After The Storms ...

Things grow down here. I'll rephrase that: I've never seen anything grow the way things round here grow. We're no strangers to farming country but we're still amazed by the combined effects of a mild, sunny climate and a sophisticated irrigation system on the local landscapes. Turn your back for five minutes and an open vista to the next hamlet has been obscured by a wall of maize or a sea of sunflowers. Fields of stubble suddenly become dense jungles and the deer, hare and other wildlife we previously glimpsed dashing across open land between forested areas are now free to wander in protective concealment.

Deep in the forests themselves it's a similar story, as the few remaining signs of devastation wrought by the 'tempête' a couple of winters ago are at last removed. Tall trees uprooted and strewn across the woodland floor at crazy angles have now been transformed into huge, neatly-stacked piles of fire-logs, slowly seasoning to fulfil their destiny after a far-from-gentle nudge from nature. The forests are, of course, a valuable resource, and renewable, too, thanks to the ancient practice of coppicing. Simply cutting the mature growth to ground level every few years leaves the root-system powerhouse intact, with the result that a single trunk is soon replaced by multiple new stems. The results are spectacular, with an initial season's growth rate of well over two metres being typical locally. Closer still to home, the landmark chestnut tree which spreads its ancient limbs across a major part of our front garden has been puzzling us for some time by its total lack of fruit this season, despite an exuberant display of blossom back in springtime.

To our farming neighbours, however, such things are seldom without a logical explanation, and in this case the view is that it's all down to a sudden late frost taking the blossom by surprise. So, no conkers this year - surprising, but hardly a cause for complaint, since clearing them from the ground has little of the appeal engendered by gathering their edible counterparts. Our old friend's miraculous survival of the storm which claimed so many of his younger brethren are convincing proof that he must indeed be made of sturdy stuff.

But it was not only the trees which suffered - here and there we see the tell-tale signs of the campaign of repairs which have kept teams of roofers busy ever since. Roman pantiles have an undeniably romantic appearance, but little in the way of staying power when the blowing gets tough. Our embarrassingly large collection of outbuildings is living proof of this, and although our 'best' barn required little more than door surgery and a few tile replacements, others fared less well. After replacing one ridge beam, a substantial timber lintel, plus assorted rafters and under-tile boards, the weather is now largely back on the outside of what had been our most immediately worrying barn. Inside, the heaps of broken tiles will have to wait a little longer before they're recycled into hardcore for the floor of a planned garage/workshop.

The reason is not lethargy, but the condition of its even larger neighbour, a former farmhouse whose aged roof timbers are now finally throwing in the towel after many years bearing the onerous weight of 110m 2 of roofing tiles.

So how did it come to this? It was obvious when we first viewed the house that the barns would require attention, and sooner rather than later. Ever since the 'tempète', however, pantiles have been near-impossible to get hold of, so we had to wait, fingers crossed, for our order to work its way up the long waiting list.

Happily, our turn seems to have come at last and our roofers are now poised to strip the whole lot off, timbers and all, then replace it with new materials. The exceptions are the old tiles we plan to salvage to re-lay on top of the brand new under-tiles, thereby preserving the appearance of the building. Gravity may yet have other ideas, of course, and it's another unnerving time. To take our mind off this, we turn our attentions to the process of visualising how best to revitalise the long-neglected gardens. Another challenge.

Fortunately, though, it shouldn't take too long to get it all established. Things grow rather well around here.

© Words by Roger Moss, May 2001
This text first appeared in everything France magazine Issue 3