Behind Those High Garden Walls

Dearest readers,

There is a meandering, narrow road in our village whose name lends itself to flights of fancy and is pretty difficult to pin down in English.  Does it refer to the picturesque glimpses of the Loire river which runs below through the lush foliage or to the radiant countenance of a mysterious face?  Who can tell.

 On our stroll along the rue de Beauregard this morning the air was vibrant with the shrill song of a band of crickets while countless birds seemed to be auditioning for their singing jobs.

 This lane, where dreams abound, has a timeless quality.  Tucked away behind those lofty stone walls are beautiful properties which most of us can indeed only dream of possessing. 

One cannot help peering through firmly closed gates to catch a glimpse of another world.

Many buildings on our north bank of the Loire river are partly constructed from a soft chalk rock called tuffeau which has been quarried since the eleventh century. Safe from past attack and insulated from extremes of hot or cold these troglodytes or caves, carved out of the hillside, represent a network of more than a thousand kilometres.  There were dwellings for peasants and also manor houses with extensive cellars where wines were stored.  If you look at a wall up close you will see nuggets of caramel-coloured stone, faint brown streaks and, perhaps, an oyster shell; a fossil left from the sea that once covered that part of France. On entering such a house there is usually a musty smell but, more importantly, a silence and introspection which give the impression of ancient things lying dormant.

Stone steps, high turret windows, and Pierre Ronsard roses - named after our local sixteenth-century poet - complete the picture.

Yesterday evening the ambiance here was quite different.  Our children's school had organised an exhibition of their artwork both inside the dim honeycombed tuffeau rooms and outside in the dazzling early evening light.  Children flitted about.  There was much merrymaking.  Vouvray sparkling wine flowed and tasty food had been lovingly prepared.  It was such a memorable occassion we simply had to return this morning just to have another look.

This time the gates were closed and this house, like others in the rue de Beauregard, was slumbering once again. Roses blooming like a meteor shower had rearranged their blankets of colour for the day.   

If lingering a while you would see rose petals falling in slow motion and soft as rain. They litter the pavements with bright paint flakes. 

Sleeping ancient dwellings

and thorny roses.

Perhaps one might find a spindle and spinning wheel with silken thread in this turret room?

I am getting a little carried away with the Sleeping Beauty analogy but the air is thick with stories here on a hot summer's day.  On the gates of 'Rochevigne', where we had spent our beautiful evening, I felt compelled to hang...

a shawl made of silk, alpaca, and merino.

A gift made for my mother and not for Sleeping Beauty!

For those who feel they are experiencing a little déjà vu this a replica of my Cosette Wrap knitted last winter this time knitted up with opulent Juno Pearl in Flight and French Grey colourways.

I wanted to give my mother a corner of blue sky with a silver lining.

Both the pictures above were taken at the Chaumont International Garden Festival last year.  There will be more on that soon.

Details are on Ravelry of course.

Thank you so much for your warmhearted comments on my previous post.  You are all wonderful and I am very grateful for the network of inspiring, clever, and kind people out there.  My next post will cover in part my embroidery workshop with Cécile Franconie at Loop in London.  Needless to say an amazing time was had by all.  I would also like to wish a very happy Jubilee to everyone in the UK. Today is Mother's Day in France!

A très bientôt,

Stephanie