Spring has arrived late in SW France this year. This perception may have been skewed by the fact that Easter was early, but it has been unseasonably cold and wet in the four weeks since Graham and I arrived back in Sainte-Foy-La-Grande. If you recall we had encountered snow lying thick in the ground in Paris upon our transit through Roissy but spent an hour in warm sunshine in Bordeaux while we waited for our coach home. About 2 days later I was happily wearing just a sleeveless top while cleaning the terrace, and then the rain arrived. It rained for three straight weeks. I shan’t complain, though, as others not much further north were having a terrible time of it.
My father’s visit was almost completely blighted by liquid sunshine. We took advantage of the one reasonably bright day we had while he was with us and whizzed up to Brantome, of which more in another post. The day we were to drive him back to Merignac I’d planned to go down to Cap-Ferret for lunch with him, but it just threw it down. We called a taxi and sent him down to his hotel on the train instead (about which I feel very guilty) as it was by far the most practical course of action. Well, that was Thursday. On Friday the sun finally deigned to appear and it has been gorgeous ever since. Yesterday I even put on a pair of shorts.
That spring is in the air is evidenced by the rapid unfurling of pale green leaves and the delightful blooming of wisteria vines. Swifts and house martins are whizzing about in the sky and there are a few very happy blackbirds singing their hearts out. My mother has named the pair of swans that inhabit our stretch of the Dordogne “Tristram & Islode” (she has a penchant for naming things, inanimate & otherwise, frequently with groan-worthy associations). Anyway, she missed the sight of them canoodling the other day. Yesterday, during a lull in the sounds of people drawn by the magnet of the sun to picnic on the Plage des Bardolets, I thought I had heard the first contented croaks of horny toads. Today that suspicion was confirmed. Over the next month this will build to a crescendo that is audible in the middle of town.
Today wasps started munching at the teak of the terrace furniture as they start gathering the wood pulp that they need for their nests. I was astonished to realise that they make so much noise chomping away that you can hear them scraping the soft wood from the grain and they leave little tiny scars in the wood. Bees are buzzing around the purple-and-green toupee that crowns a curious rock in the terrace wall. And while wildlife all around is busy I find myself realising that my work ethic has gone to hell in a hand-basket and feeling very, very guilty.