Pont de L'Ascension | Friday, May 22nd, 2020

Dear Friend, 

The park and fields of Chateau de Courtomer, like the countryside all around, swell with bright blossoms, greenery, and birdsong.
 

“And a bird overhead sang Follow, 
And a bird to the right sang Here;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow, 
And the meaning of May was clear,” 

quoted Heather, as we strolled across the lawn toward the walled garden of the Orangerie. 

A hoopoe in the woods uttered it resonant three - note call.

"And the meaning of May is that we must get the grass cut," she added.

Heather is our House Manager at the Chateau and we are reviewing the premises for the upcoming season. The luxuriant grass that provides th creamy cheeses and rich butter of Normandy grows long, think and very rapidly in spring. 

“Ah!, but Heather,” I replied, returning to the subject of poetry. “Did you know that Swinburne also wrote in perfect French?” 

"Sa parole de marbre et d’or avait le son
Des clairons de l'été chassant les jours moroses..."

”His words of marble and gold, like the bugles of summer blowing away mournful days…"

Yes, I thought, summer will bring a welcome change for all.Today, however, we are taking stock. And talking about birds. After all, this is the pont de l'Ascension, the weekend of the Ascension - a fitting image for a creature of the skies. 

Heather has lived for more than 20 years in rural France. And true to her English countrywoman’s roots, she knows our countryside, its wildflowers, trees, wildlife, landscape – and birds.

“Tell me about the birds we are seeing at Chateau de Courtomer,” I asked her, as we drank a cup of tea after our inspection.
“Well, since you asked!” she smiled. She took up the subject without hesitation:

“The first migratory birds of spring to arrive are grey cranes, the grues cendrées – flying in their distinctive V-shaped skeins. That’s what proper birders call their flight pattern,” she put in, seeing my mystified expression.

I remembered back to one cold day in early March, when we had just begun our life in France. Our farmer’s wife pointed to the sky – le passage des grues – the cranes were passing! Little Edward’s godfather le grand Edouard was staying with us. 

“Allez-y!” he cried. We piled the children into the camionette and drove up a dirt road to a field where a pond and tall trees offered the cranes a place to shelter. We stood at the periphery of the field and watched in awe. Hundreds of the long-legged birds were clustering for an overnight rest on their journey to Scandinavia.

“Nightingales arrive in early April. They hide in the thick thorny hedges that surround the estate, so you rarely see them --  but they start singing at daybreak. My favorite alarm! The male birds arrive first and start to whistle, trill and gurgle their love songs.

“One of the simple pleasures of life at Courtomer,” reflected Heather, with a romantic gleam in her eye, “is to sit on the steps of the Chateau and whistle to the male nightingales. They sing an  overture to the females that are flying overhead, and if you reply, the males whistle and trill back. People say they sing along to musical instruments.”

I made a mental note to mention this to Henry. Perhaps a nightingale could be encouraged to accompany Chopin…a nocturne! Nightingales are one of the rare birds that continue to sing after nightfall.

“Not all of the birds that spend summer in the park are as vocally gifted as the nightingale,” Heather went on. “They use different wiles to turn the heads of females…”

“Dear me!” she cried, starting up suddenly. “There’s that cat! Chut! Va-t-en!”
           
Madame Francine’s Mignonnette was on the hunt…Heather rushed out with a saucer of milk.

           To be continued next week…

A bientôt!