Guest post: Life in the village by J. Starr

A dear friend from Portland, came to visit me in Paris and Noyers. This was her first time in my village, which allowed me to see it anew through her eyes. Here is her take on the experience... 

Guest blog post by J. Starr:

"I had a sense of preparation for a love to come like the extension of canopies, the unrolling of ceremonial carpets, as if I must first create a marvelous world in which to house it, in which to receive adequately this guest of honor" ~Anais Nin. 

Life in The Village at Jules's
drinking pink bubbles on the stone patio
the sound of pigeons cooing on the roof
the church bell ringing
gazing at the bright stars from my bed while drifting to sleep
the morning light and birds singing as an alarm clock 
tulips on the cusp of blooming
playing slightly naughty card games with friends. 
the worlds best croissants from the bakery that only makes them to order on the weekends. 
singing to Neko Case and Wilco while making homemade ricotta cheese and butternut squash ravioli 
baguettes in a wicker basket
running past bee houses
friends that live a few steps away and walk over in their pajamas for morning coffee. 

Thank you Jules for reminding me of the possibilities of adventure, the beautiful mystery of life, creating the world you dream, nurturing your soul, making your own rules, and wishes fulfilled. 

LBE's jardin

This past weekend I took my garden back.

There were a few pressing factors that were causing me to  make some quick decisions about my plans for the garden at LBE.

1. Spring is in full force in France. Normally we can wait until May to begin planting. But this year, planting season began in March, and it probably could have even begun in February.

2. I will be traveling throughout the month of May, and this is my last opportunity to plant my crops for the upcoming season--when I return it will already be summer.

And the most urgent reason I need to take some swift action, is Mr. B...

3. Mr. B, is my garden's caretaker. I inherited him with the house. He takes his job seriously, and every time I return to the LBE I find that he has taken great care of, and a lot of creative liberties with my garden. Like multi-colored pansies decorating the front entrance,

shallots planted randomly among the peonies, an assault of red and yellow tulips throughout the garden, his acknowledgement of my birthplace by screwing a Route 66 license plate onto my barn door,

and a wooden bench that he refurbished and placed on the stone seating platform.

I totally appreciate his care and attentiveness. He is also meticulous, which I love. Such a lovely man-- he once even declared that he considers himself my second father. "You have two fathers now, one in the US and now one in France. Me." I melted.

Sometimes I get the feeling that he is concerned about me. The fact that I bought this house on my own and am not married. Other times I think that this gives him a sense of purpose and value. I appreciate him immensely and love that the universe brought him into my life.

The problem is that he has no idea of my aesthetic vision.  I prefer monochrome colors. My favorite gardens are usually all white and green, like this:

I also like to have vegetables and herbs that are intentional,  and visually appealing.

So this weekend, I took matters into my own hands to help direct things.  With the help of RDW and Miss Mary from Portland, we gutted the left half of the garden. Removed approximately 350 yellow and red tulip bulbs, dug up six rose bushes and a Camellia bush. We did it within a 24 hour period, with not a single surprise appearance by Mr. B.

Before (tulips beginning to pop up in March):

After:

Kale, spinach, lettuce, tomatoes, parsley, rosemary, sage, basil, coriander, thym, chives.

I didn't have the heart to discard the rose bushes, nor the tulip bulbs for that matter. Therefore, the rose bushes were all relocated to less invasive spots around the house. the tulip bulbs now sit in a compost pile, with the intention that I will gather them up and gift them to someone, or lay them to rest in the forest.

In the meantime, I just hope that Mr. B's feeling are not hurt. And that he will direct his love and care on my new crops.

I can hardly wait to harvest my bounty.

Love stories

Having one of my besties from the states visit me in France has been soul nourishing on many levels. Lots of long walks and talks, and stumbling into new findings about old love stories. And there may have been some lots of wine involved.

While she takes a couple of days to enjoy a side trip before rejoining me in Paris, I find myself keeping the party going with some serious music benders (while simultaneously catching up on work, of course) to reflect on our freshly inspired perspectives.

Damien Rice's O album always cuts to the core. So I listened to it four times in a row today- the track Cheers Darlin at a dozen times. (please, I am a professional binger)

I don't know much about the breakup between Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan. But these recent videos of him performing his newest songs about various stages of a breakup help piece it together.

And also piece together my own disolved memories of a variety of personal breakups. Realizing that some are better left unsolved-- it's just good old story telling now.

Are any of these musings valuable?

I think so, as they seem to be awakening a part of me where I store my creative flame, which I realize has been dimmed.

Doesn't creatviity breed hope and possibilities?

Here's some good old story telling from Mr. Rice:

Poivre

Poivre means pepper in French. It is also the name of La Bonne Etape's (LBE) new kitchen paint color.

Since purchasing a new couch for LBE I have shifted the object of my obsession to a paint color for LBE's kitchen. Poivre, Elephant's Breath, Joah's White, I was open to a few different directions.

However, while pouring over a gazillion inspiration images that have been piling up and weighing down my hard drive, it became pretty clear.

I have a crush on dark kitchens. This should come as no surprise considering I had painted the dining room in my Portland house a similar color, DownPipe.

As I was looking through old photos to find one of the Portland house's dining room, I came across photos of my old office in Portland. And guess what color those walls are? Yep. I guess I have a deep rooted affinity with the Poivre hue.

As per usual, I second guessed my color choice right up to the last minute. There are naysayers who were quick to say it is too dark, that I must try and bring in more light, it would be too hard to course correct to a lighter color later, etc.  But no matter which color direction I pursued, anything was better than the yellow-country-flower-wallpaper-extravaganza that was there when I began this kitchen beautification process. 

Lucky for me, I have a great support system to help me navigate the naysayer trip wires. RDW is the first to not only say "go for it", but he follows up with his own inspirational photos as if to say "I get you. Let's do this, immediately."

And then before I have a chance to change my mind, 

he is there with a roller, 

a bottle of pink bubbles,

and Boom!

LBE has got some Poivre kitchen walls. 

la poste

Is there anything better than receiving mail? And by mail I mean actually receiving something physical by postal mail-- from the United States!

I spent this weekend in Paris and got caught up on city life. In addition to meeting with friends, running errands, and cleaning my apartment from top to bottom, it meant sorting through my mailbox. There tucked away between my bills, sushi delivery brochures, and a large envelope from the Notaire's office (YAY! I recieved the official deed to my house) was a little yellow postal delivery receipt telling me that I had a package that was too large to fit in my teeny tiny mailbox.

So today I went to my local post office retrieve it, completely unsure what I would find.

The anticipation of opening a surprise package was so delicious that I waited as long as I could to tear into it. And for the record, that was all of 6 minutes. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who wanted to tear into this package.

Imagine my surprise to find that my thoughtful Aunt in Texas made me a quilt for me and my new house.  I was overwhelmed by her thoughfulness, not just because I know that quilts are a time-consuming endeavor, or that she anticipated that  I would be in need of blankets for the new country house (where cold winters are usually the norm), but that she remembered my aversion for bright colors. And this neutral color palette is perfect, white with tan accents-- she just GETS me!

My heart just burst from so much gratitude and love.

Les Pigeons

I have been working form the country all week. "Normally" I would set up my work computers in the larger stone-coved living room. However, it is winter and hard to keep that room heated. So instead, I set up camp in the kitchen which looks out into the garden. Besides, that keeps myself and fresh cups of coffee within arms length. Dangerous, yet convenient.

I have noticed that everyday around 1pm, a colorful assortment of pigeons visit my garden and root around my gout de lait, aka pierced snow, flowers. Every time they descend onto my garden I find myself getting up from my computer and going to the window to spy, and if the truth be told, talk to them.

I realize that this is a very common event, And from some perspectives, a bit "crazy-old-country-lady-ish". I am certain that if I told the boys that this was a daily highlight for me, they would prohibit me from spending weekdays in the country. What would really send them over the edge is to learn that sometimes I try and take photos of the cuter pigeons, in my own twisted version of Hot or Not.

Today, as I was photographing the "hotter" pigeons,  it occurred to me that one day I will look back on the days when I watched the pigeons from my French country house's kitchen window, with fondness and nostalgia.

What is one man's "bat shit crazy" is another man's "appreciating the present moment" loveliness.

When I am a little old lady, I am pretty sure that daily events like these will be one of the things that I wax poetic about. Why not start now?

So, how did you spend your Valentine's Day? Geesh.

Weekend Reverse Bucket List

The front door of La Bonne Etape, my house in Burgundy.

I just read an article that describes the process of writing one's bucket list-- in reverse. This is not intended to be a list of the audacious goals that one hopes to accomplish before dying. But rather it is a list of things that you have already accomplished. You can read some tips for writing your Reverse Bucket List here. 

One way to structure your reverse bucket list is to define a period of time that you want to capture. Be it one year, five years, ten years or a single day, it is meant to highlight amazing milestones that have already occurred.  It had me thinking about this weekend's Reverse Bucket List:

Septime Wine Cave

Friday night:

Apertif at Septime Wine Cav with the Englishman. Once again, I found myself drinking from the Kool Aid as he convinced me to write poetry about my country house. His theory is that if you talk about your house from the standpoint of the personalities that it has and the events that have/or will occur, you will start to see it' essence and therefore it's "poetic mood board". The good news is that I don't have to write my own house poetry because over a few glasses of wine,  he waxed poetic about my house right then and there. It resulted in some easily executable projects that I can knock out over the week ahead. And some new inspiration courtesy of Septime's restaurant which is across the street.

Rod iron, glass, white candles, off white walls, and exposed wood counter tops, courtesy of Septime's restaurant.

Then I went to meet friends at another nearby neighborhood favorite.

Bistrot Paul Bert (photo by The Paris Kitchen)

Dinner at Bistrot Paul Bert with some lovely friends who were visiting Paris from Brussels. They were enjoying a weekend away to celebrate their one year anniversary. One year ago, Patrick laid eyes on Anne at a boutique in Brussels, and within minutes he spontaneously gifted her a hat that he thought looked beautiful on her. During dinner we laughed, told stories, and drank amazing Bordeaux, all the while they infused me with much hope and an overall sense of possibilities. At one point, Patrick leaned over and told me that he waited 53-years to meet the love of his life, my lovely friend Anne, who coincidentally, seemed to be radiating more than usual.

Saturday:

Train ride from Paris to Burgundy with Carlina.

Upon arriving to La Bonne Etape, Carlina and I parked ourselves on my new couch (FINALLY!) and got fully caught up over a bottle of Olivier Morin.

We put my new Pasta making contraption to use and made raviolis with spinach/ricotta filling from scratch. (We called Carlina's mum in Argentina for stuffing tips)

Carlina is knee deep in Game of Thrones (about time!), so I happily helped her kill a couple of episodes with the help of a glass of Goisot. Reminding me how freaking excited I am for GoT Season 4 to begin.

At bedtime, I laid there staring out my bedroom window at the village rooftops and noticed that that the cloud cover had dissipated and made way to one of my favorite sites in the village-- a star filled sky. Just breathtaking. 

I slept like a baby.

Sunday:

It's really fun to wake up with one of your girlfriends sleeping in a nearby bedroom. So I made coffee and brought a cup up to her so she could linger in bed a while longer.

The sun shone all day and the temperatures continue to be relatively mild.

Goût du lait is sprouting up all over my garden.. in February.

We took a walk along the backside of the village and to visit our friend Diane's garden which  is nestled right up to the pine trees and the Serein river. So many plans for D's garden... kale crops, lettuce,  picnics on blankets, bbq's, etc. We need Rod to return from the states so he can captain this project.

After I dropped her at the train station, I returned to the house to knock off a "small" painting project. I painted one of the living room radiators.

Before; yellow

After: Blanc calcaire

Whoa. Although small in dimension, painting radiators is no quick task, lots of nooks and crannies. Only one way to turn that task into a mind blowing, spiritual awakening...

Nina Simone Live at Montreux, 1976. One word- damn.

And now I sit in front of my fire, in my house in the French wine country. (still pinching myself every time I mutter these words)

If you would have asked me on Thursday, what my weekend bucket list was, I doubt I would have predicted that it would have been filled with this many amazing checklists.