The Wayfaring Wordhack

 ...take and post a lot of photos.

Just scrolling through, looking for a photo I posted during our Mayotte days of our coconut grater--which I couldn't find--keenly reminded me of that.

I must do better.  For my sake, for the sake of my kids. 

Like these New Year's Eve photos from a year ago (2019):

Neither J nor I have ever been big News Year's Eve celebrators, so it is rare that we do anything special.  On NYE, J was in bed by 22h00, but the kids were still awake and excited.  We went up to their room and read lots of stories, and Ti'Loup longingly expressed a wish to set off fireworks (prompted by Bobby's 5th birthday with his Grandpa Bob in the book Now One Foot, Now the Other by Tomie dePaola).

 "We have sparklers," I said.  "This is a special occasion; let's use them."*

Which, as you can imagine, was met with great enthusiasm.  Except by J, who did not want to get out of bed to come sparkle in the New Year with us.  :P  The kids danced in the snow in front of the house with their sparklers, then we went to the cross that is set up at the entrance to our hamlet and said a prayer for the New Year.  We are blessed to be alive, to be together, to be healthy, to have shelter, to have grace:

FYI: Today is not my birthday, Wed was.


Since buying our home, we have seriously cut down on travel and days-away-from-here, mostly because of having animals. 

However, we have been wanting to take to the kids to where we lived after leaving Paris and decided my birthday would be a good occasion/excuse to do so.

Being self-proclaimed freeloading plebeians, we decided to picnic, cookout, and camp as we visited our old haunts. For the occasion, the unseasonably warm temperatures and lack of rain turned out to be blessings.

We first drove to La Borne, a potter's village some 20 minutes from Sancerre. Here is a link to a French Wikipedia article for anyone who reads French. A record of the oldest known pottery oven existing around there dates from 1260, just to let you know the heritage of the place. Today it has ceramists and potters from all over the world living there and in the environs. While it was nice to revisit it, this trip was not our best experience there. Many things were closed, and I got an overall dilapidated feeling from the village.  While there were some truly gorgeous and fresh pieces to be seen at some of the ateliers, many artists were still doing the same things from 10 years ago.  Pottery can have a timeless feel, but certain glazes, forms, and colors become quickly outdated, to my taste at least. Still, we were happy to offer the kids commemorative bowls* for my birthday, and I found a water pitcher that was both practical and pretty enough to come home with me.  J got a couple of bowls to match those the kids picked out and some new raku espresso cups. Here are a few of the pieces:

First, sourdough pancakes for breakfast. We need a bellyful of fuel for the busy day to come. After licking (just kidding) the last drizzles of maple syrup from our plates, we head to the bay. Other surfers are leaving, making more room for J on the waves.  While he paddles out, the Sprout and I go a-bird tracking. 



The tractor that cleans the seaweed and small rocks from the tideline scared the ruddy turnstones before we could get close enough for pretty pictures. We decided to do some art on the beach instead.  Photo of finished project coming your way soon(ish). 



Art on the beach is fine...for a little while. Then you need to play with the sand. Building things is fun. Like a sand fish. The sprout added a mouth and turned it into a sharkfish, but then the waves came and ate it.



Time to get revenge on the waves before heading home for lunch.



That chapel-esque structure on Sainte Barbe is nothing of the kind. It is some sort of housing for a power or water unit...or something. I wanted to verify the last time we walking up there and forgot.

The rest of the Ss in post number 2...

If you want a lovely start to your day...nay, if you want a recipe for an entire day chockfull of loveliness--not just the morning--pack a tasty breakfast (in our case: chorizo, ewe & goat cheese and cow cheese from local farmer, homemade bread slathered in butter with a side of (also local) honey, some fruit, coffee and water), and head to a place with a nice view for an early-bird picnic.


When all are sated, in both tummy and vision, send the significant other off with your child so that...


with only skinks, sparrows, and petrified whales for company, you can work on your story before the pages calcify like those of the tome below:

( The rest of the recipe for a wonderful day )

It has been ages since I did a glimpse post, and I was on my way to bed before I remembered that I had vowed to resume the custom here on my blog on Wednesdays.

This is a true glimpse of something bigger to come.

In the meantime, can anyone guess what is on the other side of this gate?

We've had some amazingly beautiful days of late, but the mornings and evenings have that chill bite that lets you know autumn is preparing winter's way.

The maples are ablaze with color: yellow, orange, red, purple-black. Ferns taller than I form a separate, russet forest beneath the lofty boughs of maritime pine, plantations of which cover the Gascogny Coast.  Pine cones and acorns fallen from golden-leafed oaks litter the ground, and pumpkin-orange mushrooms as big as my hand sprout on logs and amidst still-green grass. 

Part 1 of this "glimpse" here.  Not that I'm going in any kind of logical order, but that's where the first photos are.

I should have begun with a bit of historical context perhaps, not the history of Guédelon, but the history of France where this "archaeological experiment" slots in. However, that means recalling things that the guide told us, and since I always seem to find myself trying to write these posts near midnight, my mental prowess is not at its peak. Alas. (FYI, I began this post three--four? make that at least five six with LJ's current problems--days ago; that's how hard it is for me to find the time to get it written up.)

So, begging pardon if I misremember something:

Guédelon is an example of the architectural style Philip II Augustus instated and imposed on his vassals, the principle characteristics being (from the Guédelon website):

1) a polygonal ground plan {Me:  If memory serves, of some 1000+ "philippien" castles, only 4 were/are perfect squares. I’m sure the number of overall castles was much higher, but I prefer to err on the modest side};

2) high stone curtain walls, often built on battered plinths;

3) a dry ditch {Me: According to our guide, a "moat" with water in it was not that common during this period, water actually being easier to cross than a dry ditch filled with traps or briars, not to mention that copious amounts of water were not available everywhere and rerouting rivers, etc. to fill the moats was costly.  Water-filled moats later came into fashion as a way for lords to flaunt their wealth};

4) round flanking towers pierced with arrow loops, the positions of which are staggered on each floor of the tower {Me: Each tower always had arrowslits--see photo below--that allowed archers to fire along the walls it flanked, or "flanking fire."  Woe to those who tried to scale said walls};

5) one corner tower, the great tower or tour maîtresse, higher and larger than the rest, acts as the donjon {Me: The donjon is the first tower to be built. That way the people have a place to take refuge in in case of attack};

6) a chatelet with twin drum towers protecting the gate.

The efficacity of Philip's design is most tellingly illustrated by this map showing France before and after his conquests:

Red = England's toe foot- and handhold / Green and blue = French, with blue denoting the crown's lands, specifically / Yellow = Church domains

Not only did the architectural style help regain land and defend against English attacks, it quelled the French nobles' desire to annex their neighbors' castles.  Knowing one's enemy's home has the same insurmountable traps and tricks as one's own is apparently a terrific deterrent.  

During our first visit to Guédelon in 2004, our tour was much different due to the state of progress, which has since evolved, so we spent more time learning about the defenses. Our guide took us through the postern and tointed out the traps and tricks employed to keep an attacker from success: a step forcing an attacker to lift his foot when going through a doorway while a low lintel made him duck his head; holes in the ceiling that things could be dropped through; holes in the sides where swords or spears could pierce or slow those trying to make it through the narrow passage; or staircases that "turn" the wrong way, meaning a man could not fight and climb at the same time because, the left hand being of the Devil, an attacker would only be using his right hand...

An arrowslit or arrow loop from inside the tower:


The walls are 3.5 meters thick, and the mortar is still drying inside; in fact, the mortar is still drying in castles built while Philip II Augustus was alive because it takes a centuries for air to reach the middle of such a thick wall. That allows the walls time to settle, contrary to concrete, which dries too fast, and that is a wonderful thing to prevent your walls from cracking and your stones from tumbling down.
No detail is neglected at Guédelon, not even the "toilet." When you lift the wooden slat there, you see that the hole drilled through the stone drops down along the castle wall. Yet another reason you don't want to be in that dry ditch, attacking the castle.

Hollywood and fiction are talking bullocks, said our guide, when they show enemies quickly conquering a castle.*

_________
* From Wikipedia: Scholars debate the scope of the word castle, but usually consider it to be the private fortified residence of a lord or noble. This is distinct from a palace, which is not fortified, from a fortress, which was not always a residence for nobility, and from a fortified town, which was a public defence – though there are many similarities between these types of construction. Usage of the term has varied over time and has been applied to structures as diverse as hill forts and country houses.

It seems these days are days for reminiscing; many are those on my flist who have had recent posts or fleeting mentions of the past just as I myself wished to wander a bit through my own lanes and byways of memory. As asakiyume  puts it at the beginning of her most recent post: I'm "Feeling lonesome for past times: past childhood,.."

That is not to say I'm malcontent with my present, but as I was walking and taking pictures the other day, seeking my touchstone with nature (to borrow from pjthompson ), I happened past a garden that transported me to my childhood New Mexico with its heady aroma of sun-warmed dill.  

Smelling that pungent herb, I was eleven again, living on an isolated farm, surrounded by Black Angus cattle, wheat fields and rolling plains the color of sage. We were 12 miles from school, 30 from where we went to church, and 60 where we had to go for groceries. Rural, very remote, and I loved it. I loved having my horse grazing the pastures behind the farm, loved spotting a herd of pronghorn antelope, loved watching the epic transformations of cumulus clouds across the boundless blue sky.  

I loved that we had a garden and I never had to go hungry there. I loved the bounty and the work that came with it, shucking corn and shelling peas. I loved my guardian's homemade pickles and pantry full of preserves. I loved that she ground her own flour from wheat her husband grew and gathered eggs from her own hens. When I think of my little family's Someday, that moment when we decide to stop traipsing the world and settle down with a house of our own, I want to have a garden. I know the landscape around it won't be similar to what I knew for those brief years as a child, but I hope the feeling of plenty and contentment will be the same.


I know the New Mexico I miss is not necessarily a place--it's the time that I was rescued, when my life bloomed, when I found out the world had more in it than roach motels, food stamps, and fear.

I never have and I never will miss West Texas with its air that smells all too often of flatulence from the gas wells, its pumpjacks like skeletal birds, condemned to eternally peck the same bit of barren ground.

I've moved on to different pastures, not always greener, but better, infinitely better.

Fiber arts:
 
The crochet project is not going to get done when I hoped it would.  I have set it aside for now because of Soëlie...

Not because of her dubious help with the tasting, er, counting, but because we have a family wedding coming up in July and I've decided to make her dress for it (more on this in another post).  And my outfit.  Have I mentioned before that I am a glutton for punishment?  No?  Well, consider it mentioned.

Writing:

I have half of the scenes plotted for Witherwilds Bk 2. I've gotten some great feedback on the first book that has let me know what needs to be clearer, what needs to have more punch, more clarity. Hopefully I shall improve upon those things in the second installment; revisions for the first will have to wait.

My insomnia is back, despite being new-mommy exhausted from sleep deprivation--but my mind uses those long hours of staring at the dark ceiling to give me character insights and plot tidbits for the next book.  Thanks to that, all is not lost, only sleep (and a few brain cells, no doubt)...

Spring:

Unlike most normal people, I was wishing for one last snow this year.  I didn't get it, but seeing the countryside in bloom, the wild onions already making an appearance, I can't say I regret the arrival of spring.  It is glorious to go for long strolls, not having to worry about having Soëlie out too long in the cold.  The air is alive with so many perfumes, so much birdsong and life...