Читать книгу Our House is Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 22

I thought that I would miss the relentless rolling of the surf that provides the backdrop to daily life at home and lulls us to sleep at night, yet the countryside in Cuzance has a rhythm all of its own. There are many magical moments, such as being up a ladder, brush laden with paint for the ancient walls that hungrily soak it up, then glancing out to see a squirrel scampering along the road and shooting up a tree opposite the kitchen doors. Or, on several summer Saturday afternoons, the clip-clopping of a horse-drawn carriage carrying a bride on her way to the village church. Then there was the jaw-dropping moment of disbelief when a tractor with a bucket containing two men just appeared to attach a string of flags to the gable on our house to signal the forthcoming village brocante. No words were exchanged at all and, while we were bitterly disappointed to miss our very own village brocante, we felt happy that in some small way we were a part of it.

There are already so many things that we now love about our house in such a short time. The beautiful, wide, old walnut floorboards that dip with age and the wear of thousands of steps trodden upon them. The fact that, as Jean-Claude, the bearer of many stories, told us, apparently Madame la Croix had stuffed old pieces of bread in the gaps to ward off the icy winter draughts. More modern evidence of a season we would never know is the newspaper jammed into the skirting boards and the sides of the stairs. The rounded steps as you enter our little house are a unique feature, as is the carved piece of curved stone over the door, bearing the date 1884, encased in a small stone-carved heart. The huge fire-blackened beams tell the story of generations of meals and a very faint hint of smoke still lingers in the air. There are few remnants of the garden but our dining table is now placed to look out over the trees in it. The humble old farmhouse resonates with a palpable warmth that many, far grander houses will never hold.