It’s still Springing – so here’s some more Spring pics for you from around the Minervois… (I just wish I could put all the incredible smells on this page too)
Purple reigns!
a sprung Spring, part 2… Purple reigns!
Category: vineyards
Here little piggy
When I’m on a roll and doing the right thing by my back (my G.P. freaked when I said I was discovering the merits of beer and wine over prescription pills to ease chronic pain), I get out and walk.
Up and down and around the numerous ‘chemins‘(paths) of our local village after dropping Lilas off at school – or if I’m at home, I lock the door behind me and head out for a wander around ye olde hamlet. There’s nothing better for head-clearing than getting out and enjoying the sights and smells and sounds from the viewpoint of your feet (I haven’t yet embraced the bike-thing, despite obvious inspiration from the many folk here in Frogsville).
And now more than ever – with the hunting season is officially over, I can walk panic-free.
It sounds crazy but believe me, there’s this dodgy period of the year, from September to the end of February, when delightful shots ring in the air and I freeze and cower behind some vines. The hunters are out. Crouching like a ninny, you wonder if your bulk in a huge brown puffa jacket ressembles more wild sanglier (boar) than human. Especially when you’re not much taller than a wild boar – and on all fours (ooh la la, I won’t start). Here little piggy.
I’m not joking, accidents happen all over France each year during hunting season. You can find any number of stats on the net, one of which claims 57 hunting-related deaths in the 2012/2013 season (up from 42 in the 2011/2012 year). But the stats, depending who is reporting them, vary: the Office National de la Chasse et de la Faune Sauvage cites for 2011/2012, 131 hunting-related accidents of which only 18 were mortal, for eg. And don’t forget the 9% concerning ‘non-hunters’…
It’s a topic charged with anger on both sides of the fence. I wonder which side this author is hanging on…
…(AND NO, Bill! – that is not me that circled the goods)
Yes I’m confused, and wary of the propaganda – but when you’re out there enjoying the cacophany of shots whilst stepping over colourful empty shell cases, I wonder what my odds are. I should maybe don a red beanie and have a plastic red rose held high, a la the travel guides shepherding their groups around the grand squares of Europe.
On the less extreme end, some groups simply argue for a ban on Sundays (most accidents occur on weekends)… This leads me to wonder why Wednesday (with Saturday and Sunday) is also nominated as an’open’ hunting day of the week – when it is, all-over France, the mid-week day-off for children from school? Can’t say I’m itching to take Lilas out for a walk when you can see the camouflage khakis and gun cocked on a guy strolling not that far from the kitchen door.
But hey, on the whole I have no problems with hunting if regulations are respected. It’s incredibly popular here in the Minervois and you see a big proportion of the villagers getting involved. It’s almost like a religion. And these guys are outside, enjoying the elements (and the odd bottle of red) and providing some of us meat-eaters with food on the table. Probably better than frozen nuggets, pot and a few hours of Playstation in a dark living room .
So onto those walks. Like I said, the season has offically ‘closed’ and the hunters are at rest for the next few months at least. The piggies et al can relax – and me too.
this morning
Brrrr, a chilly morning, below freezing, but beautiful here in the Minervois. I went out to take some photos in my pyjamas and my hands were frozen in 5 minutes.
The views from the car on the way to school were spectacular…
allo allo – pics from the 2012 harvest
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.
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!
Time to come to the computer and vent some steam.
(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.
Mon dieu!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
“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.
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.
The Vigneron's Wife 