Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
It all started with a sketch
With the completion of the préau, we are now seeing Gaulejac pretty much as it had been envisioned back in 2010, when we first started working with François Coq, the architect who has been the mastermind behind all the activity.
We are very pleased with the final result.
To say that "we couldn't have done it without him" doesn't even begin to explain his role - or our appreciation for his expertise and his warmth.
Though he carried quite a load on our behalf as designer, technical adviser, general contractor, and project overseer, it seems that François always had time for us and our seemingly endless questions and changing ideas. Through it all, he was consistently patient and diplomatic, though he could be firm and direct when needed but always with tact and humour.
He has delivered and we are very grateful.
Below is a sketch that François drew early on, which he has graciously allowed us to use and reproduce, followed by a photo of the house as it stands now.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Latest news: Gaulejac now on the Net!
Momentous event: as of this morning, we are again online at home!
No more dragging the laptop out, driving several kilometres, then sitting in the car outside MacDonalds' or some other WiFi hot spot, just to check emails or update the blog.
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| Getting closer to a normal life, thanks to that little white box in the middle. |
And the bundle includes TV and a land line telephone, too.
We're back in the modern world.
We're back in the modern world.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
What's a "préau"?
Travel back in time with me, please, to my childhood days.
When I was a little boy at École Voltaire, my elementary school in Asnières (the NW Paris suburb where I grew up), one of my favourite places there was the préau. Probably because it had nothing to do with teachers and classes, quite the contrary. It was part of the schoolyard where twice a day at recess time, we would escape from the classroom, scattering out, invariably shouting with relief at being finally free of the strict code of enforced silence, getting away once more from the torture of having to sit unnaturally still, quiet, and attentive (tough on any boy, in any country) for hours on end.
The préau was the covered area, at one end of the schoolyard, where we could shelter and still play and get some fresh air even if it rained or snowed, or pick a fight in a shady corner, somewhat removed from the supervising teacher's area of scrutiny. It was also where the latrines where located; like I said, it was all about relief.
Fast forward now more than fifty years into the present.
Though Nancy might beg to differ sometimes, I am not a little boy anymore. In fact I am an old man, a retiree, happy to be living back in France. And I have little need for school, because now I have my own préau (no latrines, though).
Childhood memories notwithstanding, the préau has to be one of the features of our house that we have been looking forward to the most, ever since the plans began to take form, three years ago. An outside,covered dining room, breakfast nook, lounging area - with a view.
I am sure that when you visit, once you've had the opportunity to sit there with us at the old oak table, over breakfast or, later in the day, with a glass of Bergerac before you, gazing out across at a 180 degree panorama of our valley, you will agree: the préau is the place to be.
It is conveniently located right by the kitchen door, and while I may not run out shouting, I enjoy even just walking by it sometimes, giving it only a side glance, with the knowledge that this is place that holds many special moments in store.
When we left for Ontario just before Christmas, the préau was still very much an unfinished place. For months it had stood an unfinished structure in an unfinished yard, covered like a makeshift camp with a tattered green tarp, that flapped in the wind and certainly did not do justice to its beautiful oak beams.
The day we returned, last week, as we were driving down our narrow, twisty country road that has become familiar, while neither one of us said anything, we both knew that the other one had his/her eyes trained on the final bend when Gaulejac would reveal itself to us. Would we see that ugly shapeless green still waving insultingly in the wind, or would the roofers have finally delivered?
In fact, there was not a trace of flapping green in site, but instead, a new roof of lovely old canal tiles. Our first Christmas at Gaulejac (in spirit, anyway) and we had received the one present we wished for.
And so now, in full colour, with the usual before-and-after shots, I give you ...
As seen from the driveway:
Looking down into the yard, from the upper terrace by the bread oven:
When I was a little boy at École Voltaire, my elementary school in Asnières (the NW Paris suburb where I grew up), one of my favourite places there was the préau. Probably because it had nothing to do with teachers and classes, quite the contrary. It was part of the schoolyard where twice a day at recess time, we would escape from the classroom, scattering out, invariably shouting with relief at being finally free of the strict code of enforced silence, getting away once more from the torture of having to sit unnaturally still, quiet, and attentive (tough on any boy, in any country) for hours on end.
The préau was the covered area, at one end of the schoolyard, where we could shelter and still play and get some fresh air even if it rained or snowed, or pick a fight in a shady corner, somewhat removed from the supervising teacher's area of scrutiny. It was also where the latrines where located; like I said, it was all about relief.
Fast forward now more than fifty years into the present.
Though Nancy might beg to differ sometimes, I am not a little boy anymore. In fact I am an old man, a retiree, happy to be living back in France. And I have little need for school, because now I have my own préau (no latrines, though).
Childhood memories notwithstanding, the préau has to be one of the features of our house that we have been looking forward to the most, ever since the plans began to take form, three years ago. An outside,covered dining room, breakfast nook, lounging area - with a view.
I am sure that when you visit, once you've had the opportunity to sit there with us at the old oak table, over breakfast or, later in the day, with a glass of Bergerac before you, gazing out across at a 180 degree panorama of our valley, you will agree: the préau is the place to be.
It is conveniently located right by the kitchen door, and while I may not run out shouting, I enjoy even just walking by it sometimes, giving it only a side glance, with the knowledge that this is place that holds many special moments in store.
When we left for Ontario just before Christmas, the préau was still very much an unfinished place. For months it had stood an unfinished structure in an unfinished yard, covered like a makeshift camp with a tattered green tarp, that flapped in the wind and certainly did not do justice to its beautiful oak beams.
The day we returned, last week, as we were driving down our narrow, twisty country road that has become familiar, while neither one of us said anything, we both knew that the other one had his/her eyes trained on the final bend when Gaulejac would reveal itself to us. Would we see that ugly shapeless green still waving insultingly in the wind, or would the roofers have finally delivered?
In fact, there was not a trace of flapping green in site, but instead, a new roof of lovely old canal tiles. Our first Christmas at Gaulejac (in spirit, anyway) and we had received the one present we wished for.
And so now, in full colour, with the usual before-and-after shots, I give you ...
Le préau
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