Winter quarters at Courtomer
Today's Letter tells about coming home to the countryside...moving into the Farmhouse for the winter...
Dear Friend of Courtomer,
The Chateau, closed up for the winter, is dark and quiet. In the park, birdsong has stilled. The trees are bare. And on these cold mornings, a dusting of frost catches the sunlight, whitening blades of grass and outlining the bumpy silhouette of leafless twigs.
We have been away in Paris, enjoying the wintry grace of the City of Light. The Eiffel tower flashes deep blue and gold, the awnings of cafés and bistros are strung with lights that beckon the passerby inside to warmth and cheery bustle. There is le cinéma and the expos at les musées. Les soldes in all the stores. Friends to see. But fun has its limits! It was time to go home to Courtomer.
As twilight gained the countryside yesterday afternoon, we pulled into the courtyard in front of the farmhouse. La Ferme is our new quartier d’hiver. Here we spend the depths of the Normandy winter.
Monsieur is delighted. Along with our trusty gardien, Monsieur Xavier, and our son Henry, he had a hand in the renovation of this old house, once home to a farm manager and his family. In particular, he rebuilt the two stone pilasters and the corbels that support the mantel of the massive kitchen fireplace.
Even before we’d unpacked the car, Monsieur had a fire going in the grate. He stood in front of it, rubbing his hands with satisfaction as the flames flickered hesitantly and then took firm hold. Meanwhile, I took a quick turn around the basse-cour, the yard on the other side of the farmhouse courtyard. In the stabulations, the cattle consumed their evening ration of hay. Every so often an iron stanchion would send out a hollow chime as a hungry young steer or heifer banged against it while snatching a mouthful.
Night falls quickly at this time of year. I went back inside. As darkness gathered, Monsieur and I drank a cup of tea and enjoyed a slice of Christmas fruitcake – the old family recipe! – in front of the fire. And then settled in for a good night’s rest after the excitement of city life.
This morning, the familiar bells tolled the Angelus from Courtomer’s Eglise de Saint Etienne et Saint Lhomer. Despite the darkness, it was 7 o’clock. I set out for a walk. Thick mist obscured the trees and the farm buildings. In the distance, the Chateau was a like the backdrop on a stage, a vague series of rectangular masses sketched in with the shapes of windows and the roof of dark slate. And there was a curious sound, like a river in full spate. Dew was rustling down from the trees in the allées and the bosquet of the park.
Underneath the ancient redwood is an evergreen world, with a view far up into the crown of the tree. Drops of dew glistered on needles. Large, soft dollops of dew, like melting snowballs, pattered down gently. A lone owl, startled by my passage, gave a shriek and lurched out of the branches, flying away toward the safety of the empty pastures.
Wildlife is at home in the winter landscape. A troupe of wild boar has rooted up swathes of the Great Lawn in quest of worms and sleeping field mice. And the moles have left piles of earth dotted on the grass.
There is work to be done to get ready for spring and summer, but it can wait. The boars, the moles, the deer and the owls may be “tranquils” yet a while.
Meanwhile, it’s time to rejoin the waking world. To go up to the village for our pain quoditien and, since it’s Sunday and Monsieur finds them delectable, a pain au raisin as well.
Until next week, chers amis! I look forward to writing to you about our sojourn in Paris…and about winter life in the French countryside at Chateau de Courtomer.
— Elisabeth
