and how did you spend your Wednesday?

 Me, I played with Millie. I kid you not. It was a her and me day. Everything I did had Millie in it. And, conversely, she kept a vigilant eye on my doings, never straying far. Actually never straying at all. She's not one to jump fences to see what's on the other side. In fact, she's the kind of dog that you could never put on a leash and she'd still walk by your side. Of course, the day I try that is the day she runs across the street to greet another dog and I lose her to a car crash. 

Why so much of Millie? It's just how the day evolved.

 Our mornings of course are always together: the pre-sunrise walk (a beautiful morning mist today!)...

 

 

 

And breakfast (with her always nesting on my feet while I try not to wiggle too much to disturb her)...

 

 

A short nap for her, another walk.

("what next?")

 

Then, all the things I planned for this day were within her orbit. For example, I watered the roses in her yard while she searched out the wood chips to steal, splinters or no splinters. Loves those wood chips. 

And we played ball. Oh how she loves that!

And I tidied up some roses -- out in the front yard, while she kept an eye on me from the porch (such a beautiful day yet again!). 

And I finally started to work on my Rose Book. I had taken it to France with me, thinking that I surely would have time to fill it there -- a ridiculous idea. When have I ever had too much time while traveling?!

And I took care of the set up for my bougainvilleas for their winter in the basement. With grow lights.  And I transplanted my olive tree and positioned it also inside, hoping that a southern exposure would suffice.

All this while Millie enjoyed sniffing things out and barking for no reason. 

 

 

 

Sure, there was a lot of rose work in my day. I blame the weather. It's so good these weeks that I feel compelled to continue. The more I do now, the better the spring and summer bloom will be next year. 

My pup, my roses. My coffee, my books. Blue skies, warm air. I'm so grateful. For all this and so much more.

with so much love... 

and many more...

Years added to our tally: Ed and I started being a thing 21 years ago today. On his birthday. He was then freshly 55 years old. I was 52. I didn't know it was his birthday. He worked hard on not telling me these things, assuring me that he didn't care, didn't celebrate, didn't count. Alright, we can talk a long time about why a person chooses to go that path but no matter. He may not celebrate. I do. His birthday and our coming together and forming this very unusual union (but is there a "usual" union out there?) back on October 20, 2005.. It's good to count -- it helps you see the evolution, to understand how nothing stays the same, even as you feel that closeness, intimacy, love. 

Ed and I almost never disagree openly. That's probably because if we started to pick on choices made by the other, we'd never stop. We are so different that it's no use dwelling on that. Where does that get you anyway. For us, it's one day at a time. We find the overlap, we focus on that. 

Yet, I have to admit that this last year has brought with it a sea of changes, all instigated by me, and though I think the end result is a good one (we live in each others back yard, but not under the same roof), nonetheless, there are challenges. Ed's habits are such that he does not plan ahead. Living together (as we did in the farmhouse for quite a while) allowed us to bypass the arranging of things. Now we are back to having to do that and though Ed rarely (never?) says no to my ideas, still, sometimes I wish I wouldn't have to generate them all the time.

But, there is love. There is a calmness, a harmony, a synergy that grows over time because the longer you are together the more you understand where your sweet spot is together. (Or there is no sweet spot at which point you may as well go your separate ways.) 

And so I live alone and yet I cannot imagine a life without Ed. He is in my head, my heart, maybe some other organ, I don't know. He is very much a part of my mindset. Love that has morphed into something solid. Not likely to change now. So, until one of us keels over, we are together. 

And yes, he is 76. One of those 76 year olds who loves to ride his bike and play pickle ball and learn new things and design new machines. Loves, too, growing his own tomatoes, harvesting old orchard fruits that no one else would call edible, sailing, sleeping under the stars, petting his cats, hanging out with me. I could also give a list of things he doesn't like: gardening for the visual pleasure of seeing things bloom, an overpopulated planet, buying new things, polluting the environment, cruelty to animals and to people but really, maybe especially to animals, cars and driving, wasting food, drinking alcohol, talking about feelings. There's more, but I think this gives you a good idea of what's what. 

We talked about possible things we might do today and in the end we settled for dinner -- of the pizza type, at home, watching a show we like together. But that comes later. Let's take a look at what came before:

A gorgeous day. Just splendid! Sunshine, cool and warm both at the same time -- October perfection. 

 

 

 

Millie and I had a lovely evening of following our old routines and now the morning too is back to having that sweetness of predictability, ending up with breakfast in the sunny reading corner, with the pup curled up on my feet. Bliss.

 

(make room, Millie)

 

 

(Millie, on the guitar...)

After she is done resting, I take her to doggie daycare, where she is deliriously happy to see Julie again. Those two! Me, I return home and you will not guess what I do! Or maybe you will?

I rip out more sod and dig out three new holes. 

I blame the weather! It's so perfect for garden work! Sure, I could be putting in bulbs. But no. I choose instead to make room for spring dahlias. And the holes? That's for the rose replacement that the nursery is sending me. And, um, for the two other roses because they were practically giving them away this late in the season.

 

Too, I water the front yard. Tomorrow I'll do Millie's yard. No time for that today -- I need to pick up Snowdrop at school.

We walk Goose, we talk. she plays with her big guy.

 

 

 

  

 

 

And then I'm back to picking up and dropping off. Drop off Snowdrop at Girl Scouts. Pick up boys at Taekwando. Drop off boys at home. Pick up Millie. Did I forget anyone?? 

Finally my pup and I are home and Ed comes over and she is still a tiny bit apprehensive when he stands up (he is so tall and his booming voice so strong...), but she knows now that this, too is part of our routine. He's part of this household, even if he isn't always on the couch with me...

Happy birthday, Ed. Happy anniversary too! 

with so much love... 

home

How I love coming home to Steffi's House! It is all that one would want from one's little nest. Not yet cluttered by life's progression (and I mean cluttered in the broadest sense of the word), it is pure and innocent. Cheerful and warm. Welcoming. 

Here's how my rentrée (borrowed French term for re-entry to normal life after a vacation) progressed:

My transatlantic flight was seamless and on time. Coming into Chicago is a bit much for a provincial hayseed like me who thinks Detroit, with maybe two international flights arriving at the same time is too chaotic. Lines through passport control (ten different lines and it's up to you to figure out where you belong), long waits for luggage (lucky break for me that I do not have to recheck my bag because there are lines for that as well), and then you have to take a train to get to a place where you can pick up your Uber. No thanks. If I'm going to take a train to Terminal 2 (where Ubers come), I may as well walk from there to the Chicago El (their subway) station and take the train to my daughter's neighborhood. Cheaper and no traffic. 

What I didn't count on was how awkward over bumpy uneven sidewalks the walk from the El to her home would be. I was helped with my suitcase on the station stairs, but thereafter it was just plain torture and my backpack felt very heavy. Next time Uber, you dumb scrooge you!

I was pretty wiped by the time I arrived at their place at around 5 pm. Still, it was grand to see the two girls! Kids at this age never stay in place for long and they already seem ten years older than when I last saw them in August.

I joined them for dinner, and we played a game and it was all great fun.

My daughter had actually been out of town and she arrived just as I was ready to leave, but I did catch her for a few minutes and every few minutes is good in my book! But mindful of my bus schedule (and total exhaustion), I left their home at 8, Ubered (wisely this time) back to OHare airport, and caught the bus back to Madison, arriving in my home city and state at just about midnight. Ed was there, waiting.

Julie, Millie's best bud, had left the house splendidly clean, which was a great gift for me! Still, as always, I felt compelled to unpack and take stock and so it was close to 2 before I fell into bed completely spent.

 

And this morning? Sunny and beautiful! First thing: take a look at the roses. They survived!

(The Primard gardens looked like they were shutting down fast. Mine doesn't look like it's in that much of a hurry.)

 

 

Several of the roses have significant leaf damage which I assume is due to rose slugs. I'll have to clean them up today -- rip out leaves in the hope of disposing a good chunk of the little green larvae. And all my plants need water, but no problem, I'm on it! After breakfast of course.

As you see, there are still blooms coming through here and there. I so appreciate them! We're not going to have another frost night this month so I expect my rose luck will hold. For now.

 

 

 

The slug control takes forever! An easier strategy would have been to use organic insecticidal soap, but since it is the end of the season and the leaves will soon drop of their own accord, I thought I'd limit my interventions to just manual removal. We'll see if that's sufficient!

Rose care always sucks up many if not most of my available hours. But you couldn't ask for a nicer day to do this in. Or... am I simply avoiding getting to the bulb planting? Possibly.

 

By 4, I am so ready to pick up Millie. I get a quick summary of her week ("she was perfect!") and then I bring her home and brush her, and hug her, and walk her, and hug her, and generally spend my time convincing her that I missed her very very much.  

 

 

 

 

 

There is nothing to eat in the fridge and though I did order some groceries, they aren't delivered until very very late. That's what frozen leftovers are for! And my crispy wheat crackers. And chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

with so much love... 

leaving France

It will be a long trip and it may or may not result in a return home. And this post probably wont solve that puzzle for you. Here's why: 

I set the alarm for 7, so as usual, I wake up five minutes before that. Why do I even bother with the alarm? Because the day I do not set it is the day I wont wake up. That's how it works, isn't it...

It's dark still. Or, that predawn gray. (Sunrise here today is at 8:15, a whole hour later than in Madison.) My bags were already packed in Paris, with just a few things needed for my two days in the Loire Valley. I have a relaxed hour -- breakfast here starts at 8. It gives me a chance to throw a glance outside. 

The longer I stay (granted, only 2 days), the more I like this landscape. There is a lesson here, no? Stay put, learn to love all that grows close to you.

There aren't many at the restaurant. And it's cold in the room! Is that intentional? So that you do not linger over your second cup of coffee? There is nothing unusual or especially grand about the morning meal here. I'll say this much -- the croissants are very excellent. That counts for something. My last croissant this year. I've stopped eating them in Madison. That and wine-- indulgences during travel, ignored back home. (Does that mean I opt for dull drudgery when not on vacation? Not really. I dont miss either at home. There, it's all about Millie and roses and the grandkids. And Ed.)

(more light after breakfast: the petanque sand strip)

 

 

After breakfast, the golf cart comes for my suitcases. I opt for walking to the main house.

(the little bridge is covered entirely by a climbing rose on one side and a wisteria on the other)

(one final one: maybe a "Francis Meilland?")

And then at 9, I take the cab to the Paris airport. Normally this would be prohibitively expensive (it's an 85 minute trip), but they have a special price for hotel guests so I budgeted the transfer into the whole package of staying at the Domaine.

Will I ever return? Dont ask me impossible questions. There used to be a time in my travels where I was hell bent on finding a place to return to. Again and again. Sorede comes to mind (years: 2010 - 2013). But when Ed dropped out of the picture, announcing right after that last Sorede trip that he was done with travel, my attempts at returns became half hearted. Chamonix a few of times. Brittany of course, though never to the same place. Only le Baume. Le Baume is all mine. People can come and go there with me, but it is mine. Solo trips to Paris can only be grand if I am there. Without it, I am but a lost soul drowning in the melancholy that can be very much a part of a stay in that city.

Truthfully, I probably wont return. I liked the Domaine quite a bit, but I am getting up there in years and there are other ways of linking Paris with the countryside that I have yet to try. (You'll understand come January!)

We arrive at the airport in an okay time frame. The warning here is that if you travel by cab, the entrance to the unloading for transatlantic flights these days always takes forever. I was lucky - only 15 minutes of stop and go (mostly stop) for the last 300 meters of travel to terminal 2E. 

Long lines at check in, even longer at passport control and then a quick sail through at security. Boom! Sixty minutes from stepping into the airport to stepping  before the gate, but really, full credit for that speed goes to my participation in the Air France loyalty program. The privilege of the frequent flyer in Paris is that you stand in shorter lines. Not much, but at insane airports with long lines, I am grateful.

Final foods on French soil: figs, a prune clafoutis (a fall standard here), and a partridge in a pear tree.

Eight and a half hours later I am in Chicago.

The plan had been to spend the afternoon/evening with my daughter's family, then to overnight at my usual hotel, and to return in a leisurely fashion tomorrow, by the usual bus. However, I changed my mind and everything aligned itself to put in place a new plan. Why spend money on a hotel and sit in rush hour traffic tomorrow, when I can take a night bus home? True, I will be on a European clock so in fact, I will have missed a whole night of sleep. But I save quiet a bit. And I gain some time at Steffi's House -- time that I need badly. Millie's guardian (and BFF!) is taking her to visit her mom, so the house will actually be empty tonight (I hadn't wanted to arrive in the middle of the night if they are both there). If I pick up Millie at daycare tomorrow (as planned), and if I am home in the morning, I will be able to water the garden thoroughly. It needs it. There was only one rainfall in my absence and that is pushing it for my newly planted flowers. I do not want to lose them or weaken them for the winter! Too, I have a zillion auto pay emails, telling me my card is being denied, as it well should be since I cancelled it,  I need to authorize my new card and start paying or else, for example, Millie loses her health insurance. God forbid!

The upshot? I plan on time with the grand girls, and when they go to bed, I will return to the airport and catch the night bus home. Ed will be at the bus stop if I call him loudly enough to wake him.

I'll post now, and update tomorrow on how it all worked out. The one thing that I do know is that there will not be time for me to write again until I am home, at Steffi's House.

See you then and from there!

with so much love... 

the Loire Valley

It's often called the Garden of France. Vineyards, abundant produce, artfully arranged landscapes behind manors and smaller homes. They're all here. French roses weren't developed in this region -- that's more of a Lyon thing (Meilland, the breeder of roses that I have in Steffi's garden, has ancestral roots in Lyon and he's not the only one). Nonetheless, you'll find the country's best rose nurseries in the Valley and in a different season, I would be tempted to take the Rose Route that would have me visit both gardens and gardening centers in the Loire Valley. And Lyon is a mere 20 miles (or 30 kilometers) from the Valley proper, and we know that these boundaries are artificial anyway. In late October though, none of this is really on anyone's list of Loire imperatives. Nor is visiting the numerous Loire vineyards, since the harvest is long done. I suppose if you were me even ten years ago, you'd like to poke around the wine caves and maybe sample the delicious whites. That's a thing of the past. Now I just look for peace and quiet and a nice walk in nature.

I get up late-ish. Late sleep, late morning. It's rather nice on a vacation. I love my routines back home, but some are meant to be broken when away. Getting up early seems to be one of the routines I let go of on this trip.

I'm readyfor breakfast just before 10, but I am diverted en route! The morning sunshine is just too gorgeous. Morning light is the best for contemplation, for taking in the beauty of our planet. I walk over to the little lake across dewy meadows and I exhale deeply.

(out my window: beckoning!)

(Two chairs, inviting. Behind them -- a see of winter rye and heart clover)

(The Lake House)

(The lake)

(Another pair of chairs, a boat, and yes, it's an American Red Maple)

(morning mist)

(Time for breakfast; and yes, there are donkeys here as well)

Breakfast is fine. I go eggsy this time, because the granola looks uninteresting and besides, I'm sure to skip lunch so I may as well enjoy some protein, even though this is a truly do nothing day.

After breakfast, I read a bit about the horrors of the world (meaning I catch up on news). Is this a mistake? Should I give myself just one day of blissful ignorance? I don't know... I think I've lived through so many decades of political turmoil and human loss and environmental degradation that I've accepted by now the fact that in our short lives you have to make peace with yourself and your community, wherever you may find it, despite it all. To be miserable helps no one. To find ways to live with contentment may in fact help others to do the same.

Another walk follows -- this one along the entire perimeters of the property. That takes maybe an hour. The Domaine de Primard is spread over 30 hectares/75 acres of land. That's okay for my do-nothing day, but you'd have to head out for a proper country hike. I do wonder -- where is everyone? A few are sitting on the artfully positioned chairs (see below), but the strolling paths are empty. I'm enjoying that! And before I delve into the photos, let me just say that some of my first impressions are evolving! After my walk, I'm beginning to understand that this property really is for a rosarian, but the proper time to appreciate this is... earlier in the season. There are roses everywhere and most of them are quite substantial. Jacques Wirtz is the landscaper who designed the gardens here (he also designed gardens in the Tuileries -- the sculpted, cloud-like boxwood are a giveaway) and I see that these are not young plants. Almost none of the roses scattered throughout are labeled. I had them ask the gardener if he knew some of the varieties (there was one in particular I was curious about) and he responded that he did not know any of them. This is very understandable. There are over 30 000 known rose cultivars and if you lose your tags and do not create a map of your roses, you might as well say good bye to ever knowing what you have planted. If these were put in tag-less a decade or two (or more) ago -- well, there's no way the current head gardener could say what they are.

(I pass this tall tree, maybe twice my height, and I think -- this is actually a rose bush, and not a rose tree. and it's quite old)

 

 

 

(and this is the "official" rose garden... just a few blooms now) 

 

 

 (The vegetable garden is actually quite big, but I don't see abundance right now, certainly not enough to keep all the guests happy at dinnertime)

 

 

 

 

(Chairs that I associate with Parisian cafes, by the river. I sit for a few minutes, looking at the rapid movement of the water) 

 

 

 

 

(Another 2 chairs and next to it, another old rose, climbing nearly to the top of a tree) 

 

 

 (In the roses by the main Domaine house: looks to me like a Desdemona, but what do I know...)

 

 

In the afternoon, I do something that I thought (months ago when I made a reservation at the Domaine)  I would need after many weeks of hard physical labor and the emotional strain of late summer (all these people, ill!) -- a spa time. The Domaine has a spa and I daresay, many a French person here from Paris is here exactly because it has a spa. A sort of relaxation break if you will. (There is also a pool, but it's outdoors and despite the fact that it's open until the end of this month, you'll find no one swimming in it. I wonder why...) 

Truthfully, I'd rather not do anything at the spa today. But, I booked it and it's the weekend -- their busiest time, so I am not going to unbook it. There are benefits to reserving things in advance (availability is always limited in these places), but there are drawbacks. And it's not as if I wouldn't enjoy a spa treatment, I just dont need it, and these days need trumps want for me. Money and time are at play here. 

 

In fact, I'm thinking maybe I did need a rub down. My shoulders hurt. After the therapist's kneeding, my muscle mass softened from tight to like butter left out on the counter too long. Never underestimate the value of lymphatic and immune system support! And of course I'm delightfully relaxed after it. All ready for my very long journey home tomorrow!

Another "tea time with cakes" follows. Possibly a terrible idea as it's a latte for me -- in fact, nearly dinner time (working that caffeine into my bloodstream and then wondering why I cant sleep!). But, a new routine has been established (can you call something that you do for two days a routine?) and so here I am. 

(back to the main house)

(drinking coffee)

And now it really is supper time, again at the Bistro (because... where else? We are in the middle of nowhere). No photos for you. My camera often switches shutter speed accidentally, seemingly of its own accord and it did so tonight. I got a lot of black photos from the evening. But I will note that the dinner was delicious. A lovely final one in France. 

with so much love... 

 

leaving Paris

A cloudy day in Paris, with a chance of rain. It hardly matters. I'm traveling today. A forced exit because I know that if I stayed, I would not feel like taking a train out to the country for an afternoon, or a day. I would do what I did yesterday and the day before: walk the streets, visit museums, buy chocolate. And I really want that walk in the country. In a garden that's not touched by city noise, dust, debris. So today I leave for the country. My last two nights in France wont be in Paris.

Breakfast -- late as usual. (My bedtime last night? Don't even ask.) Only one other couple in the breakfast area. Americans. Perhaps my age. Can't really tell. Being the curious sort, they as our waiter what he does after he's done taking care of breakfast for Baume guests. Oh, I read books. I love to read, he tells them. And I run. I do not read the news -- too depressing. Indeed. I had checked my email and had gotten the usual Breaking New alerts. Horrible stuff. We seem to cultivate school shootings as a hobby back home. How depraved are we anyway? So much taking of human life, deliberately. We use guns to stop those with guns. So, more guns, an endless stream of guns. At some point will they think of you as insane if you dont have at least five stored in various closets? A couple of days ago I was at the post office in Paris buying some stamps. The woman didn't want to give me "just boring" ones so she proudly took out a pack of some iconic cartoon characters. Bad guys, good guys, shooting with guns. I said I'll take the boring ones. Why? -- she asks. These are classic cartoons from the past! I don't care. I'm American. For me, guns are not funny. Boring is way underrated.  

And yet, if you think about it, most people are like our waiter here: they like to run, read books, find calm. A million, ten million of those for every one person whose brain malfunctions. I suppose there is hope in that. 

(My last breakfast. I almost want to cry. It's very special for me at home (Millie's with me!), but here, it is pure harmony of the senses.)

This hotel never fails to charm me. When you come back to a place, you start to notice the progression of time. Things fade. An older patina sets in. Not at the Baume. The other time I asked -- is that new carpet on the stairs? They said -- no no, it's been there for a few years. How do they keep things so fresh? Outside in their courtyard, there are now tiny lights forming shapes of butterflies. Everyone comments on it. -- it's so pretty! You need unusual and rare managerial skills to run a place so beautifully.

And speaking of such skills, who should I see out on the street but Madame Harrault herself, riding her bike to work (she is the highly respected general manager at Le Baume).

We pause to talk for a few minutes. She always takes the time for me. She is by nature a warm and wonderful person. And inevitably I learn something from her. She tells me how French grandparents (and aunts and uncles) do presents in France. A great idea! I'll try it back home.

I'm out for just a short stroll, to one point and back again. With one last glance at places I know and, by virtue of their familiarity, love so much.

(many photos have been taken over the years of this mirror and the image in it!)

 

 

(home)

 

 

And at 11:45 I take a cab to the Gare Saint Lazare, the same station that you would use for a trip to Giverny, or to the Normandy coast. It's a busy but well orchestrated station. One level of shops, one of take away food venues. Screens showing where your train serving your station departs from (usually you have to remember the final station; this is so much better). I'm especially impressed because Snowdrop and I had such chaos using trains in Spain. Crowded spaces where you learned of your train platform less than ten minutes before it left. Here, efficiency rules. (And the ticket was an inexpensive 10 Euro and of course there's WiFi on the train.)

So am I going to be spending my last two night in Normandy? No, not exactly. I take the train to Bueil -- a small town in southern Normandy. But my country hotel sits right at the border of Normandy and the Val Loire (the Loire river valley) and technically it belongs to the latter, though culturally, they regard themselves as Normand.

My new for me hotel is the Domaine de Primard.  French people think of it as the former home of Catherine Deneuve. I think of it as an 18the century estate on the river Eure, though I do smile at the thought of her once living here. I loved her in the Umbrellas of Cherbourg! Deneuve is 82 years old now (she has 5 grandchildren!) and lives in Paris right on the Place Saint Sulpice, which is a five minute walk from Le Baume.

For me, there were good reasons to pick this Domaine as a retreat. It had to be within a reasonably short driving distance to the airport (the Primard just manages to fit the bill on this!). It had to have a place to take a nice walk. And an informal dining room on the premises. And less expensive than the Champagne hotels, which in October are way beyond my retired person's pension. Champagne is closer to the airport, but the the Loire Valley offers more reasonable choices. That the Domaine de Primard also has a rose garden (250 varieties!) is a bonus that I only discovered after I fell in love with growing roses. True, they may be fading now, but it hardly matters. They haven't had a frost yet in central France. Something must still be blooming!

The train ride is brief -- not quite an hour. The hotel is about a mile from the station and there is a shuttle service to it. Even if you come by car, you cannot drive up to the Domaine. Walk a distance, or ask for a golf cart ride to the door.

My room? In a side building, but lovely! Nicely subdued and serene. I unpack all that I need to unpack.

I have no goals really, no plans. Take a walk. That's it. Their grounds won a gardening prize. They tell me it's the only hotel that received a "gardens of distinction" honor. It's not just the roses. They grow their vegetables. They farm animals here. There's a river and walking along its banks makes you remember what serenity feels like.

(A side stream that creates an island for the main house.)

(I hope this isn't next month's dinner here...)

(Is that an American Red Maple? I'll have to check it out tomorrow. Behind it -- a lake)

(The River Eure, not to be confused with the River Epte, which flows by Monet's house in Giverny which, by the way, is only 26 km or 16 mi away, but it takes half an hour to get there on these small rural roads. No thanks. I like the quiet here.)

(well positioned chairs)

(Dahlias, the veggie garden, and against the wall -- fruit trees.)

(... like these:)

 

(this is what being caught in a sudden cloudburst looks like!)

 

Between 4 and 5 they serve a tea (or coffee) with cakes if you want this. I do want this! True, I have a plate of gifted madelines and chocolate in my room (chocolate!), but I'm not one to pass up a free pastry and a latte.

I see it's going to be another carrot cake lunch for me. Supplemented with fruits and nuts this time. Including those French plums. Perfect.

I sit back in the large living room in their main house and think about where I am. The grounds are indeed extensive and beautiful in a nature sensitive kind of way (lawns have weeds, gardens have a pleasantly unkempt character -- it looks good that way). The rose garden is less perfect. A few blooms remain...

... but most leaves and flowers have given up the battle. Was it the weather, or is the lifecycle of French roses (or these roses) shorter? Ours, which n.b. are English and French and German varieties, bloom until frost. 

I think about the hotel as well. I hear a lot of French. Exceptions: 1. there is an American family with three daughters, but listening in, I hear that he's actually German, and they live in London, where the girls attend the American school. It's complicated! 2. There is a family with a little girl who is maybe three years old. I heard her speak English. She sees my phone. She takes it. I ask her to give it back. No! Please? No! We do a few more rounds of this. Eventually, she throws it on the floor. Thanks, kid.  

This Frenchness all around me (with these two glaring exceptions) surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. If you travel all the way to France why would you go to a place that is a retreat from cities, from the rest of French life? If you're me, that is exactly what you want to do, but not many would trade art, culture, cafe life for looking at two donkeys graze in a paddock. (They have donkeys as well.) 

The staff here is remarkable. They will do anything for you, even before you ask. Between the two buildings, there are 37 rooms, and with the large grounds here, you can feel isolated even when you do not want to feel isolated. A friendly staff undoes the feeling of abandonment. I do not need someone to carry my coffee for me, but the concern is sweet.

Supper is at the hotel's informal Bistro Martin (they also have a well regarded posh restaurant here). The food is quite good and artfully prepared and for that there is a price of course. 

 

 (a meal of duck and potatoes never looked so good!)

 

 

Still, I'm eating less expensively on this trip than I would, were I to eat out in Madison. Which of course I never do. Only for family gatherings or to celebrate a birthday with Ed. [At the bistro, I have mushrooms as a first, duck as a second, and fruit as a dessert. With all that chocolate in the room (big thick slab -- I ate the whole thing), I think I'm good with just fruit for dinner.]

(the walk back to the house with my room...)

 

And yes, I should go to sleep now. Instead, I read up on starting dahlias indoors in early spring.

with so much love...