to Bayeux

I leave a windy Midwest, I arrive in a brooding but not without spring life and color France.

Sometime in the fall, I thought long and hard about March travel and it seemed then that a moody Normandy might be mild enough to keep me out of winter coats and green enough for me to not mind that it's not full blown spring yet.

I had planned a week of meandering in various pockets of Normandy, but then came the saga of the Warsaw apartment and so I cut my roaming to two days (two day!), so that I could hurry to Warsaw to get started on apartment work. Well now, that was silly: there is certainly no hurry anymore -- the apartment project is stalled so long as there are students living there with their huge musical instruments. But, I have my flights to Warsaw in place and I can surely do some gentle planning in the few days that I will be there. I'll finish my spring break with a couple of nights in Paris and still manage to get back to the farmette in time to cook Easter dinner.

Bayeux is the one Normandy place that survived the cut (when I decided to travel to Warsaw).

I've never been to Bayeux, but I've read a little about it. The town sits inland, maybe 10 kilometers from the English Channel. Its fame comes from two very historically significant invasions: this is where William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy, launched his invasion of England back in 1066 (becoming then William the Conqueror, King of England). And, just to keep the invasion theme going -- it is the first town to be liberated after the D-Day invasion of Allied troops in 1944.

Surprisingly, Bayeux was not damaged during World War II. Much of the fighting took place just a few kilometers to the east, in Caen. It seems unfair, right? The least destroyed and still, the first to taste freedom. So much of history is unfair!


My travels here are not unusual for a March trip: crowded airports (spring break!), blustery winds, the sadness of leaving, the excitement of being in the travel bubble again. I'm turning my back on dozens of blooming crocuses! Sniff! Oh, but I expect something will be blooming in France! What's this? Snow showers in Warsaw?

In the end, I pack my winter jacket.

The trip is off to a good start. Flights are more or less on time, weather in Paris -- so full of promise! I have to pass through this city to get to Bayeux and honestly, when I came up from the underground tunnel of the airport train, I thought for a minute -- why don't I just stay in Paris and forget everything else...

There is a light mist that only slightly tempers the rays of sunshine. France is going to welcome spring tomorrow with a smile -- though ironically, the coldest spot will be on the Cherbourg peninsula, which is where I am heading. Bayeux was lucky in warfare, not so much in climate.

Rather than go directly to the Paris train station to wait there for my 3 p.m. train to Bayeaux, I decide to take a city walk instead. My suitcase is used to being wheeled along garden paths and it's light enough for me not to worry about the inevitable Parisian steps. And so here I am -- in my favorite spot in this city -- the Luxembourg Gardens.






You're thinking -- it looks pretty wintry still, no?
Look closer.






By the fountain, the man with the yellow flower sits by the yellow primroses and talks to his sweetie on his yellow phone. Spring is in the air!






When else do you let your beloved taste your sandwich as you hold tightly onto her hand?






Your legs wrap around hers as chestnut branches release the season's first leaves...






I can't say that I tried very hard to get the best photos for you. I'm just a tiny bit tired, loaded down with that little wheely and my attention is on not losing things. Am I more forgetful than I once was? I can't tell, but just in case, these days I spend a great deal of time counting what I have with me: suitcase, backpack, small purse, camera. One, two, three, four. All here.Passport zipped away, phone hidden. Good. Now let's proceed.


I'm on the lookout for a place to have lunch. It is, for me, the biggest eating challenge in Paris. This meal can be indifferent or expensive and not infrequently it can be both. You walk, you study menus, you look to see if a place is popular and still, none of this is really predictive of anything at all: a place that's busy with French speaking clients means very little in this city. People get attached to their neighborhood bistro bar, or maybe it's close to work, or they know the dish to order (or not to order). Honestly, I think people here are just less fussy at lunchtime. Put a warm goat cheese on fresh greens or reheat that chicken thigh and call it a day.

In the end I stop in at a place I know well. (It's called the Cafe du Metro -- can you guess why?)






It's never been great, it's never been awful, they use good breads from Poilâne and so what the heck -- I'll order a Croque Madame -- an open faced ham and cheese melt with an egg on top.






And of course, they bring the whole platter -- fries and all and monsieur asks -- a glass of wine? and I'm on auto pilot -- of course! ...then think better of it and add a whole big bottle of fizzy water. And coffee -- that's a must! And of course the tab climbs, but hey, it's a Croque Madame and I am feeling very madamish and buoyant and the food fills me in that way only runny cheese on good bread can fill you.


After lunch, the clock is ticking the minutes away and so I walk just a little more. My eyes stray to the children of course...






Then finally I take the metro...


 


... to the train station -- Gare St Lazare which services most of Normandy -- and I take the train to Bayeux.

I wont, in this post, give you an overview of Bayeux. Just a few introductory photos to set the tone. First the amusing: this is my first image to this town -- a man walking his goat. You wouldn't guess it right now, he tells me, but she's a very friendly goat.






And of course, no matter which way you look, you'll see views of the cathedral, consecrated by William (see notes above) in 1077.

Here it is from the back:






Here it is with an old Citroen driving up.






Here it is from my bathroom window:






Here it is from my evening walk to the restaurant:





Let me back up a bit. I'm staying at the lovely four roomed  Hotel Particulier Poppa. I closed the season in October for the proprietors in Giverny and I opened it for these guys in Bayeux. You're our first guest of the year! Well now, I don't waste a minute to get here, do I...

Like Giverny, Bayeux is not undiscovered. It's the Normandy beaches just down the road that are the draw. Perhaps this is the one place in France where one feels a unity of purpose between our two countries -- a theme that sometimes gets lost elsewhere as points of pride get tangled with transnational politics.

My bed and breakfast hosts and I came up with two dinner restaurants for my stay here and today's surely got me off to a grand start -- it's the Ptit Bistrot and it's a modern take on Normandy standards. Superb fish and artichoke as a starter and a duck breast that madame down in the next village probably personally massaged to get the meat just right. Exquisite. Really exquisite. With a poached pear and hand crafted cassis (black currant) jellies swimming in a chocolate something or other for dessert.






Tomorrow marks the beginning of spring. I have great plans for it. Until then!

where the winds blow

The winds pushed their way through, retreated, came back one last time and if predictions hold true, they'll be gone just as I take off after them. We'll be heading east, the winds and I -- in a race to get past the Great Lakes, over new and distant landscapes.

But in the morning, when I let the cheepers out, I am struck by how pretty the day is, what with the sunlight, the shoots of green, the nearly cloud free sky.





Or is it that everything appears especially pretty on days when I pack my bags and take off? As if demanding an answer to the perennial question -- why leave all this beauty?

The old hens turn possessive over the seeds I throw down for them, but I get my foot in and nudge the two old girls to make room and for a minute at least the four of them look like they are part of one harmonious pack.






Be good, be kind, be productive, hens!


Breakfast in the sun room.





And there are leftover fruits in the fridge, but you have to take out the mango a day ahead, and maybe some of the berries could be used for a smoothie and of course, don't forget there's a pound of spinach...
He looks at me indulgently.
And water the plants on Monday -- six pitcher-fuls total and...
He's heard it all before. So many times.


I spend the morning with Snowdrop to give the young parents at least a few hours to do their work. After, they'll be hustling her between one office and the other.

The little girl begs to go outside. I had mentioned idly that shoes are good for when we go out and boom! She is at the door, pointing, coaxing with her soft, pleading voice.

So we go out. The wind is no worse than yesterday and the good thing about it is that it pushes us home on the return.






And then I have to get back to the farmhouse and finish packing for a late afternoon flight.

Be good, be happy, little girl!






And where to now? If all goes well, my next post should be from Normandy. May the winds stay on my back, may the weather there show the gentler side of March, may the two days I'll be spending in this northern corner of France be quiet and contemplative in the best of ways.

Woosh! Off I go.

Wednesday

What ever bad words I had for yesterday's weather, today's are only going to be worse: high winds, clouds rolling in from all sides, almost tumbling over each other to gain control of the skies, throwing down occasional gusts of rain. Uff!

The older chickens came out of the coop right away -- they've seen it all, they've lived through worse -- but the young girls stayed put. I don't mind that they're a bit soft, but we do think it's curious that Java and Henny are not laying. The previous owners said they were born in May -- that would have put them into egg production many weeks back. Even if they paused for the relocation, they're inability to deliver causes us at times to chuckle, at other times to fret: two eggless chickens to add to a coop with two nearly done girls -- soon we will be supporting four hens who just like to hang out.

Breakfast -- a repeat of yesterday. A tired Ed, but a willing co-conspirator nonetheless.






And Snowdrop? I'm going to let her speak (of course, I'm only making best guesses):




I love to run!





Bath done! Set me free with a toothbrush!





I'm pointing to an orange! I love orange slices!





Can we go out please?  
It's really windy, Snowdrop.  
Please?




... and can I take penguin?





Hold on to everything, Snowdrop! It's fierce out there! Hold on!





(at the cafe, reaching for a crumb of apple scone) I love being here! Can I feed you a crumb, grandma?




... crumbs of scone, wind in the face, penguin at the side -- isn't life grand??




Look, Snowdrop -- there are waves on the lesser lake because of the wind. Am I imagining it, or do you actually like the strong wind?


My final photo is from a stop at the playground. I do not take credit for her sudden love of the swing -- a baby sitter last weekend brought out the first peel of laughter in the little girl as she looped back and forth. Oh, but it was grand today to see her so very happy and proud! 

Tuesday

I almost did not wake Ed for breakfast. He has been working every day late into the night, or even early morning on his machine design and I felt that my breakfast whim and fancy do not justify an intrusion into his sleep. So I whispered (perhaps not very quietly...) that I'd leave breakfast for him on the table and he grunted an okay and then I whispered (perhaps even less quietly...) a good bye and within two minutes he was downstairs and we were reviewing the local news at the kitchen table.

I hope this means that he values this meal almost as much as I do, though more likely, he has accepted the importance of it on my account. Let me at least do him the favor of keeping the focus on the meal rather than on his tired face.





It's a foggy morning and a stormy day and it will be followed by a windy tomorrow and in all, the weather does feel very unsettled, as if pulling back on the promise of warmth, but not completely, because it really does not feel like winter anymore.

Snowdrop is bouncy and spirited this morning...






Typically, I take her outside in the afternoon, but the weather really is set to deteriorate by noon and so I propose a walk just before then and she is happy to put on her jacket (and a cap, and a mommy scarf around her legs) and set out.

Here she is, telling penguin abut the pinwheel (I think).






We go all the way to the more distant coffee shop. Here, she is at once happy and ready to learn about expectations. There is the waiting part. And, too, we have to trudge to get the high chair, then return it to its proper place, whether we feel like it or not.






And the crumb of cookie cannot be more than that. (In general, I'm not much of a sugar fan.)

(Did you ever notice how photos of adults eating are never good and photos of children eating are always good?)






And again I have to wonder if she follows penguin's gaze up, or if she just likes to study the different ceilings out there...






We barely make it home before the rain comes down. Our good fortune!

I was going to end there, but in the afternoon, Snowdrop did something that is so her, that I thought -- let it be recorded for the books: she studied the little books that explain the operation of the wrench, hammer, pliers and screwdriver. I do not know who gave her these mini books, but she loves them to pieces.






I try, rather lamely, to explain one tool and then the next and I come with such clever statements as -- you can use this to fix your wagon or bike. You can see that she has no trust in my explanations. She is pursuing this despite my inability to encourage her.






I'll leave you today with her smile. She's raiding the pantry here and playing hide and seek all at once.






So much in the course of a day can be made right with a smile. It's good to remember this now and then.

sensual Monday

We woke up to dense fog. The kind that makes you very glad you're not out on the road, or connecting to a flight. The kind where you hurry to the chicken coop at dawn (can you even tell that there is a dawn?) and then back to bed again.

And yet -- it is a deeply satisfying morning. The soil smells as if it's working magic on the new growth. And the birds! This is the rare time that I am glad Ed is slow to trim or cut back trees. All those branches fill with morning music. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. (Have you noticed that if you breathe a deep sigh, your contentment quotient grows?)

Breakfast. To me, this meal is best when there is a visual high that accompanies it. Color, a view toward a garden (from the porch, come summertime), a favorite bowl, a tablecloth that brings back memories...






When I travel, this is no less important. If it doesn't look good, it doesn't stir up all your senses. Such a simple meal, so much pleasure derived from it!


It's Monday and Snowdrop spends much of her day here at the farmette. And talk about stirring up the senses! We start off our play with what is one of her favorite games: "smell this." Like any toddler, she loves the jars of spices in the pantry. I keep a dozen frequently used ones on the counter and I open them now one by one, smelling rather than tasting.






Does she get that her nose is getting a workout? I don't know. But the aromas are strong and she loves doing this, jar after jar.






And I love it too. You sometimes forget how aromatic cooking is and how it all works in tandem: smell, texture, taste, flavor. (Flavor in a food is essentially an exhale within your mouth that hits your olfactory receptors. There is much science on this now, telling us what we already intuit: if it doesn't smell good, it wont taste good. Some good and easy to read comments on this topic can be found here.)

And speaking of loving something -- I thought a little about how to get Snowdrop to fall in love with the red wagon. Would a comfy blanket, a pinwheel and a penguin do the trick?






She certainly relaxed, even as it is a bumpy ride to the barn.

The little one would have been even more excited if the chickens didn't run away from her (Scotch would not run away if she held out bread, but that's not an experience I'm aiming for right now).






We concentrate on learning the names of the four hens. Will she remember that the golden brown yakker is Scotch and the big black curious girl (as in -- what's that in the wagon?) is Java?






We'll see.

Snowdrop navigates the path back to the farmhouse well...






... but after a while, she is content to return to her wagon. Perhaps not yet in love with it, but surely the warm feelings are burgeoning, no?






Back at the farmhouse we read. A lot of books. Binge reading. No photos of this, but I do owe you one of a Snowdrop grin.






The little girl wont be visiting the farmhouse (or grandpa Ed) until Easter and so I let myself take a few photos of Snowdrop and the big guy.



(the barefooted duo, sharing cheese)





(her world turned upside down)

(left to their own devices, he provokes her best facial expressions!)





(and she makes him smile, and he makes her smile)


In the evening, Ed and I work outside: he moves loads of dirt from the driveway to my new flowerbed, I dig the wet, fragrant earth to find worms for the cheepers.

Just a farmette Monday. Nothing more, nothing less.