I went for a walk in the park on Christmas Eve and found. . .

a little bouquet made of dried

hydrangea and dried peppers, tied to

a fence. . .

an unused police shelter, filled with light. . .

real holly. . .

a tree in the middle of the lake. . .

and the three wise boats!

two days before Christmas, NYC

mc and hny!!

sunrise over Auzay

8AM

chateau de l'ebaupinay

These photos don't do this ruin justice. It is way way spookier than it looks in the pictures and full of dead birds, feathers, fallen timbers and heaven only knows what else. You are not really supposed to go inside, but we did yesterday. And apart from trying to imagine what life must have been like in this castle, I got a glimpse into the makings of a fairly tale. Check out the rose bush which is curling in through the opening in the castle wall - a little imagination, a sleeping princess and what have you got?

noisy, feathered and goofy friends

These characters have been up for hours by the time the sun rises. What people say about the rooster crowing only at the break of dawn is totally wrong. They crow all the time, night and day. It is just that in the morning, there is no other sound to drown out their onomatapoetic wake up call.

end of an era

A couple of nights ago I had the chance to take a picture of the pink house in Auzay one last time. The house sits next to the Argenton River down in a hollow and as I approached, the rays of the evening son were catching the brilliant green vines and coral colored walls making the house glow as if lit from inside. I had my camera ready as I crossed the footbridge but then I noticed an artist standing at her easel making a painting of the house and so I put my camera away. Even the littlest noise can break a painters concentration and with daylight waning she didn't have much time left.

As it turned out, she didn't have any time left to finish the painting because the very next day, workers arrived and scurrying around the house like elves, removed the roof and with it the vines. A renovation was started and now, instead of tranquility in the little valley, there is the noise of both destruction and industry.

An argument can be made that renovation is a good thing. It preserves houses, provides shelter in something other than new developments, and keeps the past alive in a way. But though this particular project might do all those things, it still makes me deeply sad. I absolutely loved the passerelle at Auzay the way it was before. I have gone there often during the times I have spent in Argenton Chateau and it has always seemed like a secret place, empty, ancient. I loved the rundown house, its color, its vines. I loved the old mill next door and the dark jungle of growth around it. I loved the solitude of standing on the footbridge listening to the river. It seemed that if there was one spot on earth that could be called la France profonde, this was it and, silly me, I thought it would never change.

The return of Fripon, the dead rabbit and the errant swan - slow living in the deep country

The pace of life is slow in rural France. One day follows another with only the weather, the seasons, and the produce in the weekly market to mark the passing of time. You might think that this life would drive a New York City person crazy after a couple of weeks, but in fact, I am finding quite the opposite. Something in me has slowed way down and as I arrived home from my morning run, I realized I was genuinely excited and satisfied by three small developments in the animal world of Argenton Chateau.

My run takes me down the hill from the center of town, across the main road and into a park that surrounds a lake made by the damming of the l'Ouere. The park is empty on weekday mornings and only slightly populated on the weekends when a few local fishermen pitch their tents and set their poles on the banks hoping to catch something to bring home for Sunday lunch. The only visible lake denizens are several ducks and some swans, usually four of them, who patrol the length of the lake like powerful and supercilious kings. In the last couple of weeks, however, there have only been three. So when I saw flashes of brilliant white through the trees today, I stopped and waited, expecting to see three swans glide by and sure enough there they came, dignified and haughty. But as I turned to leave I saw another flash of white out of the corner of my eye and way down the lake, along came the fourth as slow and relaxed as any dude ever was. This swan had definitely removed himself from the rat race. Unlike the others who kept their heads tall, eyes forward, posture perfect, this swan dawdled along, head swiveling and eyes darting lazily from one side of the lake to the other.. His feathers were unkempt and slightly rakish and instead of following the regal path down the center, he paddled in great circles, pausing here and there, diving underwater, eating the odd fish and having the time of his life. Here was a swan who had opted out and was enjoying every moment. He was beautiful and funky and definitely taking the slow road. I suppose that one of these days, he will fix his feathers, button his collar and catch up with the others but for the moment that's not happening and he's a swan whose only mission is find out what around the next bend in the lake.

The second piece of news is a little gruesome. There is a dead rabbit at the top of the Rue Ste. Anne which has been lying there for a week or so being eaten by maggots and flies. I have checked it out every day, because little by little its entire intact skeleton has been, shall I say, revealed as its flesh has been chewed away. Today, the rabbit's bones were almost bare and there lay in its entirety a perfect skeleton of a bunny. What's cool about that? Not much unless as an artist you care about the structure of living things, which I do. So it was both curious and unnerving to see lying there a being with all the same skeletal parts as a human, only differently organized, more miniature and with distinctly less space in the cranium for a developed brain, and distinctly bigger foot size in proportion to the rest of its body so that during its lifetime, its thoughts were minimal but the spring in its step made for a particularly enjoyable ride.

And finally the big news is the return of Fripon. Fripon is the local donkey whose name in English means "rascal." Until recently, Fripon could always be found in a walled field on the way to the hamlet of Auzay. Students at the school have always fed him, patted his head and talked to him as if he were an old and batty uncle. So a great deal of worry surrounded the fact that all of a sudden, Fripon went missing. There were rumors that he had died, that he had been sold or that he was having an amorous relationship somewhere in the next village. Everyone was concerned because this is a notable donkey who responds to voices with a loud hee-haw and who, when you stand at his gate, trots up from the river like a faithful dog, tail wagging and ears flopping. It was more than sad to see his field empty and it seemed like the village had lost a vital citizen. But a couple of nights ago, Fripon's distinctive voice could be heard across the valley and when I checked this morning, there he was in his old field, hearty and vociferous as ever. And though he may have a broken heart, Argenton Chateau feels more like its quiet, slow-moving self with Fripon back where he belongs.

sunset

AC

more doors, some windows

on the way to catch the bus to Thouars

sunrise and doggies

early morning, Argenton Chateau

after the rain

a morning glory

a boat and a book

and the very green gardens

AC, Sunday AM

une porte

une deuxieme porte

et des pecheurs

it's a bird, it's a plane. . .

it's the magnificent man in his flying machine!

AC

le lac, 7AM

gates of the cemetery

old door and window, centre-ville

another, just across the river

the bridge, evening

donc. . .

the village from down at the river

les vaches

my gate

I can see my house over there. . .