P1060934The French countryside is studded with little gems of villages, often boldly at the crest of a hill, from where its church steeple and, likely, a fortress tower, bristles above the horizon. Others are nestled in valleys, nearly invisible until you get close.

In this part of the south of France, les anciens--the people of old–used the building materials at hand–namely large stones pulled from the fields. The stones provide great insulation and are surely one of the reasons people here continue to resist air conditioning. IMG_2694The roofs are covered with red terre cuite tiles, laid in overlapping waves, which usually (not always) are heavy enough to resist the high winds that tear through. Some are cemented down for good measure. Imagine the weight.

The buildings predate any zoning or urban planning. People added on here and there over generations, resulting in a crazy quilt of red roofs.P1060954The church is at the center of the village, its steeple often topped with a rooster, the Gallic coq.  The rooster was a religious symbol in medieval times and during the Revolution became a symbol of France. P1060933Many of the villages are so small they don’t have any baker or grocery store. The sole businesses are wineries, or the odd artisan like plumbers or electricians who work out of their homes. Some don’t even have a school. Parents drive their kids to school in bigger villages nearby on their way to work in town. Only the elderly are left in the villages during the day. P1070421Bigger villages have a grocery, a baker, a café, even a butcher and tabac, or smoke shop, which once were vital for such items as bus tokens, cards for making calls on public phones, stamps and other essentials that no longer are essential. Elderly villagers shuffle out for their daily baguettes while wearing their plaid flannel bedroom slippers. The bakery is also the place to get the most accurate weather forecast.P1060913The tiniest villages are served by itinerant vendors, who stop for a few hours a few days a week and provide a place for locals to not only buy necessities like fresh produce but also catch up on gossip. In one village, I passed a fishmonger truck, surrounded by a clutch of little old ladies in animated conversation.

The older residents perch on the benches under the ubiquitous platanes–plane trees. The ones who use canes cross their hands limply atop the handle, a little like Psy dancing in “Gangnam Style.”IMG_2690When my kid was in the last year or two of primary school in the village, I was informed that it was dishonorable to be escorted by one’s mother. Already, it was dishonorable to walk to school. Even kids who lived a couple of blocks away were driven by mothers who then drove straight back home. To be walked to the door by a parent was the worst.

So I bowed to this declaration of independence, and watched my kid disappear around the neighbor’s hedge. I felt pretty confident about safety in the maze of medieval lanes too small for cars, and completely confident that my kid would dutifully go straight to school. But I’m a worrywart, so I would slip out and do my best spy impersonation, tailing my kid while staying just out of sight. There was a spot along the former ramparts, where the street (more like a passage that would be a tight fit for a Smart car) stretched straight for the final block to school. I would crouch behind a parked car and watch until my kid was swallowed by the playground.P1070748This was endlessly amusing to the bench full of little old guys. Every day, they would be perched there, like so many swallows on an electric line. Sometimes, my kid would decide to run, and I would round the corner for my final vantage point and see nothing. My little birds would tip their caps and nod that my kid had passed as expected.

The little old ladies flock in the afternoons at the park, on a bench that in summer is shaded by an enormous magnolia tree and in winter is protected by a south-facing wall warmed by the sun. They bring knitting, and their fingers fly as fast as their tongues. But the main entertainment is the children. The lawn under the tree is a favorite place for mothers and nannies to get their very small charges outside while they enjoy some precious moments of adult conversation. The path’s gravel has been scooped, carried and dumped a few feet away by countless toddlers. Far more amusing than cat videos.P1070654The little old ladies and little old men used to go for walks, all together, around the vineyards. A pack of them would set off every afternoon–early morning in summer, of course. There was a high point where one could get a glimpse into our yard, and I would find them straining to see in. Foreigners in the village must have been so fascinating. I hope we lived up to expectations.

Over the years, the group dwindled in number. They probably had been together their entire lives. Many were related, varying degrees of cousins, otherwise by marriage. They now are too old to hike around the vineyards. They stay in the village. Several have died. Time marches on even when we no longer can.P1060955When someone dies in the village, a few strains of the “Lacrimosa” from Mozart’s Requiem Mass crackle over the public loudspeakers, and the mayor’s secretary announces the funeral services. Everybody stops what they’re doing, to hear whose name is announced, if they don’t already know.

Most of the time, though, the loudspeakers announce happier things, accompanied by happier music, usually Europop hits from the ’80s. The pizza truck will be at the square from 6 p.m. on. The football club is organizing a dinner; sign up at the bakery. The school is holding a loto. The secretary gives every announcement all the extra syllables and richly rolled R’s of the regional accent.

An old wine press. Of course.

Today is a holiday, and the village is hushed beyond even Sunday standards. Although we have two more weeks of summer, August 15 signals the apex beyond which is a downward slide toward la rentrée–the re-entry, aka back to school, back to work, back to normal life.P1070739


39 thoughts on “Village Life

  1. We spent part of this summer in Burgundy, touring wineries and visiting these villages. Thank you for bringing a part of our trip back with your lovely post!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What a beautiful post. It brings back memories of all the tiny villages we have driven through or seen in the distance. We make up stories about what the people do and what they ar like. Quite often we stop for a moment. If there is a church….in I go, no matter how small. It’s wonderful to slow down and just be….

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The churches are often quite simple, but beautiful nonetheless. And yes, it’s fun to make up stories. Although as I start to learn the real stories, some are stranger than anything I could invent!


  3. How fun to sit on your shoulder as you observe these very French doings! I regret never having lived in a village with a sound system. That must be eerie when they play the funeral music. Today was deader than dead in our parts too. Can’t wait to watch France come back to life over the next two weeks.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It mostly is just sad. There was the quite young husband of a friend who was killed in a car wreck in the autorote. And others… Of course those I knew in advance. But some I would hear and piece together the family ties… A village always is linked in one way or another.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I just wanted to tell you I made your tomato tart tatin with a few changes. OMG is it delicious. I will be posting about it soon and letting everyone that will listen to make your tart. Even my picky friends wanted the recipe. They could not believe French food could be simple yet so flavorful. Thank you. thank you. 🙂


    Liked by 1 person

  5. Such a lovely gentle ramble written in the gear of life of your village. In contrast to yours, our village was in FULL throttle for its annual street theatre and music festival on the 15th. Something else the French do exceptionally well is to party …. 🎉 💃 🎶 🎭

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Our village had a three-day-long fête last summer around Aug. 15, but it degenerated. Nothing this summer, which means we have been able to sleep peacefully. There are plenty of village fêtes nearby, though. No shortages of party opportunities.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Perfection, I don’t know. All the regions of France do Frenchness to the max, even though they’re all very different. Just as I love all kids, but I love my own the most.


  7. Lovely to hear that you still have your “allo allo system” – ours was rationalised away some years ago, when an electronic notice board was installed. The village hasn’t been the same since, and I still miss it!!

    Liked by 1 person

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