Free Our House is Certainly Not in Paris by Susan Cutsforth Page A

France cap from the large supermarché chain, Carrefour. So, this year, we knew what to expect.
    Last year after the caravane had passed, we decided to move our vantage point to higher up on the hill. It turned out to be perfect. Just like in our petite maison , we were right on the road, close enough to feel the whoosh of air from the bikes that pass in a blur of movement and colour. The whole race was in fact so fast that we were not even sure it was finished. finally, some French tourists asked the policeman on his powerful motorbike in front of us, whether it was fin. We understood that oui , indeed it was. So it was in fact that at that very moment, Dave texted us to let us know he was watching the Tour de France on a cold, wet day at home and thought that the countryside looked very familiar to Cuzance. Were we thinking of going to see it at all? We texted back triumphantly to say, ‘We are here and Cadell Evans has just gone past us.’ And so it was, the Tour de France that I was so reluctant to go and see, was the year an Australian won – and it was a day out that was far more enjoyable than I could have anticipated. Perhaps I should review my thoughts on a canoe trip after all...

17
Le Grand Jardin
    Every single time I spend time relaxing in Jean-Claude’s and Françoise’s glorious jardin , it takes my breath away. Every single time, I feel a sense of privilege to have entree to such an enchanting kingdom. The high limestone walls and solid wooden gates, right on the street in the heart of Cuzance, do not give a hint of what lies beyond. The upper jardin is adorned with garlands of mauve wisteria and sweet-smelling honeysuckle, and on the right, a large, flagstone terrace leads to their stunning seven-storey maison . I find out later from new friends we make in the village, that it is known by everyone as ‘the castle’. It is not until you are in the lower sweep of the garden, beyond la piscine , that you can gaze up and see it spread out before you. The tower climbs high into the sky and is balanced by the towering dark green fir trees planted on the boundary. When friends come to stay, I make sure that a visit to La Vieux Prieuré – the Old Priory, so named because it is literally opposite the church – is on the itinerary.
    Apart from the neighbour’s tractor, occasionally gathering hay, it is only the constant musical notes of birds that stir the peace and quiet. While I love Pied de la Croix, returning to our French home is always something of a jarring note. Although just a short walk, it is worlds removed. However, what I do need to remind myself, is that just three years ago when we first arrived, we couldn’t even walk around our property.
    Although I’m still dismayed by the profuse proliferation of weeds, it is already a far cry from my first glimpse of our new French home, on a cold damp day, one that definitely matched my mood. I remember only too vividly my utter sense of wondering what on earth we had done. Now at least in our absence, Albert has planted a border of lavender and photinia next to la piscine. Thanks too to my vigorous pruning efforts last year , the orchard is flourishing. As the days grow warmer, the walnut tree is a perfect place to escape from the afternoon heat. It is even more perfect when Stuart makes the trek back to our petite maison in front of la grange , and returns with afternoon tea on a tray.
    Espresso and citron tarte, under the spreading limbs of the eighty-year-old walnut tree; a slight breeze stirring the air. Life simply does not get much better than this moment on a languid French summer afternoon.
    After over ten years of rénovation , I’m at last learning to adopt Stuart’s philosophy, that it can all wait until another day. I’ve learnt too from his approach, that half the work is in the reflecting and planning. So, we take the opportunity on this stolen afternoon, to discuss the paving plans