Le quack pack

We have company at our rural gite in Morbihan, Brittany, this week. 4 ducks we have collectively called "le quack pack" stop by chez nous morning and evening to see if there is any stale bread / veggies / salad to be had.

They follow us around quacking to each other, seemingly fascinated by our strange rituals. Antonia was the subject of attention as she pegged out the washing.

A stern look from Graeme sent them on their way back to work this morning.

And it is quite a job they have. They are the mill pond clearance squad. Weed eating is their speciality and there is a lot of weed to eat here!

Just time for a quick siesta then it's back to work. Nice work if you can get it.

The Afterlife

During my stock hunting trips for Histoires I often uncover the "histoire" or story of items I am purchasing. I sometimes find out who made them, when they made or some other anecdote associated with the item. Once they pass through my shop and have been shipped to far flung corners of the world I usually do not hear much more than how much the client loved them. Occasionally however I hear back about how the items have been used and, to me, this is quite fascinating.

Take for example this linen and crochet hand made curtain

It was purchased by an advertising agency in New York and was used in a lingerie advert. It probably wasn't the most eye-catching part of the advert but at least it got a bit part!

A client in Cincinnati bought this chenille yarn specifically for tying fishing flies

The candy pink 1950s tiered petticoat was bought by the photographer and model for use in their photography. Thanks to them for permission to use their photograph

The wonderful 18th century handwritten document was purchased by an advertising agency in Las Vegas and was also used as a photographic prop

And this card of mid century navy blue buttons were just the right colour and shape (and nationality!) for my client to "restore" her vintage Jeanne Lanvin coat.

Reused, repurposed, upcycled... they live on. Their histoire continues...

Summer holiday

We had a great week in Spain, returning to the gorgeous resort of Benicassim after discovering it last year.

We shunned the pool and the Mediterranean, prefering to swim in thermal pools in the mountains.

We learned how to cook an authentic Spanish paella

We visited the amazing fort at Peniscola which was famously used in the film "El Cid"

We paused to look at the padlocks locked together by lovers on the bridge below the fort

We ate fideua within the fortified walls overlooking the glorious beach. I now have a favourite tree in Peniscola. I wonder how many people it has shaded from the sun, I hope I will see it again next year.

Please come in

We have recently put our wonderful village house in Camon onto the market and a couple of weeks ago our agent immobilier wired an "A vendre" board to our downpipe. Since then there has been silence from our agents but clamouring within the village.

 Camon is a medieval bastide village and is one of the 100 most beautiful villages in France


The locus of most village activity is the tiny epicerie / depot de pain run by Camonaise born and bred Madame Dumay. Almost as soon as the for sale sign had appeared she told me that a local man might be interested in purchasing it for his son and that another village family had friends in Lille who would love to buy a maison secondaire in Camon. Fair enough I thought to myself. The local interest has ramped up in the last couple of days with another Camon resident ringing the doorbell asking to be shown around the house. Apparently he has a friend in Toulouse who holidays regularly in Camon and would like his own property here. At the end of the guided tour he thanked me and told me he would tell his friend all about it. Amazingly he phoned me the following evening to tell me his Toulousan friend was not interested as Camon is too far!!! A rather elaborate ruse to have a nosey around our house I thought to myself.

Please do come in - just knock on the door!

It hasn't stopped there though. Standing on the doorstep yesterday were the formidible pair of Madame Dumay and her elderly auntie (who already lives in the village). Tiny Tantie wanted to look around the house and proceeded to admire everything in her line of vision starting with Jeff's pot in the entrance hall

 what a beautiful pot!

She read the silver labels on our decanters wanting to know how to pronounce "sherry", she sat on the sofa and stroked it lovingly. She climbed all the stairs to see every part of the house. "elephants" she exclaimed delightedly in the downstairs cloakroom, in the bathroom and in the ensuite.

spot the elephants!


Finally having shown her over the whole property she insisted that I come to see her house.

I was given the full guided tour and dutifully admired the collection of stuffed sanglier, deer and pike heads. I cooed over her grandmothers copper pans and admired the paintings of cathar castles on the walls.

The strangest thing for me is that if this happened in Britain I would be annoyed by this time wasting and the constant stream of curious villagers. Here, however, it makes me smile. I love the elaborate "I have a friend" excuses. I'm just waiting for the doorbell to ring again... better do the washing up.

Moonshine

My last vide grenier at Lavelanet yesterday yielded some surprising finds. The items that impressed me the most were this lovely pair of antique distilling jars with hand carved cork lids

 

I couldn't help but think about the mobile still that we discovered in Léran last year. We had heard about its existance and had to go and take look. The directions were straightforward enough: walk out of the village over the bridge towards the Chateau, then take the footpath along the left river bank, cross over the next bridge and you should be able to see it. I must confess I did not have a clear idea of what a mobile distillery actually looks like, but correctly guessed that it was the metal shack on wheels surrounded by logs and fermenting barrels of fruit that was belching out smoke. Évidemment! And what a curiousity it was.

 

Monsieur Maury is the third generation of Maury distillers. His father and grandfather before him supplied local villagers with rather strong hooch distilled from their own fruit.

Monsieur Maury popped the lid off a blue barrel to show us the fermenting plums which were almost ready to put into the wood-fired still. He explained that the sugar in the fruit starts to turn to alcohol during the fermentation process. The fermented fruit is then placed into the still above the wood burner and the distilling process cunningly concentrates the alcohol. The innocent looking clear liquid that was dripping very, very slowly into the white enamel bucket you can see above (just to the left of the large blue barrel) is usually in the region of 84 – 86 percent proof.

“Goutez un peu”, he suggested, proffering a tiny brass spoonful of today's moonshine.

Obviously in the interests of research I agreed. And WOW was it strong.

“only 84 per cent proof?”, I spluttered, struggling for breath and wondering if my liver would ever forgive me for this latest atrocity.

“C'est pas si fort”, laughed Monsieur Maury

 

So this is all the kit you'll need for the mother of all home-brew. I can see a possible alternative use for our old trailer, a couple of accro props and a bucket...

This mobile still was in Léran for nearly 2 weeks before moving onto another Ariege village. I'm still hoping that when Monsieur Maury's still is in our locality I'll have tired of making fruit jam and compote and will have sufficient left-over fruit to transform into firewater. Better start to rest my liver in preparation.

Bottoms up!

What lies within?

First of all I must tell you that I love boxes. I really do love boxes. Just ask my mother how every Christmas as a small child I was far more interested in unwrapping and playing with the box rather than playing with the contents.

I'm slightly different nowadays. A closed box has to be opened. I spy an attractive box - and this is most boxes to me - and I have to lift the lid to know what lies within. Sometimes they are empty. Sometimes they hold random items. Frequently they conceal treasure.

This box caught my eye at my favourite brocante this morning. It's a basic cardboard box but with embellishments. Somebody has glued paper to the lid, attached handmade lace bows and sewn on buttons. Surely a box like this has to contain something precious?

And it did. Lengths of broderie anglaise lace carefully removed from old petticoats, lovingly hemmed and stored in this pretty box.

Hand worked crochet lace, beige linen mats trimmed with white cotton crochet lace from the 1940s, a wonderful crocheted dress yoke.

A black satin clutch from the 1950s still in it's original box, along with a lovely hand done cutwork dresser scarf (under the box).

And my favourite item - a tiny hand made crochet drawstring pouch containing over 100 mother of pearl buttons.

The contents of the box will be appearing in Histoires. The box itself will stay with me.

Omlette de Paques

We had intended to attend the annual village event to celebrate Easter last year but it was unfortunately cancelled due to inclement weather. In time-honoured local tradition the villagers gather to consume large amounts of omlette, local cheeses and red wine on Easter Monday and I was rather afraid that this year would also be a wash-out. Our local "animatrice", Emilie V, had told me rather assertively that it would not rain this year. And she was right!

We assembled on the voie verte (literally the "green way" which is the disused railway line that has been turned over to non motorised usage - you can walk or ride bikes and horses but no motorbikes, cars or trains!) and unloaded our picnic hampers of plates and cutlery while the feast was cooked and served by village ladies.

The dapper gent sporting an artfully knotted torchon is our esteemed Maire, Monsieur Huillet!

As the temperature rose and more wine was consumed Pat also donned a tea towel. Her style was more Laurence of Arabia rather than Donald McGill

Chapeau envy even gripped Jeff who succumbed to wearing my very pink, very floppy straw hat

And the food just kept on coming... pate and bread, followed by pasta salad with tuna, onions and olives. The omlette itself was varied - some had lardons, some had onions and I even managed to get a "nature" egg flavoured omlette. Then there were large platefuls of local Bethmale cheeses - vraiment bon. And to finish tarte aux pommes decorated with sugar roses, leaves and little birdies. Finally basketfuls of chocolate eggs for everyone, not just the kiddies. I really can't remember a more enjoyable Easter.