Saturday, January 4, 2014
The only journey is the one within.
The storms that hit the Eastern seaboard earlier in the week have made their way across the Atlantic and are now battering the front door. Bob wakes, promptly, at 6.40 to let me know that a shutter, somewhere in the house, is banging.
Loic, the gardener, arrives at first light to blow leaves. 80 mph gales aren't ideal for leaf blowing but Loic is undaunted. He starts to tell me a lengthy story. From time to time he makes a chopping motion with his left hand. Loic speaks very quickly in thickly accented French so I'm unsure whether he's telling me a joke or describing an accident in which someone has lost an arm. The all purpose phrase '' c'est la vie " comes in handy at times like this. Loic, at least, seems happy with this response and returns to his leaf blowing. Bob and Sophie follow him.
In the afternoon the Old Farmer wanders across the lane. He has been sent a bottle of wine from Lithuania. '' You must try this. It's wonderful ! " he says by way of introduction. Glasses are produced and we sit in a warm, almost sheltered, spot on the terrace to try it. ''Made with the flavour of Chokeberry" according to the label. ' The font ' observes that it is just like a wine we once tried at a winery in Montana. Make of that what you will.