It’s Thursday and our turn poker night at our house. The guys were insepcting the labels for a new wine of Benji’s that’s about to be bottled and then got stuck into drinking some others.
Inspecting Vincent’s labels for a new Benji wine coming soon, ‘Boulevard Napoleon’. (and a thank you to monsieur p for your hand modelling work)
I was so excited, Benji put a great bottle of white in the freezer and I left them (wringing my hands in anticipation) in the kitchen as they sat down to play. Half-an-hour later I reminded Benji about his bottle chilling and he held one up and said ‘Oh this one? It’s finished’. My mouth dropped. The scoundrels!
(I should admit I got to bring a twentieth of a glass of chardonnay with me – so generous of you fellas)
I’d been meaning to put up some long-overdue photos anyway.
So for you, here’s a round-up of the 2012 grape harvest in our little area, the village of La Liviniere, in the Minervois region. In our village alone, of approxiamtely 600 people, there are 16 vignerons (winemakers/vineyard owners producing their own brand) and about 150 viticulturalists processing their grapes with the local Cave Co-operative.
It’s been a good harvest and people seem pretty happy about what they’ve picked – despite the kaleidoscope of weather. Essentially, we had good rain, good sun, good wind and the vineyard owners and vignerons are happy to see their babies off the vines and in the tanks.
Gone for the moment the need to check on the weather patterns 24/7 and the worries of the wiles of Nature , it’s now time to work inside the cellars and nurture the juice.
While the viticulteurs take it easier, the vignerons need to keep up a a seven day working week. It is now that crucial decisions, with their accompanying stress, need to be made regarding the precious juice and its management and development.
However, I can say that the general climate in our house is now pleasantly mild with fewer storms brewing on the front .
But not if the wine isn’t shared around.
calamiac, harvest timelunchtime break in the villageman, dog, harvesterraining one afternoon……sunny the nextmorning chat by the harvester
the neighbouring vigneron’s pickers…the alternativewatching the harvester from the house, early morning
We were clearing the lunch table when Benji looked up at the kitchen clock and said “I have to be at the wine cellar by 3 for the blessing”.
What? A blessing? By who?, what for?…
My questions came fast. The new wine cellar is now fully operational and receiving grapes with its first harvest. It’s an amazingly interesting site (hemp lime bricks, egg-shaped tanks, energy produced = energy consumed), worthy of much discussion – but a blessing?
This must be my Jesus week.
Do you ever get this, weeks where a theme comes out of nowhere? You might think of someone, something just once – and then the whole week you are bombarded with reminders of it, like some sort of grand message? The theme manages to plant itself into conversations and activities throughout the day, reminders of itself everywhere – and it sticks. It doesn’t even have to come from you, which is the freakiness of it.
Jesus in the house! – a walk out the back after schoolthe route home from the supermarketcoming into the villageat the back of our property
When I was little my auntie used to take me to Sunday church in Adelaide. I enjoyed the ‘costumes’ and the sound of all the voices singing together in the large, impressive Cathedral but other than that, I was bored with the speeches I had no hope of understanding and Auntie Paul would hand me little picture books about Jesus to keep me occupied. I would have given anything to be able to have the small disc of ‘bread’ on my tongue and drink the wine – but all I got was a small pat on the head so no, not very exciting. The only things that excited me were seeing ‘Jesus of Nazareth’ repeated on tele each Christmas (Robert Powell was so hot!) or seeing Julie Andrews as a nun and my consequent decision to become one. But this was short-lived.
He rocked my world… Robert Powell in ‘Jesus of Nazareth’ 1977
So this Jesus week, all these years later, did seem to spring from nowhere.
OK, I am living in a rural area where many of the locals remain strongly connected to Catholicism (one of the primary religions in France) – of course I’ll see religious symbols, they’re on almost every corner! And maybe I’m reading too much into things, simply trying to reassure myself with these ‘messages’. But it does make me stop for a bit and think.
in Lezignan
Gee I’m babbling now and sounding bonkers. But when Benji came out with the whole blessing thing, it sounds strange but it made sense for me. A couple of days before we’d had a shock with our daughter in an accident. Lilas was ok, but it really threw me and I’d been murmuring thank-you’s ever since. Attending a blessing sounded completely logical.
“Can I come?” I asked Benji.
Frere Francois arriving at the cellarblessing the small Visigoth building at the property
All the staff were present but no one said much. We followed Frere Francois outside and then through the cellar as he gave his blessings and threw the holy water . It was a strange moment and I didn’t understand everything that was said, but was I happy to take it all in – his gentle manner and the ambience he created, of kindness and tranquility.
It was over before I knew it and I was even sad to see him leave.
A couple of days later I took some friends, visiting from Australia, to a vide-grenier (flea market) after Sunday lunch. Walking back to the car we saw the door was open to the small village church. Doors of village churches are normally always locked so we made the most of it and had a look.
Inside Eglise Saint Paul Serge, in Mailhac
For such an unassuming exterior the inside was a lovely surprise – very colourful and much bigger than I’d expected. We had a wander and then Michelle pointed out something on the pin-up board:
the Eglise Saint-Paul-Serge QUIZZ
“It looks like a quiz for children maybe?”
Looked like it to me. Here are some of the questions – they’ve got to be shared:
Q 11. The Mother of Jesus was called: A) Marie? B) Nathalie? C) Sylvie?
Q 12. Jesus is: A) A great Frenchman? B) The Son of God made man? C) An ordinary Italian?
Q 13. Jesus died: A) Crucified in Jerusalem at the age 0f 33? B) In an accident in Rome at the age of 21? C) In his bed in London at the age of 70?
Q 14. Why was Jesus crucified: A) Because he did nothing? B) Because he did bad things? C) Because, as Son of God, he did good around him?
The following Wednesday (nearly all French children have it off from school) I had to take Lilas to collect her new French passport in a town some distance from our place, in Capestang. As is quite common around here, the church physically dominates the town.
the church towering over the town of Capestang – ‘Collegiale Saint-Etienne de Capestang’
This church would have been much bigger in scale, but the project was left unfinished due to the Great Plague and lack of funds
It was late in the afternoon and I wanted to get back home, but we had to pass the church to get back to the car. Lilas saw it and was very keen to visit it. She insisted we see if it was open. It was – another one open!? And once inside, I was so happy we’d taken the time.
It was beautiful and we had it all to ourselves. Lilas loved every minute of it and I was happy to have her around.
I woke up early this morning and was greeted by this.
How could I go back to bed with that.
I put the coffee machine on, bread in the toaster and had a wander outside.
As the sun rose and the sky brightened, you could see it would be a glorious morning – perfect for a morning walk. So after dropping Lilas off at school, Anne-Laure and I (where are you Mathilde!) set out on an old abandoned road, leading out of the village. I love these morning walks. With a dodgy back and all sorts of creaky things going on, I’m meant to keep up a minimum of exercise. Geez, I should be doing so much more, but I’ve never been sporty – so these ‘promenades’ are my small contribution to keeping me on my feet. We generally head out of the village without any idea of direction and just keep going as far as the route will take us. Sometimes it’s 40 minutes, sometimes you get lost and the route back takes a bit extra.
Feet stumbling in the rocks, you see beautiful centuries-old dry stone walls, remnants of old barns, local folk walking their dogs, vineyard workers, brand new views of the village from afar and wave after wave of vineyards. It is so good out here, I get completely addicted to it. Every morning has its beauty and I suck it all in and try and store it in some part of my head for the rest of the day. This time is a luxury and I am thankful to have it.
This particular morning Anne-Laure directed me along a road she knows well, with a special treat at the end of it.
This perfect, secret garden. A wonderful surprise ‘au bout’of the long lane.
We stood admiring it from outside its fence and then realised that its ‘proprietaire’ was inside, also standing and staring – at us.
He insisted we come in and visit.
It was the most beautiful vision of green – carefully tended boxes with row after row of salads, herbs, tomatoes, leeks, silver beet, gigantic-leafed plants to keep away the moles… He was happy to have us here and share his private space. The monsieur said he’d started growing his ‘potager’ around twenty years earlier and came everyday to work it. I asked him if with all this amazing produce he cooked – and he laughed heartily (with a cigarette dangling off his lip) and replied no, that it was to keep him busy after retiring and that, as he lived alone, he gave most of his vegetables away. We thanked him for his time and were handed a bunch of herbs. He then followed us out, locking the gate behind him and said it was time for his cafe. A great way to greet the morning.
The Vigneron's Wife 