‘Oh you’re her father’s girl!’ people always said while I was growing up. My dad grew up in a country town and was one of ten, 8 boys and 2 girls. He and his brothers played a lot of footy, took a lot of girls to the local dances (he met Mum at around this time) – and the band of brothers learnt the ways of the bottle pretty early on. There are many parts of me that are Dad and they’re not all liquid-related – but let’s just say there’s a tradition to uphold and an annual trip back to Australia requires some catching up. Thankfully I’ve acquired a bit of Mum in me too in the last few years, but hey, it is Summer and it is once a year.
So a Happy New Year to you, full of good health, love and happiness
Since all the excitement of the last post… (way back then in November!?!!) with my bro asking ‘what’s with the Aboriginal flag?’ and a mate describing Benjamin as looking like Braveheart, a few km’s have been covered. I haven’t been blogging, but I’ve been busy snapping and am now itching to finally share the last month and a bit. Wanna guess my whereabouts?!?
It all started out like this…
my first ever sighting of this beautiful monument from the sky... the Eiffel Towerthese guys look like they're heading for homeblues skies, looks like we're getting there
Now for some real clues.
streets in the suburbsthe fruits in seasona backyard 'hills hoist'could that be King Gee's and Blundstones?
You must have it by now.
If not, take a look in the backyard…
out the backgood coffee, good bubbles (what WAS I thinking having a Frenchie bottle up here! - thanks Kate and Hamish for a bloody good one), good breakfast, good beer, good Asian (thanks Kate R) and good gelati!
Yep, I’m HOME and so happy to be here!
I thought I should add that Davo is a big give-away… (how many years has Dad insisted on keeping his little mate in the yard?)
Happy 1st January and may 2012 be a great big good year.
Voting ends today for the Naked Winemaker of the Year competition and he’s not too far behind! (only a couple of hours to go). The suspense is kiiling me!! (look I’m so nervous I can’t type properly!)
Every year, leading up to the 1st of November, you will see florists and markets everywhere stocking up with chrysanthemums. In France as well as other countries in Europe – Spain, Italy, Poland etc, this flower symbolises death and is placed in cemeteries on ‘La Toussaint’ – ‘All Saints’ Day’ – the day people remember their loved ones and bring flowers to their graves.
les fleurs outside the local florist
The day of ‘La Toussiant’ in the Western Christian world dates from the 7th century BC in Rome under Pope Boniface IV, and from the 9th century BC for the rest of Europe. On a quick peek on the internet, it seems that other countries also take flowers to their deceased on this day: Argentina, Austria, Belgium, Chile, Hungary, Lebanon, Luxembourg, Malta, Portugal, as well as some cities in the US.
a '4 L' with flowers inside, outside a cemetery
I’ll always remember the first year I arrived in France, walking through the cemetery of Lagrasse, by chance, just after the 1st of November. I was in awe, it was the most beautiful spectacle of colours and flowers. ‘They really look after their dead loved ones here,’ I said to Benjamin. He laughed and explained the tradtion of ‘La Toussaint’ to me. From then on I’ve always made sure to have a wander inside the cemetries at this time of year to take in the beauty and have a think. I don’t do it often, but going in and having a quiet walk around, reading the various names and looking at the faces of those few whose families have left a photograph gives me time to reflect and be grateful for being around. Corny, I know – but it puts things back into perspective and I feel even more happy to be around walking the earth instead of under it.
Lilas and I went for a walk in our village’s cemetery this week:
the cemetery in La Liviniere
Morbid I may be, but I loved this cross. The grapes, the wheat, it seems so rustic and perfect for a rural cemetery whose village is devoted to winemaking. I was probably wrong with the symbols however! – the blog ‘Graveyard Addiction’ (sounds very ‘Harold and Maude’ ) attributes the grapes as the blood of Christ and the wheat as a symbol of harvest (thanks G.A.!).
I spied Lilas with a pile of flowers in her hand – ‘No, you can’t take the flowers!’ I said. ‘Mummy, I’m picking the ones off the ground and giving them to ones that don’t have them,’ she explained.
I’ve just remembered that I used to give Mum chrysanthemums on Mother’s Day! – how funny to think of the twist from this Australian tradition to the French one… People keep saying the Aussies are topsy-turvy.
And your Tip For When In France: never present chrysanthemums to the host at a dinner party, or on your first date.
The Vigneron's Wife 