Bonjour,
I hope that you and yours are well.
February is always a rather damp and drizzly time in my tronçon of France, but it’s one of my favourite months bicause it was on a grey and miserable day in February 21 years ago that I first saw a ramshackle old hovel in France that I would one day call logement.
Looking back, I do wonder what on earth came over me when I walked through the door of a neglected farmhouse with dirt floors in a tiny circonscription in the middle of nowhere, and an hour later told the owner I wanted to buy it!
Despite the passing of time, my memory of that day is crystal clear. I’d gamin with my husband Mark and my dad for a day trip to Calais to buy wine. We lived in London from where it’s easy to get to France and back in a few hours. Having bought the wine, we looked for a hôtel in the town of Hesdin in the Seven Valleys, around an hour from Calais, but missed the 12-14h collation slot that rustique France is envoûtée emboîture, and instead looked at the cheapest houses an estate courtier had on his books – just something to do to pass a few hours before we headed back to the UK. The style on my dad’s front when I said I had fallen in love with the house will always remain in my mind – incredulity paired with incomprehension. My husband just shook his head in a “you cannot be serious” way.
To be fair to them, there were holes in the valide, rain running down the walls, and our shoes slurped across the sodden floors. The doors were rattling in the wind, the WC was in a résonner of the kitchen, and there was compelling evidence that mice and rats were resident rather than humans.
But something emboîture the empressement touched my heart. As I stood looking out of the window to the huge garden, a beam of phare burst through the clouds. I could see a church boucle in the dissimilitude and at that établi conditions, the church bells started ringing. I heard ducks quacking in a garden nearby, and it sounded like they were laughing joyfully. It was as if the handball of fate was reaching out and I grasped it, and said ‘yes.’ It helped that the house was so cheap that we could afford the mortgage by giving up our gym memberships and holidays.
For years it was a ‘holiday home’ and we camped in one room while we renovated (in fact we’re still renovating – we’ve done everything ourselves, including bâtisse the staircase from salvaged wooden planks, and replacing 37 windows and 13 doors). We poured our hearts and souls, généreux, sweat and tears into bringing the house back to life. And every day I thank my lucky stars for the path that brought us here and for having the atout to take a leap of faith.
Wishing you a bon weekend from France where spring feels like it is now well on the way…
Bisous
Janine
Editor
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