READING AND WALKING

I must count as a pretty boring person -- yes, I DO know that this blog is not exactly a ball of fire either -- as I admit my two favorite leisure activities are getting up & going for long walks and sitting down for long, even longer reads. Books & Boots -- that'd be my ideal B&B .... in the hills here in the Cevennes, or in the dales in Yorkshire where I  go walking with my sister, or perhaps in some hamlet in the Adirondacks where my husband and daughter and I used to spend hiking holidays. In another life, in a parallel universe, I am the proprietor of such an inn or auberge, urging my clientele to balance reading with walking and walking with reading.

Today has been the kind of November day that puts to shame everything I've said so far about this month, calling it damp and cold and not-nice (except for being a month of birthdays) ...Today has been sublime... sunny, warm, and absolutely perfect for a really good walk involving some steep paths -- a bit of sweat, good for the heart -- and some lovely meandering flat bits through pine forests after the climb is over. Thanks to my friend Peter  ( who, with  my friend Dorothy, took care of Mas Blanc during the summer while I was in Canada), I have a new stack of marked maps showing routes up in the hills within a stone's throw from where I live, and I am setting out now to time these walks so I have an idea how long they take and whether they are "snack" walks or "real lunch" walks.. Yes, food is always on your mind if you live in France, and a walk without some kind of little picnic is hardly a walk at all.

I took some photos today I'll attach at the end of this... But now, back to books...Yesterday, I went up to the nearby city of Ales to run some errands and to have coffee with the Scottish poet Sharon Black, who has become one of my very good friends here. I brought up the November Birthday issue with her -- why are there so many? -- and she solved it nicely. "Valentine's Day Evening", she said, and then also, in this part of the world, "those long cold February nights when there's nothing to do but...." So that answers that!

Sharon published a book of poems last year (TO KNOW BEDROCK, pindroppress, London, UK) that so impressed me I have sent it to several friends, in Canada and Australia, who have responded with much admiration and delight. I recommend you visit her website, which is easily found simply by googling her name, SHARON BLACK. She's a beautiful woman and a wonderful friend, and even in my times of distress -- of which there have been many in the last two years -- Sharon always cheers me. My husband liked her enormously too, and for that reason I asked her to read Billy Collins' poem THE DEAD at the memorial afternoon we had for Bob last year, as that poem was one of his favorites. But her poems are well worth a read themselves, believe me.

Sharon and I share books back and forth and she's just given me a collection by Elizabeth Barrett  (NOT the one who married Robert Browning), and at the same time has returned one of mine she says she really loves and so I'm going to order it for her from Pedlar Press in Toronto. The collection is called  SLOW CURVE OUT, and the poet is Maureen Scott Harris, whose earlier collection DROWNING LESSONS won the Trillium Prize for poetry in 2005. Sharon and I agree completely ...these are marvellous poems. Maureen's subject matter is the natural world and she manages to bring it so close you feel you are truly part of her world. Which you are... That's the magic of it.... Easy to acquire....

More books tomorrow. And more websites to check too... For now, a few of the day's photos, to give you an idea of just how beautiful this mid-November day has been. (My friend Bob Ferguson celebrated his birthday yesterday by going to the Bob Dylan concert in Toronto...now that's a terrific way to acknowledge that the passage of years doesn't mean a thing....there must be an entirely appropriate line from Dylan's lyrics that could pull this to a close, what might it be? )

There would be more photos to share except that they're suddenly deciding for themselves to slot in sideways. WHY does this happen? WHO can help?



It's the way these vineleaves LOOK like wine itself that knocks me out...

You pass this vineyard on the way to the path up into the hills





These are the berries on the "arbousier" tree, known as the strawberry tree for obvious reasons... Ripe for picking, all along the path...



STRANGE MONTH, NOVEMBER

You know, I don't know anyone who would choose this one as their "favorite month", and yet I seem to have an extraordinarily large number of friends who were born in November, and they must, in some fashion, identify with this time of year, wouldn't you think? Not only my old university chum Sally on the 4th but also, that same day, my friend Jelena turned EIGHT... and later this month, on the 27th, her sister Sadie will turn SIX! As anyone growing old can attest, it is important to have younger friends...I love sharing in their excitement at the notion of "growing up"...They LOVE November, and when I see it through their eyes, so do I....it is part of the great flow of change, and pehaps its most endearing aspect it that it never seems to last as long as March, its sister-month  in "aaarrrgh, dontcha hate the weather just now?"

Also in November I have sent cards to Audrey and Peggy, emails to several Cousins as well as to friends such as Bill Exley, one of the foremost musicians in the NIHILIST SPASM BAND (the musical group begun in the mid 1960s by London Ontario artist Greg Curnoe, who died  in a bicylce accident on November 14, 1992, a few days before what would have been his birthday). Greg was a good friend of mine and I feel his influence still -- I think of him every November, but that's another story.

 I can't quite work out why November seems to be the month of birthdays, but it is... and at its tail end comes the birthday my old chum Sheila, with whom I long-ago hitch-hiked around Europe in 1967 and who just recently came down from Amsterdam to visit Mas Blanc. Time passes, and the only correct gesture in response to that is -- CELEBRATION!

Ah, but growing old does have its down-side, and the fearful possibility of bones breaking hovers over us as we (those of us born during the Second World War) enter the stage of the broken wrist... the fractured hip... the shattered elbow... the torn ankle ligaments... We count ourselves lucky every year we escape injury and I am happy to report that friendly gossip concerning my own "serious fall" this summer has been slightly exaggerated... Indeed, I did have a tumble, and if you've heard that I fell off a cliff you can now reduce that dramatic story to "slipping down a steep slope"... It was not as bad as people made out -- well, I admit, I did make a bit of a fuss at the time and the drop left me a bit shaken --  but apart from some bruising I recovered quickly, thanks of course to ARNICA.

If you don't know about the magical anti-bruising qualities of the herbal remedy ARNICA, you should... Here in France it is prescribed both before and after surgery in the hospitals, as its properties are well established and respected.  It comes from a daisy-like flowering plant that grows in the high dry mountains of this region, and somehow I feel that's part of why is works so well here, but I have tried it in Toronto too and it is just as effective!

And yes, this is a kind of "self-advertising", I suppose, since one of the final short stories in the fiction-section of BELONGING: HOME AWAY FROM HOME, is titled "Arnica", and has at its centre a scene in which the application of arnica has a positive effect. I am so pleased when I hear that readers are discovering BELONGING, just as I am when I hear that THE ELIZABETH STORIES is having a resurgence, thanks to Kerry Clare -- and Shashi Bhatt, who has mentioned the book  recently in an interview as well. Wonderful to feel that a character I created so long ago is still alive and well in the imagination of readers. She stays young -- and thus, so do I, in some strange way.

Now, one of the REAL things that keeps me young (maybe it even helps my bones, who knows?)  is my ongoing connection with writers in the Humber correspondence program, and although they are not always young themselves, their enthusiasm for various writing projects always gathers me up in a whirlwind of energy and excitement. Sometimes there is publishing pay-off, and sometimes not... but what everyone seems to agree, is that writing itself is a way to stay firmly in the world, and as long as that's the case, you never grow old.

I am proud to be associated with so many of the writers I've worked with, none more than GRETCHEN ROEDDE, whose memoir  A DOCTOR'S QUEST (published by Dundurn Press a few weeks ago) is a wonderful book, outlining her experiences travelling overseas as a doctor in developing countries working to help improve maternal and child health, very often in dangerous or difficult situations. The memoir is a rivetting blend of Gretchen's own perceptions and reflections on her various adventures and medical interventions as well as the people she has worked with and  met through her work. I can't recommend this book highly enough, and if it makes you feel a little uncomfortable -- realizing how easy we have it in Canada (access to health care, clean water, social equality, etc.) -- then at least one of her aims will have been realized.

Another of my Humber writers is Laura Rock, who writes to share the good news that an essay she's written will be included in the anthology HOW TO EXPECT WHAT YOU'RE NOT EXPECTING, coming out from Touchwood Press in Victoria BC next spring... I'll have more on this later

Okay, it's not the Gatineau in full glory, but it's not bad, eh?
This is just down the river from Mas Blanc, this past week...

I'll leave you now with this shot of the vineyards down the valley from where I live, blazing colour... and I'll be back tomorrow with some further chat about writers and the writing life... November does seem to provide us with a gentle entry into the season of contemplation.... So much to think about, and so little time.

REMEMBRANCE DAY



Piper at Vimy Ridge Remembrance Day Ceremonies, 2011

 It has been said of me that I am such a sentimentalist that every day is "remembrance day" for me... and in fact I don't take this teasing badly, as I believe that our memories are essential ballast that keep us sailing forward in some sort of balanced fashion. Remembering the First World War -- and the end of it, on November 11, 1918 -- is out of the question for any of us living now, but we can remember other wars, and other battles, and other times of conflict, personal or political or international, and meditate upon those aspects of  human nature that we deplore, and those we admire and seek to emulate. Even for those of us of pacifist persuasion, this is a good day to contemplate clear-thinking courage.  Last year at this time, with my friends Conny & Sheila & Brian,  I took a tour of several WWI cemeteries in France and Belgium, and we were fortunate to be  present at Vimy Ridge on the very day of the remembrance ceremonies. It was an enormously poignant occasion -- speeches, music, veterans carrying flags and of course a piper, whose playing brought tears to our eyes. I've always had a special place in my heart for the bagpipes, as did my mother, and I have always been very proud that my late husband's cousin John was a pipe-major of some reknown. Here's the piper from Vimy last year, and I regret he will remain nameless.

One of the reasons I wanted to go to Vimy Ridge was to see the monument about which I'd read a few years ago in Jane Urquhart's THE STONE CARVERS, a novel that just about everyone has read but, if you are one of those few who have not, I recommend that you hie yourself off to a bookstore or the library to remedy this lack. I went back to the novel after my visit to Vimy, and found it even richer the second time.



The wonderful waterfall in the Ourne, November 11, 2012 

 Not much time for reading these days, as the days dwindle down to a precious few -- those final autumn days suitable for planting the last of the tulip bulbs among other outdoor chores. There has been a lot of rain in the last while, which makes the heavy clay soil here much easier to dig, so I'm doing as much work as I can before the inevitable cold weather comes. The rain has made a glorious change in the little stream that runs by Mas Blanc, and now there's a wonderfully loud waterfall again, loud enough that it can even be heard indoors... white noise, indeed.

And as you can see, the rain has had a marvellous effect on the cistern below my terrace, an enormous repository for spring-water that flows beneath the property, especially after heavy rainfall. The cisten was built in the 1700s, and until the flood of 2002 had a red-brick roof with a metal door that could open into the deep cavern so that the water was accessible. Now there's a flagstone roof and a small hole for the hose that can be inserted if we need to pump out water. When it is full to overflowing, as it is here, there's something magic in this  precious abundance. Makes me want to write a poem about happiness.

Sometimes joy, like water,  cannot be contained......

NOVEMBER HAS BEGUN GREY & COLD

November 4, my friend Sally's birthday... Tomorrow, Guy Fawkes Day -- celebrated here in France by little clutches of English expatriate residents in various ways -- and, weather permitting, there'll be a bonfire or two and maybe some smallish fireworks displays in back gardens. There are a surprising number of English residents around Tornac and Anduze -- hence the popularity of the tea shop I've already mentioned earlier, TEAPOTES. Of course, success depends on adaptability, and TEAPOTES has made itself a fixture in Anduze by also providing excellent coffee as well as buttery teacakes and scones.  It has also become a favorite meeting spot for French locals, and afternoon classes in French & English are well attended. I've made an arrangement with a retired French teacher (Marie-Ange) to meet once a week over afternoon tea or coffee at TEAPOTES, where we spend an hour chatting... She speaks English and I correct her, and I speak French and she corrects me... It's a pretty good system so far, although I think she finds herself busier correcting me than I do her.

Still, I have to declare with some pride a kind of linguistic breakthrough experienced this past week when I went to the cinema with my English pal Joanna, she who is married to a Frenchman and thus is really completely bilingual. We went to see AMOUR, the Michel Haneke film about the elderly couple facing illness and death together, that won the Palme D'Or at Cannes this past May -- and well might it have won, for it is a film I can't recommend highly enough. Tough to watch, but worth every minute. Brilliant, intelligent, important.  And what was really important for ME, watching the film --in French without subtitles -- is that I understood at least 80%, perhaps even more... Now, it does not escape me that the dialogue was extremely simple, infrequent, and delivered in a slow fashion as befits the elderly.... Nevertheless, I have gained some courage and confidence and may continue now to hie off to French films without subtitles...

Living in two languages is, they tell us, good for the brain. I hope so... But even if it's not good for me in some avoiding-Alzheimer's-kind-of-way, it does provide more scope, more enjoyment, more delight in the sound of words themselves...

I mentioned Kerry Clare's site www.picklemethis.com a few days ago, and must draw your attention to it again as she has added to her initial comments about THE ELIZABETH STORIES now that she has read the whole book. It's wonderful to feel so warmed by her appreciation for the stories, especially on this chilly, dark, rainy November evening...Indeed, I have to nick back downstairs to add some logs to the fire.

DAMP & COLD HALLOWE'EN

Although there's not much in the way of real Hallowe'en festivities here in the French countryside, in the nearby city of Ales this morning I noticed pumpkin&witch decorations in a few shop windows and in the big supermarket. Here, the real holiday is tomorrow, TOUSSAINT (All Saint's Day) when schools and businesses are closed, and people visit cemetaries to embellish the graves with flowers -- usually pots of chrysanthemums but cyclamens have become more popular in the last decade or so. Still, it is mainly mums, and so much associated are they with the act of honouring the dead that they are not acceptable as hostess flowers (bringing a bouquet when one is invited to dinner is more the custom than bringing a bottle of wine, for the latter implies that you don't have confidence in your host's cellar).

It's rainy and cold, and I hear that it's rainy and cold in Toronto today too, which makes the trooping around neighborhoods in costumes a bit dismal for all concerned, little kids and big kids and parents alike. And with the city still recovering from the impact of the last few days' storm weather, this may be a Hallowe'en to avoid and forget.

Until today we've had good weather here,and the vineyards are starting to colour up nicely. It's not exactly the Gatineau show of maple and beech and birch glowing ruby and gold, but it'll do, it'll do...

Imagine an entire vineyard shining in the sunlight....

Given the rainy weather today, I've spent a bit more time at my desk, and want to pass on some very interesting writerly blogs here that can provide enjoyment and information if you have the wish to investigate. One is by an American friend of mine in Michigan, Michael Steinberg, whose blog focuses on non-fiction writing (this is his specialty, both as writer and as teacher). Do have a look

http://www.mjsteinberg.net/blog.htm.

Another one you shouldn't miss is a site devoted to science writing by a terrific Canadian writer, Kimberly Gerson...  A few years together we worked together in the Humber correspondence program, and I have an enormous amount of respect and admiration for the way she embraces the natural world...Expand your horizons and check it out

http://kimberlygerson.com/

And the last one here I've just begun exploring, it's called PICKLE ME THIS by a Toronto writer and teacher and critic whose name is Kerry Clare. I was sent it by my friend Susan Swan (whose new novel THE WESTERN LIGHT is a must-read, especially if you were a fan of her earlier novel THE WIVES OF BATH but even if not...), so that I would be aware that my collection THE ELIZABETH STORIES, nearly 30 years old, is still having a life. Ah, there's nothing so satisfying for a writer than to know that a book continues to be read.

OCTOBER 25

oops, it's gone sideways again! who can help me fix this?

So as October draws slowly to a close, the season of  ripe fruitfulness does likewise, and I find myself making grape jelly again -- as I do every year, using the grapes from the vine that winds itself up the brickwork beneath the front terrace. It has always been here, and I feel a kind of housewifely obligation to use what it yields for a few jars -- 6 this year -- of dark purple jelly, shining and brilliant on the spoon before it melts a little on the hot toast, or blends itself into a pot of yoghurt. It is a crazy "waste of time" in some ways, as it is so labour-intensive, but aftrer a few hours of picking, sorting, smushing, boiling, dripping through a muslin bag and boiling again, pouring into jars and sealing with wax, voila! writing the labels to stick on the lids, I have an enormous feeling of satisfaction. Here are the grapes, pre-jelly.



some of this year's apple crop, stored in the cellar

Now there are still lots of apples in the cellar for making apple sauce, and apple pie (particularly Aunt Christine's Apple Pie, a big favorite with Mas Blanc guests), and there is a large bag of almonds ready for someone to crack during the Christmas season. The apricots are now happily jammed in jars with a few marischino cherries for colour, and the plums? well the plums didn't do well, same as the cherries that were eaten by enormous beetles -- done in by forces of nature.  It'll be a bad year for the olives this year too, on account of that freeze that came in February, and I am not even going to try to gather them, as there'll not be enough to make a difference at the mill. There have certainly been some happy days picking olives in the past, but not this year. I can never spend time out among the olive trees without missing Bob, my husband of 40 years, who was so much part of this place, Mas Blanc.



 Only a few years ago, Bob and I, working together, picking olives

The last of my visitors has been taken to the train station in Nimes, and now there is a quiet period of reflection to go along with the work of cleaning up the garden and finishing the painting of the shutters -- the wood is always painted blue, and the job is being done this year by my friend David, partner of my friend Patricia... whereas I am painting the metal hinges and bars with shiny black "non-rust" paint, a most satisfying persnickity job one must accomplish with a very small brush. It is the editorial finishing touch.

And I will finish now, for tonight. Mas Blanc is resting under a sky filled with stars, and a moon that is filling out nicely. A good way to end the day.

Glorious October

It has been a warm dry autumn here, and although the level of water in the river (well, stream) Ourne is at the lowest I've ever seen it in fourteen years, there's still enough blow the old mill across from us for my neighbour to enjoy getting out his little "boat" occasionally for a nice end-of-day float...This shot was taken only a week or two ago.

But the light is shifting now, there's a change in the angle of sunlight flooding the south terrace...nevertheless most days this month, when there haven't been visitors to Mas Blanc, I've been able to sunbathe in the early afternoon. However, there have been so many visitors  -- Australians following Canadians for the past several weeks -- that my tanning hours have been severely curtailed. However, I am not complaining, as the good company has been a tonic, and some of these friends have lent their hand to various chores on the property.  When my friends Garth & Annie from Victoria were here, Garth did some serious cutting of bamboo that grows below the north terrace. It was getting so tall it obstructed the view of the river, and now that the poles have been stripped of their branches, they'll be of use next year in the garden to stake out the tomatoes.

This year's garden is pretty well over now, with only the kale still in the ground and a few cheerful cosmos still blooming, such gorgeous shades of rose and cerise. They make a good bouquet for the kitchen window, especially when combined with the deep purple of wild sage that is having a second round this season.  I am always sad to see the sunflowers go, and they seem equally sad, as you see here...

When my friends Scott & Heather from Ottawa were here, I took them down to see the old wine cellar beneath the house, which has been dated at 1598, as there was a pottery on this property at that period and there is evidence pointing to the existence of this cellar (thanks not to my research but that of an historian who was writing a book about local potteries and asked to see and measure our cellars). My husband Bob enjoyed collecting wine from the region, and this was a perfect place to store his discoveries...And the cellar has always had a particular ambiance, because of a  high shelf lined with VERY old bottles that we never touched for fear of them tumbling down. "Is that sawdust?" asked Scott, as he looked at the shelf and indeed, it does seem that deterioration is in progress, and the shelf must be replaced. Since this photo was taken I've removed all the bottles, but they'll go up again once the new insect-proofed shelf is in place.

There are a few more photos to share, I'll save them for another post. Now I am going for a walk up past the spring where the sign says that the water is not tested, but everyone comes to fill their plastic containers anyway... and so far no one has died as a direct result.... (well, as far as I know...)