Soar-Dream-France

Poppy People Post

Posting about poppies brings people out of the woodwork, begging for more. More is easy this season, since they seem to be everywhere I turn. This is the first season that I can remember actually having fields of poppies in Cadrieu. Walking beside the river and through the village with a friend of mine, he mentioned that someone told him a kilo of poppies brings 3000€. That's a lot of poppies. So, for my poppy people...enjoy...I don't know how much longer they are going to last but I'll keep them coming from time to time as long as they do!

 

The Search for the Perfect Poppy

Always on the quest for perfect poppy pictures; I've discovered that the best shots are the ones that have a clean background behind them. They are just so delicate that they get sucked up in anything too busy. Stone walls are nice and work, but not nearly as well as blue sky. Then, on my way home I discovered another background that works nicely. I'm not sure what it is today about solitary poppies. They both needed to be my star!

 

 

 

Wild and Otherwise

Although I'd like to think the reason our roses are particularly beautiful this season is because of the very special fertilizer they received this winter; I discovered in Cajarc yesterday that all of the roses this season are prolific. My wild rose beside the barn takes my breath away, while the rose garden on the terrace has too many roses to count. The mixing of aromas makes them difficult to discern unless you just stick your nose right in the flower, but bringing them in the house helps. In years past, I hestitated to cut them to vase, but this year there are so many that we can be "rosy" everywhere. Even though I knew they'd be many and gorgeous based on the number of buds before I left for the states, I'd have to say that they are more in number and more in gorgeous! Have a Rosy Weekend!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Landing of a Different Kind

Landing in Cahors after a stateside trip usually means shooting into the Gare at high speed, jumping off the train, and running to my bus or rides home that may be with Jean, or Evelyn or sometimes both. Tuesday night was different. Just outside of Limoges, we discovered that there was a problem on the tracks somewhere between Brive and Toulouse and everyone would be de-training at Brive to be transferred to buses. SNCF provided a "direct" bus to Toulouse with the rest of us on the "milk run".

Our milk run stopped in Soulliac, Gourdon, Cahors, Caussade and Montauban. Fortunately, I didn't have to go all the way on the bus. I arrived in Cahors, a little more than an hour later than planned, but exhausted all the same. I'd been able to let Evelyn know what was up-so she didn't have to wait for me quite as long. Home by the hardest once more, but happy to be back in our heavenly place!

Place and People

Home and regrouping from a chock full trip, I am reminded once more of the extremes of my life. I love both. Blending them can be difficult. It seems that here is full of place and New Orleans and St. Louis are full of people. My photos tell the story in a way that always smacks me in the face upon return. It's just my life. I am rich in love, family, friendship and experiences. I wouldn't trade this beautiful tapestry for a million and look forward to the more that lies ahead.

A Launching and Landing Pad

Leaving home on May 3, I caught the midnight train to Paris for the first time in a long time. The last bus from Cadrieu put me into the Cahors SNCF Gare around 8pm as the sun was beginning to go down. I had a lot of time to wait, so in addition to reading and snacking, I wandered a little. I always say that Cahors feels like my launching pad to my life in the states. I left Cadrieu at 7pm on Thursday evening France time and arrived in New Orleans 8:30pm our time...32 hours of traveling. I'm not sure why Cahors feels like a launching pad, but I think it might be because Cahors is that "in-between"-that place between a very rural, pastoral, silent, peaceful life in the country and the very busy, loud, populated, life in New Orleans. It gives me a transition place between two extremes. Once I hit Cahors, I'm either gearing up or gearing down. The train is shooting me to Paris, Metro, and flight to the states. Coming home from Cahors, the bus is like a time travel machine. It follows the Lot River through tunnels, over railroad tracks, beside huge limestone cliffs, past medieval cliff-clinging villages, and farms to home. Cahors-my launching and landing pad!

Braking on Blogging and FB

I know from past experience it won't be a full STOP, but I also know that everything is unpredictable when I'm on the road no matter where I'm going. These trips to the states and back are more arduous. But ah, then the reward of seeing family and friends. I have an extra juicy reward at the end of this journey... closing out the New Orleans JazzFest on Sunday with these guys-The Neville Brothers-Always a Treat! A Bientôt Y'all!

Wagon Wine Time-Ode to a Lawnmower

Some of my very best ideas seem to come when I'm cutting the grass. I was on the last leg of grass cutting today, turns out it was my lawnmower's last leg too. This is not an easy parcel to cut under the best of circumstances, so with the high grass, tough weeds, hills, holes, stones, wet, and nettles...it just gave up. Fortunately, not before the "musts" of cutting had been finished.

You could hear everyone cutting their grass after the rain, Evelyn too. Over by the wagon, I was thinking we should have a hooray the grass is cut wine here later. It was my last night before I leave tomorrow-so at 5pm, Evelyn and Lucie, Jean, and Dali and I met at the wagon to have a little wine and cheese. Although I frequently sit out there alone with my coffee in the mornings, this was the first time to have an intimate gathering of friends. With the rushing lavoir, good friends, and a feeling of tucked in a safe place back in the corner; we agreed it was a sweet, relaxing way to spend a last evening before a departure. I'm often asked why I leave. I wouldn't if I didn't have to, but what joy in the coming home.

 

 

 

After the Storms-A Daisy Day

Monday's storm clouds over the causse were pretty impressive. I'd never seen anything quite like this very black cloud layer and then blue sky and puffy white clouds in the background. It seems to have been raining daily since right after Easter, making grass cutting impossible. I'd about given up hope, counting on a jungle upon my return from the states. Then, sunshine all day and not a drop of rain! I've still got the land by the barn to do, but I should make it. Dali spent most of the day supervising the grass cutting job from the daisies. They covered the whole yard. She looked so beautiful nestled in there, I had to get a couple of shots of her and the daisies before I cut that part of the yard...heaven after the storm!



 





 











There is a Friend Upon my Road-Madame Véra

Madam Véra Volmane has been very much on my mind. She's never very far away, but these last weeks she's been even closer. With many of those we love and lose and find again, I love that she's here. But, I still have so many questions that may never be answered.

When we last saw each other, I told her that she had such an interesting life that someone should write her story. She did that hand in the air "Ma" thing-a dismissive why would anyone want to do that expression? But the thing was, I did. And, I wanted to know more.

I loved being surrounded by Véra's writing when I came to stay with her. I didn't know I was at first, until one night I opened a cover and discovered it was a play she had written. It was like finding hidden treasure. My room at Véra's was full of hidden treasure, but I needed a key I didn't have at the time...French.

 

Recently, I searched Véra on amazon.fr and discovered a number of her books and newspapers/magazines that included her articles. Some of the books were Russian translations to French and others were in French. I chose two books to start. When her books arrived last week, it was as if Véra had moved into the Chatette with us. My French still isn't great. I struggle. I'm not quite sure yet, but little by little (sometimes even word by word) I'm beginning to think that I am reading Véra's story.