I have news.   Nine months ago, I listed my beautiful French house for sale.   It has not sold.  The realtor says the world – here there and everywhere - is uncertain about many things, and my house comes into the category of maybe, but not now.  So, I took it off the market.   Am I happy about this?   As much as I love and miss Vancouver - the town I was born and bred in – I also love it here. As each day comes to a comfortable ending, I realise I’m edging closer to loving it just as much. 

Life here has little resemblance to how I lived in Vancouver.   Experience can be a painful lesson, but oh how I learn. Although I am aging and moving at a slower pace, I feel my garden to be a genuine source of entertainment at this stage of my life. My library is a place of solace where I can spend hours on end.  So – while the property is big and expensive to maintain – it suits me well. I have always been the kind of person who needs to work to find a measure of fulfilment. 

I happily continue to embrace the challenges of inviting guests to my home.  I love old style hospitality; cooking and conversation. And, when I can, I enjoy introducing visitors to this beautiful, wine-filled, tranquil country-side. A pastoral escape from modern times – with all the modern conveniences. 

And now that I have come up with the Owners Suite offering, I am excited to welcome those who are curious to experience the privacy of the Third Floor Flat.   A few guests have taken me up on the idea of the time share, and others have booked in for the five-day or seven-day plan.  

My nephew and his new girlfriend arrive next week to be the first guests in the suite.   It is not quite finished.  A few bare hanging bulbs waiting to be dressed, curtains are being fabricated by a delightful femme who has a couture atelier around the corner, and I am still looking for a few sticks of furniture to enhance the corners of here and there.  But it is ready to be experienced.

So, I slip into Autumn.  I am busy with guests for the next while. Then I will take the coming cold months to be still.  Kind of.  Some have expressed interest in coming for Noel, I await decisions.  The garden is always calling, I hope to be writing more and there are so many books to be read. (I heard a wonderful quote yesterday.  “One reads to not feel alone.”)  And maybe I will take up the drawing classes again.  I promise myself to get back to my ritual of daily walks about the town including the 84 steps that the pilgrims climb on their spiritual Saint-Jacques de Compostelle.

I will cook and entertain, build fires, and cuddle Minette.  She is getting used to sleeping on the premier étage, but I have not stopped feeding her in the third-floor kitchen.  Each morning, we sprint the stairs together. I open the window so she can see and feel what is going on out there.  Her bowls become full again, and all is right in her world.   I think I will let my nephew feed her while he is here.  A nice change of pace for the Dame du Manoir when I begin to feed her in the big kitchen.

My Pears are sensational this year, not plentiful, but delicious.   I recently posted an Instagram image of my garden help mate (website aid, photographer extraordinaire) holding a bowl of these beauties, and the number of amazing recipes that others responded with will keep me well satiated. I will post the image again for you. 

Here is a simple recipe:

Peel the pears, slice in half, gently scoop out the core.  Place a teaspoon of honey, a small chunk of blue cheese and sprinkle fresh thyme over all.  Roast in oven for 20 minutes or so, top with roasted walnuts, and a generous scoop of Glace Vanille.  With this recipe, you can imagine you are in my garden and kitchen. A lovely step closer to coming for a visit. 

I leave you for now, with an excerpt from a poem:  The Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats    

“Come away, O human child 

To the Waters and the Wild

With a faery, hand in hand

For the Worlds more full of weeping

Than you can understand”

Barbara-jo in France, feeling the magic of here, now, and just maybe - forever.