Lovestruck

We have now been flying solo for a month - learning to live with only each other’s company (bar my parents, who are currently in Paris…lucky people). This is a double-edged sword and could go one way or the other. Complete implosion or deeper relationships.

I write this blog entry poolside under the shade of an olive tree where I have been supervising the children and their pool play. For nearly five hours they have run around in their togs - in and out - playing all sorts of games I could not have possibly imagined myself. In addition to their games they have each watched each other’s shows (most respectfully, much to my surprise). They have cheered each other on, offered their assistance and laughed at comedy that could never be considered mildly humorous. Stand up comedians they are not!

It has been heartening to see. In fact in five hours I have not had to adjudicate or participate at all.

At home I’m not sure we would have made it to five minutes.

Of course this is not the result of some sudden change of heart for each other. And boy have we had our fair share of bickering. But what goes in my favour is that I can control so many of the variables that in our home environment are impossible to manipulate.

They have no possessions of their own. This removes any issues around ownership, sharing and fair play.

They have no alternative entertainment. It’s the cold hard fact - if you want friends to play with your current pool of opportunity is 5 other people. And that’s not going to change soon.

They have absolutely no pressure on them. There’s no rushing out the door, no tidying up for expectant guests, no homework to do (must pick up our game there), no after-school activities to rush to and no fraught parents with long to do lists and not enough time.

We seem to have wound down to a very slow crawl now. The last two days have seen us heading to villages for a few hours and then home for an afternoon of, well, nothing.

While our love for each other is slowly cementing, our admiration for Provencal villages is skyrocket high. Yesterday we went away from Pernes le Fontaine absolutely lovestruck - helped by the bottle of red wine consumed over a long lunch by some members of our party. We are talking picture postcard perfect and vistas around every corner. It’s a combination of age, rusticity, clear blue skies, lush green spaces and amazing gardens.

There’s a children’s story we love in our home collection called The Curious Garden. A quaint and inspiring tale about a little boy who rescued some unloved and dormant plants on a disused Manhattan railway line. A handful of awakened plants created curiosity that spread and eventually resulted in a completely green city, well tended to by the locals.

To me these Provencal villages are full of curious gardens. Roses that should never be able to grow, let alone flourish in their environment. In fact much of the time I cannot even see the soil source from which they feed as they wind up against stone buildings. Ivy that consumes whole walls casting beautiful and inquisitive shadows. Vibrant colours from flowers that punctuate the grey stone and complement the painted shutters.

The people who live inside the original walls of these centuries-old towns - in tiny streets and medieval-sized, wall-to-wall homes - seem determined to not compromise their right to a bit of greenery. Everywhere there are pots full of scarlet red and shocking pink geraniums, shade-giving canopies of thick foliage and whimsical daisies fighting against what must be difficult conditions. But the ivy seems the most curious of all. It adorns walls, doorframes, doorsteps, roofs and ancient tiled floors. Thriving in crevices and the most unlikely of places and rendering the ancient stone alive and breathing.

The only thing we are at risk of is complacency. I hope that by the end of our nine weeks here we are still as awestruck and amazed by each turning vista as we are today. Long may our curiosity last.