We've been back from France for more than two weeks now and life has settled into typical autumnal mode. Work is picking up; however, the November days have been mostly grey and misty despite the forecasters' promise of sunshine. Typically too, my garden is completely covered in leaves from our lime tree, which is now virtually denuded. I'll have to clean up the terrace but I'm leaving them on the garden for extra compost. Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it – nothing to with my being lazy, of course ;)
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| I can't see the grass for the leaves! |
But an interesting thing I've noticed this year is that the leaves seem to be much larger than usual; as if the long, hot summer made the trees put all their energy into producing them for the express purpose of providing extra shade. That's nonsense, I know, but the heat must have had something to do with it. Even the oak leaves are twice their normal size. Have any of you noticed that?
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| A mixture of leaves here, but the biggest are from the lime tree |
Our village here in the Netherlands is sporting a distinctly leafy carpet as a result, which led me to thinking of the differences between the environs of our two crumbly cottages: the one here in Zeeland compared to the one in Haute-Marne, France.
Koos and I often comment on how our Dutch village is much greener at first sight and full of variety. Part of that impression is because there is no uniformity to the building style and few of the houses are the same. But many of them also have front gardens that their owners fill with flowering shrubs, trees and grass; hence the leafy carpets. Others, like ours, have their facades on the dyke and we have to make do with pot plants and hanging baskets for our own splashes of colour. Added to that, few people have garages (or if they do, they use them as workshops), so almost everyone parks on the street in front of their door.
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| Typical Dutch variety in a local village |
Our French hamlet, however, is built almost entirely from local limestone, so although the design of the homes varies somewhat, the image is of a coherent collection of buildings that largely look the same; even the church fits in. Some people have front gardens but mostly they're gravelled over with maybe some pots of geraniums for colour; their real gardens are at the back of their homes and are often huge. These spacious terrains are where the residents grow vergetables and fruit, while others, like my friend Collette, have chickens or ducks (in her case, both). There's nearly always a rustic table and benches on the grass where the family get together to eat outside. But, they don't seem to go in much for flower beds, unlike those of us further north.
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| Typical French uniformity |
Another strong impression is that Dutch villagers are much livelier (and noisier). There are almost always people out and about on the street at any time of day. One reason is that with a popluation of 1900, our community in Zeeland is substantially larger than our French commune, which, combined with the next hamlet has a popluation of just under 300. All the same, even without the difference in size, we notice that our Dutch neighbours have quite social pastimes, which usually involve being outside and chatting at full volume to anyone who happens to stop by. (Did I also say they were quite noisy?)
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| Cars parked outside houses in the village: no problem |
For one thing, there are always people cycling along the dyke. Most village children go to school by bike and large numbers of adults cycle to work as well, the flat landscape making this both possible and easy. Then there are numerous dog walkers, although some people combine the two activities by cycling with their dog running alongside; these folk can always be counted on for a cheery greeting and an inaudible (read incomprehensible) remark as they whizz past.
The Dutch are also maintenance mad and there's always someone cleaning windows, painting frames or clearing gutters. On a sunny day, dodging the keen types up ladders, the neat nuts scraping weeds from between the paving stones, and those obsessed with hedge trimming (closet topiarists, I call them) can make a stroll along the dyke quite hazardous.
In France, however, our streets are almost always quiet; we rarely see the residents outside except in the mornings and late afternoons, which often gives the village a hushed feel; as if there's no one there. Add to that it is absolutely not done to park your car outside your house, so the street can seem curiously empty of life. Most rural villages in Haute-Marne have designated areas where everyone without a garage can park, thus leaving the roadsides clear. It's both lovely and a little odd to us, and it may be why so many visitors think French villages are dead. They aren't; the locals just don't like cars on the road. I can go along with that; after all, modern cars do nothing for the aesthetics of the view, do they?
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| But not in France! |
So, as we move on into the winter months, such observations make me very grateful we can have the best of both worlds at any time of the year; for now, that is. We really are very blessed. As you all know, I'm no fan of winter and the cold, but luckily we have nice stacks of firewood in both places, so we'll be keeping toasty warm.
