Manoir du Boulanc

Friday, September 7, 2007
Centre Artistique de Verderonne, Manoir du Boulanc, Verderonne, France

With WWOOFing, it is truly a case of getting what you ask for. Last Sunday, when our first host at Chateau de Sacy asked us via email to postpone our visit (we were supposed to arrive on Wednesday!), I sent out a panicked email to the next possibilities close to Paris, mentioning only that Walt was a gardener, and that I was an amateur cook. Well, Caroline, who inherited this huge house and runs it as an art center, wrote back and said she’d love to have us, it would be perfect since she has an opening this weekend for an exhibition and we could help with preparations. So, Walt has been mowing the huge overgrown lawn while I wash dishes and cook for the household, which at the moment includes Leonard, a Swedish twenty-something WWOOFer who is pleasant and so fluent in English he SOUNDS English; Jack, an American who has lived in France for 45 years but was raised in Kansas City and rents one of the manor’s large rooms, where he works as a translator, currently for Starbucks; Russell, an Australian who WWOOFed here for 2 years and whose photography exhibit of the residents of Verderonne is opening this weekend; and the owner, Caroline, an unpredictable, welcoming, and vivacious artiste with lots of ideas but not enough money; and finally, two old golden retrievers named Lucky and Luc, a herd of cats, and us. I’ve probably seen most of Lucky and Luc, since they enjoy hanging out in the kitchen while I’m there, lying on the terra cotta tile floor between the sink and the stove so that I have to step over them every few minutes. While I cook, I listen to French talk radio on a small boom box shoved in next to the breadbox and coffeemaker.

The kitchen is exactly what you picture a French country kitchen to look like, with blue and white tiles on the walls, an ancient wooden table with mismatched chairs in the center of the room, baskets of zucchini and peaches and oranges and tomatoes on the tile counter and great table, and a pair of doors leading out to the garden. Now, take that picture, and add more clutter, with empty bottles crowding the tiled windowsills, flats of apples from the orchard piled up on one end of the room, baskets of spice jars and stacks of baskets and trays taking up valuable counter space, a stove that doesn’t work slouching next to the one that does, applesauce canning apparatus, a deep pantry containing the basics plus the odd can of hearts of palm, and a small refrigerator desperately in need of a firm hand. For me, it is almost a spiritual practice, to work in this kitchen for only 6 or 8 hours a day, concentrating most of my efforts simply on washing dishes and preparing the next meal, rather than worrying about the state of it, which is simply the result of a busy mistress with other priorities, and a series of indifferent WWOOFers, probably. But the entire house is filled with lovely crusty antiques, dusty pieces of art, wooden armoires older than the United States filled with ancient curtains and woolen blankets, shelves and shelves of books, cupboards jampacked with antique dishes…and I’ve only seen half of the house.

We arrived here at lunchtime on Wednesday, after a strangely uneventful – no delays, no frustrations, no lost luggage, no missed trains – trip from Chicago. Must've been good juju from Ann and Harry in Chicago. Reed only slept for one hour the whole night, of course, and Walt and I slept none, but while Reed took a long nap Wednesday afternoon, Walt and I managed to stay up the rest of the day. I started washing dishes after lunch, and then cooked dinner for the 6 of us: potato soup, salmon w/ mustard sauce, carrot/zucchini “pasta,” apple tart (there is an orchard here bursting with apples). I almost fell over in the bathroom at bedtime from exhaustion, and I was falling asleep mid-sentence while I read a chapter of Danny the Champion of the World to Reed. But then a full night’s sleep allowed me to wake up bright and early at 8 a.m., which gave me time to go for a walk down the road a bit to peek at the wall surrounding the chateau and see a little of the village. There aren’t any shops, just houses, mostly very private, lots of gates and walls. Breakfast was an on your own affair at the kitchen table with toast, jam, coffee, yogurt etc., and then I made a vegetable frittata and salad for lunch. Then, for dinner, sweet corn and ham chowder, roasted chicken, rice, lentils w/ balsamic vinegar and olive oil, sliced tomatoes and mozzarella w/ olive oil and onions, and for dessert, no surprise here, apple crisp.

Last night I was awake from 3 am to 6 am, which I remember happening the last time we flew here, so I just read for a while until I could fall back asleep. That reminds me, I knew the trip was going to go well when I went to the bookstore in the Chicago airport and found not one but two mysteries I’ve been wanting to read: the newest Laurie King in the Mary Russell series, and the first of the series set in Venice by Donna Leon. To be clichéd, I felt like the cat who got the cream.

So much is happening here this weekend for the opening, and Caroline has many details to work out in a very short period of time. I expect the sh*t to hit the fan several times in the next two days, but as Walt reminded me, c’est ne pas notre probleme. It is not our problem. I am determined to remain calm no matter what, even if Caroline doesn’t go to the store before dinner and there is no bread or cheese or red wine.