| Thursday, May 14th, 2020
                

Dear Friend, 

Autumn turned to winter, progressed to spring and summer, and returned once more before Monsieur Xavier, our faithful guardian and handyman, reluctantly agreed to consider that the Farmhouse might be habitable again. 
 
The work of renovation and restoration had been arduous; like a long and intricate initiation rite into a secretive craftsman’s guild. We had saved and reused hand-made iron nails. We had joined ceiling beams and rafters in the old way, with wooden pegs. We had re-laid old clay tomettes, or tiles, on beds of sand and lime, recycled old wood, remade doors and reused old windows. We had even saved dirt. The original insulation from the ceiling rafters above the upper story, a dense mixture of local clay, straw and perhaps of bit of 18th-century horse manure to bind it all together, was carefully saved and then repacked into the attic floor.

This quest for perfection in the ancient crafts was not always a merry one.

Monsieur Xavier was enthralled by la Ferme. Our temporary laborers were not equipped, temperamentally or otherwise, to meet his standards. He was a stern task-master.

“On a tout refait, tout!” he would tell me, with grim satisfaction, as we inspected the work together. 
 
“All redone, everything!” 
 
Entire sections of wood trim were reinstalled if he found the edges did not meet up neatly. Alexandre and Arnaud probably did not find it as imperative as did Monsieur Xavier to lay the floor tile à l’ancienne – in the old manner -- upon a bed of lime mortar, itself on a layer of beaten earth. Nor could they have found it amusing to remove all the clay insulation from the attic space.

Xavier proudly showed me his contraption for getting it down in large joint compound buckets on a pulley. After the charpente, the wooden roof structure, and the ceiling beams had been repaired, the clay came back up again.

“Much better than fiberglass insulation,” he explained. “Mice don’t get into it. And it’s original and it doesn’t cost anything.” Well, it was sort of a bargain, I thought, with more than a twinge of sympathy for Alexandre and Arnaud.
 
Perhaps this is the only home in France that has had its original beaten earth insulation removed and reinstalled.
 
Electric wire and plumbing were run. Additional bathrooms – there had been only one -- were built into two of the bedrooms, using recycled windows to bring in light from the interior. The laundry room, a full ground-floor bath, and the kitchen were installed.

Meanwhile, I worked with our tapissier, or upholsterer, who made curtains and bed-fittings from classic French fabrics: natural linen and Vichy-checked cotton. I found matelassé boutis, or coverlets with traditional stitched motifs. I scoured junk shops and vide-greniers,open-air flea markets, to find interesting antiques and objects of rural life. We were ready to furnish the Farmhouse. The bed linens, pillows, cushions, and beds were delivered.

This was when I realized that Monsieur Xavier was not going to relinquish la Ferme gently. 

One day, I came back to find the entire staircase to the upper story missing. When I remonstrated, remarking that we only needed to replace a few treads, I was met with wounded silence.
 
After several weeks, the staircase was reinstalled. The walls in the entrance hall had been re-plastered, although Monsieur Xavier was not satisfied with the finish --- the sand used in the mixture was too coarse, he observed testily, and the surface was too rough. But he had made and installed a new stringer against the wall. Replacement treads and risers, where needed, had been fashioned. The gracefully turned banister and the newel post with its simple volute were in place. 
 
“Voila!,” I exclaimed, relieved and delighted. The staircase restoration was an accomplishment of fine, thoughtful craftsmanship, like that of the Farmhouse itself.

Monsieur Xavier compressed his lips. The key brick in the arched window over the front door had come loose, he pointed out. And all the brick window sills needed repair. I nodded my head in apparent submission. Xavier and our newest recruit, Monsieur Didier, a former baker, erected a scaffold, took apart the bricks around the front window, and carefully put them back. And luckily, while they were thus occupied, our mason Monsieur Bruno, working on the chimneys of the Chateau, sent over a man who swiftly repaired the loose and crooked sills. 
 
The Farmhouse was ready. The little cousins and their parents arrived with their suitcases for a long stay. It was the month of March, and the buds on the roses and wisteria espaliered against the Farmhouse walls were swelling. Tight white blossoms, not yet unfurled, covered the grey branches of the apple trees in the orchard.

Yes, there are still a few more details…perhaps. But Monsieur Xavier, like the proud father of a beautiful bride, had allowed la Ferme to enter into a new stage of life.
 

With warm regards, and hoping you have enjoyed this account of bringing new life to the Farmhouse of Chateau de Courtomer,