The scent of roses in the Loire Valley

We never know exactly where each day will end; camping on a free range duck farm, parked on the bank of a leafy river, lapping up a rose scented village. The Loire Valley has won out over the west coast and it has turned out to be a magical meandering off the beaten track.

We move slowly. No need to eat up miles or get to any particular destination, no clue what lies ahead. Every twist and turn surprises. Today it's the roses.

Of course there are castles to beat the band. But sometimes I find myself with my back to the chateau and my lens trained on the window over the boulangerie or a small side lane of cottages. Picturing who might have tended a mature rose bush and trained it over their doorway? Who planted the window boxes and gardens or lined the walls of village streets with climbers and creepers? Who cared so much, thought so creatively, worked in the heat of the sun for this beauty?

Liberty, equality and fraternity provides a basis for ordinary people to flourish. It doesn't give people any more resources but emphasises the right to belong. The valuing of each citizen makes France a country designed around social space and the importance of community. A place where ordinary people care about the country they share and here in the Loire Valley it means planting roses everywhere.

Along the route there are facilities, opportunities to share the land, understanding and empathy for the traveller. We are crisscrossing old paths used for centuries as pilgrimage routes. You would never be without sustenance or a place to sleep. Perfect for independent travellers. (I won't go on about the French public toilets, to be honest they have improved over the years and at least they have them in every village square. I was tempted to take a photo of each one I visited and rate them, but there's a terrible lack of romance in it? Suffice to say to travel off the grid you have to deal with a variety of basic challenges every day, more about all this anon)

Himself and myself have been mostly at peace with the lack of a plan. This is such a contrast with the previous few months of our lives, where every day was rigidly scheduled. If you are wondering about how it might be to come down after months of overwork and crisis management? It has been ridiculously easy! I suppose the 40 years of being on the road together helps in that......

Working around each other in a tiny camper van (VW Transporter with a pop up roof) is like being on the deck of a small boat. We manoeuvre tasks and re-organise in a space not much bigger than a large double bed. Himself being "6 foot 2 biddly-boo" has had to do more careful adjusting. Elbows, heads and toes are especially vulnerable to being clobbered.

Living in the open air wouldn't suit everyone. (We just swam in a river and later saw a snake slithering upstream!)You won't always come by a shower or a cooling breeze when you need one, and it's a constant number of repetitive tasks that keeps the whole shebang ship shape. 

But if you are up for it, you will find that you are more carefree and present, more aware of the scents of the earth and more at peace in your sleep than in any fancy air-conditioned hotel.





PS I'm having a bit of an issue with uploading photos from la vie sauvage so bear with me if these are a bit wonky!! 

A bouquet of roses in the tulip garden

Champagne is being served in the tulip garden. Just before the happy couple make an appearance they pause for a moment at the door. He holds the bouquet of roses while she takes an elegant swig from a glass. The dress is smoothed, he gives her the flowers, she takes her courage in her hands and then they descend the steps.

I go about my day in Dublin and when I return to the hotel late that night I find myself stepping into the lift with the same bride. The two of us chat. She is exhausted. I admire her dress. She has slipped off her shoes and has them in her hand.

First thing next morning I think about the young widower Tom Meagher, waking up yet again without his love. He has just given his first TV interview in Ireland since the murder of his wife Jill in Melbourne. There are no words.

Behind Tom's sad eyes is a determination to make some good come of it, and there's a growing support team here to help him address and end men's engrained violence against women. Want to join us?


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November rhythms and roses

As November takes hold, maybe winter begins?   The community on the hill and here on the lane are winding down, burrowing in behind closed doors.

Close to the window there are white roses budding and flowering, in their own rhythm. Sure they don't seem to know if it's day or night!

And in the workshop there are sounds of tapping and clacking as words pour out onto the screen. Longing to find a heartbeat, imagined projects swish around in the two hemispheres. 

Light a candle, put the kettle on and get to work.

Her little bed of roses

In her garden it's the sweet perfume that I remember. Her little bed of roses.

She broke her back in a car accident in the 1930's and was bent over and frail. We used to laugh saying she was so wrinkled that her wrinkles had wrinkles. She was strict and made us eat things we didn't like, but always only one or two bites. Because of her I will try anything once......

Because of her I love the fading grandeur of roses, of crumpled faces and the curled up edges of smiling eyes. In a world paranoid about aging I still love the beauty of autumn leaves, vulnerable yet eye catching as any bud in spring.

The gravelly voice, would repeat her favourite rhyme, "her foot slipped, down she fell and broke her alikaboozalam" I never tired of hearing it or of gazing into that puckered up old face full of joy.




PS Updated portfolio based on the seasons here

First the fragrance then the fading Roses..........

Paddy was showing me two things. A large common frog and believe it or not a maggot inside the root of a cut dock plant. (Paddy may not be a hundred percent tuned into what I am doing here because he regularly calls me over to see stuff like this when he is digging, saying "Now there's a thing you could be blogging about!!") And it's true of course and I do love beetles, frogs and even maggots sometimes...... 

Then I am reading about "steering clear of the picturesque in art", and I find I just can't take that in. Well I know what Aidan Dunne means, and artists have to have to avoid cliches and romance I suppose, but mere mortals like myself can be seduced by beauty on a regular basis. And so it was today, first I got the fragrance and then the full rose tree, with the classic chocolate box fading blooms, and I couldn't resist. 

The frog will feature later, and he was a fine specimen, but today I am going with these roses, as I know they have never made a public appearance on any chocolate box and to me anyway they are simply beautiful. By the way although I took a hundred and forty nine photos of the maggot, he won't be making a showing, as no matter how I photoshopped him he was grotesque in the extreme, and would certainly frighten the children!