discovered there are, or have been, crayfish in the lake. Some creature catches and eats them on the bank, discarding the head and claws. We suspect a coypu but cannot be sure of the culprit and there are some pretty huge frogs around. For some reason, Perla finds these discards tasty, scoffs them down and then goes hunting more. This time she went too far down the bank and either jumped or slid into the water. In she went, head first, and under the surface, then emerged spluttering and thankfully started swimming. Unhappily she headed out into the centre of the lake. Desperately shouting her name, even though I know she is deaf and doesn’t hear me, I waved my arms and thankfully she turned for the shore, swam for twenty yards and then got her back paws on the bottom of the lake.

She trundled out a very sad and sorry girl. We hurried back to the house where I dried her off and huddled her in blankets.  Her teeth chattered so much I squeezed into the basket and hugged her tight. I think she was shocked as much as cold and wet, poor thing.

She woke up this morning seemingly none the worse for her adventure and as I write this she is beside me on the chaise longue on the lower patio, soaking up the sun which has just poked out from behind a cloud. I sit here surveying a scene of utter tranquillity with the leaves on the trees unfurling almost as I write. In the distance a tractor works the fields, but it is far enough away not to be a disturbance.

Somewhere out on the hillside behind me, a lonely dog howls. And howls. It is upsetting. Fortunately, Perla cannot hear it.

 Like kids going on holiday we were awake at 5.30am and on our way by 6.30.  

The journey was uneventful but tedious because of road works but we arrived at Hatfield Forest in good time to give Perla a chance to pee or pooh or whatever she wanted. We ate a sandwich and walked a mile or so with her, and admired the ancient trees - evidently it is the best preserved royal hunting forest on the planet with over 1,000 acres of coppice and wood pasture. Henry I made it a royal hunting park but its history goes back much further. There is a herd of fallow deer somewhere in there but although we see the cows, and avoid their splashy droppings, we've never seen the deer. The forest came into the National Trust in 1924 and those ancient trees are well worth a visit. Lucky are they who walk their dogs there every day!

             The M25 was as it usually is - busy.  We were advised Junctions 8-11 of the M20 were closed and that we should follow deviations. So we did, and as DH put it, we saw a lot more of Kent than we had ever seen before. I think the lorries were stacked between the closed junctions, and seemed to be moving in relays – probably a Tunnel trainload at a time. We finally arrived at the Tunnel and got straight through to a train an hour earlier than we had booked. So we had time for a coffee and then on our way.

We took Perla to the park in Abbeville and then had dinner in the Ibis, with Perla beside us and enjoying an occasional piece of pasta from my Carbonara. Room 33 is my favourite, not only because it has a sort of Tardis bathroom in an egg shaped plastic bubble, but because it is located on a downstairs corner far away from reception, and with much less disturbance from those going to sleep much later than we did. 

We slept well, and admired the renovation that has been undertaken while the hotel suffered a forced closure due to the pandemic. The old hotel next door has vanished, and the grounds have been opened up and cleared. It always was a pleasant and convenient place to stay with crisp white sheets and duvets and it has improved during our absence.

Wednesday 13^th we set off about 8am and trundled south through mist and banks of fog. Fog, in France! Unheard of! I’ve never been in April before and the trees are just budding, the verges are filled with cowslips and primroses – those lovely flowers we seem to have lost in England.

We scampered through Rouen but took a road we didn’t really want out of the city and then deviated all over the place – Evereux, Orleans, Blois, Tours, Limoges and then Angouleme, Brantome,  Perigeaux and south to the mill by about 5.30pm. A long two day’s driving for Bill since he won't let me drive any more after I fell asleep whist driving the yellow Honda. Michael Mosley has a word for it, but I can't remember what it was. The brain trying to catch up on lost sleep.