Now That’s a Scarecrow!

Maybe you did not know, but scarecrows used to be just that, real crows to scare off crows and other unwanted, opportunistic scavengers. This is how some farmers still do it in France, however cruel, unethical and non-pc it may seem to some people. (Don’t worry,they shoot them first.)

Insatiable Alsatian!

On our walk last time we lost the chicken farmer’s sociable dog to a high-energy chase of a poor little wild boar. Evidently our furry friend could not get enough of us, because when we next tried to sneak past the corner to the farm, he spotted us yet again, and this time from about one hundred metres.

He did not jump at all or push his nose into your side, but he just gently brushed against my leg as he caught up with us. Then we were stuck with him, for over an hour. He simply trotted along as if he was our dog.

He got his paws wet in the ditches along the narrow country lanes, and he crossed the road to explore everything he could smell, hear or see.

He was often behind us, but liked to be in the lead, in front of us, as if he had taken us for a walk.

We felt like his flock, especially when he turned round to check that we were keeping up with him. Cars passed, slowing down for the three of us looking like a couple taking the dog for a walk after lunch. After a while I started to feel quite comfortable with the dog quietly moving around us. It almost started to feel normal, a quiet country feel.

When we reached our turning point he just looked at us …

… and followed us all the way back again. Just as we got to “his” corner, I thought for a second his thirst might lure him home, but no.

Luckily for us, our neighbours were out cutting some hedge, so we managed to sneak in while he was distracted by their activity. Then he quite simply adopted them instead and laid down next to them with his head between his paws in, what looked like, a very comfortable position. And there he stayed for quite some time.

It was not the first time the chicken farmer got a phone call to come and collect his dog, who really likes company. Not much of a farm guard dog, is he?

 

Alsatian Chasing Baby Boar

 

 

On our first full day in France we thought we would go for a normal, quiet country lane autumn walk. It was very windy, but the sun was quite strong, so the top layer of clothing came off pretty quickly. As we were coming towards the end of our hour-long walk, we passed the chicken farm wondering if the guard dog, who patrols the grounds, would come pestering us like he has done in the past, following us all the way home.

I thought we had made it without him spotting us, but no. All of a sudden you could hear him breathing next to you. (This is not the time to be afraid of dogs for sure.) As he came up to me from behind, I tried to ignore him, but he said hello, I suppose, by nudging my elbow with his nose. Then he just followed us as usual, sniffing around like dogs do.

All of a sudden he went into the ditch sniffing particularly intensively, and quickly moved into the field where maize had stood before. There he stopped and “froze”, staring into the high grass between the fields. He had spotted something.

Then started a playful chase, if you are the dog, and a scary “run-for-your-life” chase if you are the baby boar! They ran this way, that way and back again, across the road and back yet again. At one time the playful dog grabbed the little boar by the neck and then let him go again. The little wild boar had probably been “separated” from his parents because of the farmers’ Sunday hunt in the area. Gun fire and hunting horns had been heard all through the day. So being picked up and tossed around a little by a friendly playmate was not such a bad alternative!

(Boar trying to escape on the right. Apologies for image quality, but I was 150 metres away by this time!)

French Harvest

It has always been fascinating to follow the cycle of the farming year round our place in France. Different crops in different fields depending on demand and perhaps EU subsidies, who knows? There is always a fair amount of maize, or corn, which is a staple feed for the dairy cows, but different kinds of cereal are also abundant.

The maize is normally harvested in late autumn, so we miss that most of the time, but not the August harvest of other crops. How they can predict the weather so accurately is beyond me. They seem to know exactly when to get the guys with their big machines out. I guess the farming community in an area co-ordinates the activities, because you see the same people in all the fields, working their way through them. They know when the rain is coming, so they literally work day and night. You hear the harvesters from afar and you see the cloud of millions of minute particles rising to the sky and being swept away by the wind, that is if it is not night time.

I have long been waiting for a good opportunity to get some decent photos of the night harvest, and this summer I finally had my chance. They were doing the fields right next to us, so close to midnight I got my tripod and camera out and positioned myself at the junction where they had parked their big transporter. It was totally dark, so I needed a torch to see what I was doing.

As I was standing there in the dark a tractor came along and parked in the field. The driver got out, walked up to me and shook hands and said good evening. I must have looked rather suspicious lurking in the dark, but I think he had seen me earlier in the day taking some pictures of them. I felt however the need say something about photography, all in my very best French, hoping he would not say too much back!

I wanted to get some spooky pictures with some blurry light. Since there was so little light, the shutter speed had to be very slow, giving any object time to move some distance. In some exposures you can see how the same detail is repeated five or six times, giving the image a rather mysterious effect. Here are some sample pictures.

 

 

Who Needs Disneyland?

It has been long since I blogged last.

My summer was very eventful, getting onto a flying start with a visit from my son and family to our holiday home in Normandy. You will understand how busy it was, children getting up much earlier than my preferred time in the morning, so in order not to miss too much time with them, I had to drag my body out of bed and try to increase my energy level to theirs, because they were up and running with a smile on their face straight away.

They had been to Disneyland in Paris on their way to us, but I am convinced they will remember these animals better than some costume cartoon animals.

Who needs Disneyland?

And this ride in the playground at the old ruined castle in Mayenne was full of joy.

Who needs expensive toys when you have a collection of empty plastic bottles?

Instead of extortionate restaurant prices you can sit in the dying sunshine on the doorstep with some snacks and a locally produced apple juice.

We all had a lovely time at our own pace. The simple pleasures of life always outstrip everything else, especially when you are in such wonderful company.

Not Only Garden Work …

As always this time of year, the garden in France has grown like mad; grass knee-high, weeds everywhere and hedges bulging out of control. So last week was spent having a go at all the green stuff with hedge trimmer, grass strimmer and bare hands. The weather was wonderful; it only started raining as we left yesterday morning. I won’t bore you with pictures of garden tools and machinery, or even worse, sweaty gardeners, but I leave you with a picture more representative of what we indulged in after heavy duty garden work. Aaaah!

French Garden Beauty

It is almost a month since we arrived at our French retreat to enjoy some tranquility. The garden was peaceful but not quiet; birds were singing, there was a constant humming of insects in the air and the flowers and trees exploded in the hot spring temperatures. The birch developed its little mouse ears into full-sized leaves and the apple tree attracted intense attention from all kinds of insects. Now spring has advanced to these somewhat more northern latitudes in Germany with the same force and energy, so we hope to enjoy a relaxed time in the garden this weekend.

To remind myself and to share with any passing blog surfer, I post these three photographs from Normandy.

       

Back Again After Easter

It’s been a long time since I last blogged. Family business in Sweden first and then Easter Holiday in France are my excuses. (The clock faces courtesy of a shop in Vannes, Brittany.)

When we stay at our holiday home in Normandy we like to go on a mini holiday if time permits and weather is on our side. Although we enjoy the beautiful rural surroundings, often on hour-long walks, …

… we also like to see something different. Only a couple of hours’ drive away is Brittany with its Celtic heritage and beautiful coastal scenery. We have been many times, but we had not yet been to the south-eastern part around Vannes. So, that’s where we went this time. Isn’t the rocky coast stunning? I wonder what it might look like in the autumnal storms. The power of the sea, the swell with no wind to speak of was impressive enough, just the natural movement of the sea was fascinating.

After lunch in a restaurant with the above view (moules frites for me), it was time for some rock walking (didn’t really climb) and photography. There will be more images later, but I want to show you just this one of some sea gulls above the foaming water. They, very conveniently for me, flew into my picture on cue. I have cropped this photo slightly, but otherwise not manipulated it much.

Most of the time though, we sat in our garden (instead of doing work in it!) enjoying the summer-like temperatures, often in the shade of the lovely laburnum.

I will come back with more later, but this will have to do as my Easter report for now.

Chicks Rock ‘n Rule? or That Damn Chicken Farmer!

One of the many great features of our holiday place in Normandy is the beautiful landscape surrounding us. It is a varied and undulating scenery; crop fields and large grazing fields for the dairy herds broken up by small woods, copses and hedgerows. The local farmers manage their land very well; they cut the grass along the roads and they chop down trees on a regular basis, letting nothing go to waste. All the wood is used either for fences and similar, or for stoves like ours, at a cost of €50 per cubic metre. If you buy larger quantities you get a better price.

  

We like to think that our farmer friends look after the environment in an excellent way, although they sometimes dump all sorts of rubbish in funny places. There is a natural rhythm to the agricultural year with sound old farming practices. This time of year is particularly suited to maintenance, repairing and forestry, apart from the milking every morning at seven and every evening at six.

Then there is the EU, the European Union, and the co-ordination of, in particular, agriculture; what to grow, how much to grow, subsidies for certain crops, subsidies for NOT growing certain crops, rules about raising animals, large and small, and the space they need, i.e. their own creature comfort zone. And this is where I have an issue with the chicken farmer over the hill.

Like so many farmers he has branched out, but his main business is still fowl. He now seems to be expanding his chicken division. Not only will he be feeding up more chickens, but he needs to stick to, possibly new, EU rulings regarding the personal space each individual chick is entitled to. So his two big chicken barns with their characteristic feeding towers close to the family home will now be joined by three new barns on the other side of the road. Tons and tons of earth have been shifted in the last few months, the ground has been levelled and the foundations now bear witness to what we can expect in the future. I am not concerned with the smell or the sound because these buildings will be situated several hundred metres away from any public road.

As my regular readers know, we like to go for walks all around our little hamlet. Just up the hill from us we often stop to take in the views, just a little short of the said chicken farm. If we look over the farm we can see “for miles and miles”. If we look down to the left we have one of our absolute favourite views, that is, until now.

Even approaching this beautiful hill from the other side, like we do when we arrive on holiday, fills us with joy and anticipation. But now, he has ruined our view. Just look at it!

On the other hand, in his defence, I have to admit he should get some credit for creating this bird and fish pond by the road some years ago.

But he is ruining OUR VIEW, buuuhuuuh!

Our Rural French Haven

I am still here, yes, but I have not had much time for the blogosphere lately. I will not bore you with what I have been up to in great detail, so I have assembled a few photos from a week in Normandy where I recharged my batteries. I will soon get my blog mojo working again, but for now I leave you to a few minutes of contemplation. Just click and relax!

A picture slideshow by Smilebox

How Likely Is That?

When we were in Brussels a couple of weekends ago we stayed in a B&B where one other guest was a young Russian, who was there for some conference, and then there were two Belgian women.

At breakfast on Saturday we chatted like one does, and the topic of the state of the Belgian motorways was introduced (by me). I explained with my standard joke “How do you know you are travelling through Belgium? It goes bumpety bumpety bumpety.”

One of the ladies said to the other “You have to tell your boss that!” It turned out that one of them worked for the Minister of Transport. Ooops!

Another unlikely meeting took place in one of Brussels’ many excellent restaurants. Since Brussels is a city of two official languages, French and Flemish (Dutch), you are not quite sure how to start a conversation. Mrs S spoke French, since neither of us speak Flemish, and the waitress replied in fluent French, of course. But it turned out that she actually was French.

Mrs S continued to tell the waitress that we had a holiday home in Normandy, and she wondered where. Before Mrs S had finished her geographic explanation the young French waitress said with a broad smile that she came from a town not far away from there, and that as a young girl she had often been with her mother to the swimming pool in our nearest little town, the very same pool Mrs S regularly frequents on our holidays. How about that for a coincidence?

 

Sneaky Pics

Well, I am not sure sneaky pics is an accurate description of what I sometimes take, but I do like to take pictures of people who are unaware of my presence and therefore behave naturally. Like I have mentioned before I am fascinated by people and find them interesting, no not just beautiful women, but all people regardless of age, gender and character.

When I am in a crowd my camera often hangs from its strap on my stomach. I have a firm grip of it with my index finger ready, but I try to look as casual and cool as possible. Speed is often crucial in order to get an image of somebody or something passing by in a second or two, so I have my camera on auto setting and shoot from, not my hip, but my stomach.

I do sometimes ask if it is ok to take a photo, or I at least give them a friendly smile as a thank you, should they spot me in action. One thing which I would like to point out is that I always have the best intentions. I never publish a picture with ridicule in mind. I always treat my objects with respect.

Despite popular belief and custom, smiling at the camera is not the best idea for a good portrait. Experts always advise you to ask your “model” not to smile. That’s why I use stealth as my preferred method, because if people realise that they are being snapped, they sometimes wave and smile at you, unless they show that they object to the idea one way or other.

This summer I had the opportunity to take many photos of people. Like this old man in need of a rest on a bench in a busy market.

Or this shot on an off-chance in a very crowded street. Just look at all the eyes, in particular the eyes of the enamoured young couple on the left. Aren’t they sweet?

Then you have the opposite, a bored couple waiting for the rain to stop in Cologne last weekend.

In a French market place I took some pictures of two Police Municipale, and when he discovered that I was pointing my camera roughly in their direction, he asked me if I wanted to take a picture of him and his colleague. He was more than willing to pose for me, and a passing lady said something about him (or possibly them) being oh so handsome.

Here is one I took earlier, and if I wanted to, I could come up with all sorts of suggestive captions! But I won’t.

All these images and many more will be added to my photo website in the coming days. Please come and visit me there.

Last Week I Slept with ...

... a note pad and pen next to my bed. Why? To record my dreams? No, but that sounds like a fascinating idea. To help realise my dream of finishing my book that I am hoping to publish some time? Yes!

Often when I wake up too early, especially when on holiday, my brain kicks into action, and I often find myself thinking about plot ideas, expressions and words. I might even be half asleep, but my brain seems to go into a creative mode automatically.

I have many times cursed myself in the past for not remembering those thoughts later in the day, just like with dreams. So this is where the note pad and pen come into the picture. I found it very useful last week, especially since our French country house has several Velux windows (roof windows), and the ones in our bedroom lack blinds. If it is a sunny morning the room gets very bright.

It's funny how it works. Sometimes when you sit down and try hard to think, to be imaginary, creative, nothing comes out. But when you're more relaxed and just let your mind float freely, you're rewarded with even the odd eureka moment.

Early one morning in that bright bedroom I had a particular idea, which I used in my writing. I noticed that the light that was shining through one of those roof windows created an image on the opposite wall, and this projected image then moved with the movement of the sun.

The sun was shining through a big birch outside and projected the movements of the foliage onto the wall, just like a fuzzy black-and-white film.

I really should carry pen and paper all the time, because you never know when the writing muse strikes next. Or maybe I simply should go on holiday more often?

I managed to take a few photos as well, and I leave you with a solitary poppy in a crop field.

I Have Nothing to Write About

Well, that's how it feels at least. I just can't get started. I find it difficult to focus on material for this blog. Self doubt has started to creep in.

I could write about the goings-on in the garden, the in-fighting greenfinches, the cheeky squirrels, the blackbird splashing in the bath, the new bird feeder stand in black metal and preying cats, but I don't.

I could write about the progress of the book I am trying to write (in Swedish), currently at around 100 A4 pages after a lot of editing (deleting mostly), how I struggle sometimes to write anything for long periods of time, the joy of actually achieving something, but I don't.

I could write about my part-time work at a boarding house where I sleep in an uncomfortable bed, supervise spotty teenagers and drink lots of tea, but I don't (partly because of confidentiality).

I could write about how I invigilate GCSE and A-level exams, but that would be plain boring, so I don't.

I could write about life as a civilian dependent in a NATO community in Germany, the imminent relocation of half of this community to the UK, the many second-hand cars in the main car park people are trying to sell before they leave, the anxiety of many colleagues because of an uncertain future, knowing the whole garrison will close in a few years' time, but I don't.

I could write about our own situation, where to move next, where to settle and eventually retire, Sweden (where only I have lived), France (where we only have a holiday home) or the UK (where both of us have lived), but I don't.

I could write about my health and the complication of doctors trying to establish which type of diabetes I have got, type 2 or 1.5 (LADA), but I don't.

I could write about the joy of still having my mother (87), my son and two grandchildren, other family and friends, but I don't.

Why don't I?

It Has Been a Looong Time

First there was the Easter Holiday, which had to be cut short because I had to go to Sweden for family reasons. Then other real life events have got in the way of blogging, so I will simply put up some photos until I can come up with some proper blog post material, maybe about the UK general election tomorrow and my missing ballot papers!