Anne-Marie’s Garden

Anne-Marie’s Garden
AMB’s house here ( the tiny ‘commune’ of La Ville Daniou, the town of Langrolay sur Rance, the department of Bretagne, in the country of France) is heaven. Of course she keeps telling me that the perfect sunny weather we have been enjoying since I arrived is decidedly atypical, but I shall continue to believe that it is always paradise here. The house is a two and a half story 19th c stone, oak-beamed farmhouse with another much like it next door opposite a huge and stunning farmhouse housing the farmer and his wife who oversee this corner of heaven and look after AMB’s house when she is off in America. The ‘garden’ out back is the focus of the house – the doors all face onto the garden rather than the road, towards the roses and the vegetable plots and the fruit trees and the Neolithic menhir (Breton for standing stone) that her uncle gave her as a housewarming present (they are truly everywhere – more on that in the next post). I am attaching snapshots from the garden (plus one of the farmer’s corn field next door; she doesn’t garden on quite that scale) that hint at this magical wonderland, best appreciated in the morning while drinking tea and enjoying fresh bread, croissants, and brioche baked that morning at the local boulangerie. (add deep sigh of contentment here). The farmer’s fifteen year old cat, Praline, makes a habit of showing up for extended visits and bowls of milk and hanging out with us in the garden. Today we must pick all the blueberries and cherries and put them in the freezer so that they don’t go to waste. And the raspberries, and the red currants as well. Too bad we can’t reach the last of the sweet cherries at the top of the tree. And we’ll check on the progress of the lettuce, herbs, zucchini, tomatoes, potatoes, spinach, and and and. You can imagine what its like to cook here – head for the garden, forage busily, and eat whatever is perfectly ripe. Not too shabby. And if you’re missing something, as we were the other night, you pop over to the farmer’s house where the farmer’s wife just happens to have freshly picked garlic to complete your dish. And if we weren’t headed off to another amazing destination tomorrow (Sark, in the Channel Islands) you couldn’t pry me out of here with a pickaxe.