A new tree for a new yard

As previously hinted at, our yard underwent some major cosmetic work in the last few days.

The yard, as seen from the kitchen door, a couple of days ago, with the new tree in place.

The photos below will give you an idea of the transformation over the last few months. They include before-and-after shots, taken from approximately the same angle in October 2008, (when we first saw the property), February and May of this year, with work in full swing, and earlier this week.

October 2008

February 2011

May 2011

This past Thursday

Daily life at Gaulejac

I wouldn't say that we have developed a routine yet. In fact, I rather hope that we never do; that would be too much like life before retirement. Still, as the house is coming together and the list of things for the workers to do is dwindling down daily to smaller and smaller jobs like corrections and touch-ups, there is increasingly some regularity to our daily life. There is also more comfort, though we are resigned to the fact that it will not be achieved fully until our furniture arrives (mid-January, at last update from the shippers).

As an illustration of our daily life at Gaulejac, I have posted below a series of shots that will give you an idea of what a typical day might be like for us.

Nancy has taken to walking into Montignac (4.5 Km one-way) every other morning.
Sometimes I join her, but some days, I just putter around at home
and make coffee while I wait for her to bring home the day's Le Monde
and a fresh baguette for breakfast. Life is tough ...

On the way, she (or we) will often stop by to chat with the pony
who lives in a meadow by the side of the road, and sometimes give him a carrot.

Here she is again, now about half-way home.

If I haven't joined Nancy for the walk to Montignac, I may trundle up the hill
with my camera. The mist and the rising sun always make for magnificent views,
which I manage to capture satisfactorily only on rare occasions. The shot above was taken in the meadow
above our property, looking down on our house (centre), and our neighbour's (roof to the left).

By the time Nancy returns, the workers are hard at it. In the shot above,
they are cutting capping stones which were much too wide: the mechanical saw
that they first used only cut 3/4 of the way deep, so they had to finish the job by hand.
Behind them, you can see the stairs to the workshop, which used to have a stone border
on both sides that were removed the day before. Looks much better, less monumental now.
The yard is really the only area where we've been dissatisfied with some of the execution.
Mostly because it introduced what we felt were "urban" touches, rigid and bold lines
that just did not fit in with the overall rustic style. Otherwise, we're very pleased with the work , inside and out.

Our daily life and comfort took a major turn for the better when we
discovered that the big fireplace in the kitchen works very well,
even without the finishing touches like the cast iron plate
and the cold air intakes that are supposed to be essential
for it to function properly (and that will be in place soon).
So We now have a fire every night at dinnertime. The house is very comfortable anyway,
but it is December after all, it gets dark early, the thermometer drops to single digits quickly,
and in France as in Canada, nothing says "home" like a fire in the hearth.

Good morning Gaulejac!

Sunrise down the valley, from our yard.

Our neighbourhood

Work is progressing steadily at the house, though there is nothing dramatically new to report at this point.

Soon I hope to be able to post some photos of significant progress outside, in the yard and down in front of the house, where the old stone wall is being rebuilt.

Meanwhile, taking advantage of the magnificent weather we are experiencing, I walked around our "neighbourhood" snapping pictures of some of the houses nearby.

Now we blend

Someone I remember fondly used to say "a man needs a truck". This has a particular resonance in Ontario: rural living, handy work, etc. But it is equally true here in rural France, though the saying would translate to something like "a man needs a Partner/Kangoo/Berlingo".

These are the respective model names for the three main French car manufacturers' "utilitaires" (literally "utility vehicles"), the local equivalent to our good ol' North American pickup truck.

What is striking is that here, in the cradle of the free spirit (or so the French like to think), instead of vying for the most original or different approach, Peugeot, Citroen and Renault seem in fact to make a special effort to depart as little as possible from what has become the norm. Whether it's a Berlingo (Citroen), or a Kangoo (Renault), or a Partner (Peugeot), they are remarkably similar in style, shape and colour. They are all two-seater panel trucks approximately the size of a larger compact car (say a four-door Jetta, for example), sometimes with a sliding side door on the right. And they are almost invariably white.

In fact, most utility vehicles in France come in factory white, and many contractors don't even bother to paint them a different colour or even advertise their name. And if they do, the announcement is remarkably modest, usually a single sign on the side, about the size of a standard car window on average.

All that to say that we have taken a major step in becoming locals: we bought Peugeot Partner, with "24" licence plates (denoting the local department of the Dordogne).

And here is a photo of our new wheels, sitting proudly in our driveway ...

Isn't she beautiful?

Hunters, woodpeckers, and other noise makers

We woke up the other day, on our second morning "at home" in Gaulejac, to a persistent tapping noise. We figured we'd slept in and one of the contractors was already hard at work. I scrambled out of bed and ran outside to see who it was, only to scare off a woodpecker who had taken an interest in one of the old beams jutting out of the stone work on the East facade. He flew off with what I took as a joyous call, thanking me for his breakfast.

A few days later, we woke up to different noises: half a dozen hunters, with cars and dogs, gathered just below our windows, before setting out on the day's hunt. It was quite a surprise as we have become accustomed to observing nothing more than birds and other wildlife outside the house most of the time, or the mailman (Monday-Saturday mail delivery), or more rarely a hiker or distant neighbour walking his chocolate brown lab.

I went down to chat and asked them politely to please not park in our driveway. They were very courteous in return, said they'd been gone soon (they were, 15 minutes later), and invited me to join them. I thanked them but declined, assuring them that they probably would regret it if I did as I could be a liability and more likely to scare game away than to help them bag anything, or worse, injure one of them. They didn't insist. Still, it felt good to meet the locals in their regular activities.

(Speaking of locals, we have had some interesting meetings (all pleasant, to be sure). More in a future post.)

As to the other noises referred to in the title? Nothing too dramatic, really. At night, the new oak floors creak and crack in the newly heated atmosphere; the plastic tarp on the soon-to-be-roofed side building (see photos below) slaps in the wind like a sail on a tall ship; and eternally, owls, songbirds, hawks punctuate the near silence or the ambient background of the breeze with their respective calls and notes. We continue to marvel at how quiet it is all around, night and day.

Welcome to Gaulejac!

When we arrived on October 25, the house wasn't quite ready for human habitation: doors, windows and electricity, but no running water or heat. So we stayed in a hotel for a few nights until all that had been taken care of. We finally moved in last Wednesday, November 2nd to running hot and cold water first, followed by heat a few days later. In the meantime, the electrician had lent us a couple of space heaters that were more than sufficient and, anyway, the weather has been exceptionally warm around here, with daytime highs of above 20 Celsius most days and no nighttime frost yet.

The house is essentially finished. What remains to be done now is stone floors in the kitchen and entrance hall, and outside work, including grading in the courtyard and preparation for eventual landscaping.

Here are some photos of the house as it stands now:

The courtyard, with the nearly completed "préau", or covered sitting area.

Add Another view of the préau (including the day's laundry)
and the rest of the old sheds.
The roof over the whole set should be done next week.

The kitchen: we're actually getting used to the Spartan look.
Maybe we don't need all the fancy cabinets and appliances after all ...

The living room, as seen from the top of the stairs,
in the mezzanine area between the two bedrooms.

The master bedroom.

The bathtub in the Master ensuite ...

... and the view.

Three days and counting

Moving day at Gaulejac is Tuesday, October 25. We are flying out this Sunday night.

The house is now completely livable, with only a few things which we have decided to put on hold until we can make a decision in person and on site. For instance: the stone areas of the downstairs floors should have been finished by now, but we decided to wait until we can select the stones ourselves. And in the yard, which is essentially completed, the "préau" (covered dining area, just outside the kitchen door) would be all done if we had accepted the proposed tiles, but we felt that a couple of email photos weren't sufficient for us to decide. So, that too is on hold until we get there.

There are a few other details of that sort. Why rush? A couple of weeks or even a month won't make much difference.

At the same time, there are some significant aspects which we have always known would not be done until we get there: sinks cannot be installed until countertops and vanities have been built (by yours truly), and oak floors throughout the house have been laid and sanded but not finished as we will be doing that ourselves. Good thing our furniture is not due to arrive until later in November!

So, as we expected all along, it will be a little bit like camping for awhile. But in a finished house, with electricity, heat, doors, windows, showers, etc.

Unfortunately, there are no new photos at this point. And it may be a few days after we arrive until we are online and able to post photos. So, please be patient and stay tuned.

Clearly, the exciting prospect right now is that the next posts will be "live from France"! And once we are settled in and online, you can count on frequent updates, with many photos.

Until then, au revoir!

Thanks for your continuing interest

It has been a while since our last update (the stone palimpsest photo essay notwithstanding), and people have been asking about progress on the house, and when the next batch of photos would be posted.

In a nutshell: things are right on track and the house will be ready for us to move in as planned, in late October. As to photos, all the worthwhile pictures from our last visit, in July, were posted almost immediately.

Then followed a period of near total inactivity, as most construction trades in France traditionally take the whole month of August off.

Work resumed promptly by September 1st, but so far we've received only one batch of photos, and I hesitated to share them as most deal with details and technical issues that require our review and approval.

Still, below are some of the more interesting ones, with an explanation of their significance in the captions.

This photo shows the "potager" in its new location (briefly: a potager was a primitive stove; embers from the fireplace would be shovelled into the arched opening in the vertical panel, so that pots placed over the holes in the horizontal slab could be kept warm or simmering.).
What makes this shot interesting is that the potager used to be on the left side of the fireplace, while the door to the dining room was on the right. They switched places in one of the few structural changes to the original layout of he house. This required, among other things, dismantling the potager and reassembling it in its new location - not a small feat considering that it's all solid stone.
The space above the potager will now be fitted with shelves and matching kitchen cupboard doors, behind which a flatscreen TV will reside. So, if the relocated potager ever warms up again, it will certainly not be with embers, but quite possibly, as one might imagine, from something no warmer than a cat or a dog who might make it home.
Below: a "before" photo of the same corner, with the old door to the dining room, still in its original location.

The courtyard, looking south, with the new outside stairs and levels taking shape.
We have expressed our concern to the architect regarding the size of the capping stones on the low wall in the foreground. Beautiful stones, for sure, but they look massive to us, and seem out of place in this project. We are awaiting his response.

The new stone steps leading up to the barn that is soon to become my workshop.
The house is on the right.

Detail shot showing a patch of the upstairs newly laid and sanded oak floor, with a length of baseboard about to be installed. This particular spot is situated under the middle dormer window, on the landing, with the stairs to the guest room on the right.

Stone palimpsests

Below is a photo essay on stone palimpsests of the Périgord.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, a palimpsest is "an ancient sheet of parchment from which the original writing has been removed to make room for new writing."

I know, there is nothing in that definition about stones, walled openings, or ancient buildings. But I've always liked the word "palimpsest" - what it stands for, as well as how its sounds (I also like the sound of the words "mujahideen" and "catalpa", but I have not been inspired yet to document them photographically, partly due to the fact that neither occurs commonly in the Périgord). Someone suggested that "pentimento" might be a more appropriate analogue. I agree, but I don't like the sound of it.

Like the parchment variety, stone palimpsests appeal to the imagination by suggesting a story that was once set, then changed for reasons that are now obscure to us, leaving us to wonder as we gaze at them or examine photos of them.

I couldn't think of a more satisfying word to describe these images in stone, as I became attracted to them over the last couple of years. I was noticing them everywhere, like silent witnesses of centuries of adaptation and transformation, on buildings of all kinds throughout the region. "Palimpsest" is the word that insistently presented itself in my mind as the most apt descriptor.

This photo essay represents only a small sample of this particular aspect of an ancient, yet still evolving architecture. I say "still evolving" because, while a few of these walls might have fallen into disrepair, the buildings that the majority belong to are very much alive, lived-in or in use. In fact, the first and last photos in this series are of walls from our own house; the others are of buildings from across the region, including Sarlat and Auriac du Périgord.

Our readers have spoken!

And we heard you loud and clear: you all love the "Before & After" series.

Very well.

You asked for it, you got it (remember to "click to enlarge"):

The living room in 2008 ...

...and now.

Back door, 2011

Back door, c. 2008

Passage between the neighbour's house and ours ...

The passage, in July 2011

Upstairs "landing" looking NW towards guest room

The landing, in July 2011

The kitchen window now

Kitchen window, 2008

Évier outlet (next to kitchen door), 200

New oeil de boeuf over évier, 2011

Finally, here is a look at the whole house, as seen from across the valley ...