Hirondelles et Martinets, Paille sur Bouse

One swallow maketh not a summer.


But the first house martin, spotted the week before last in Sainte-Cécile announced La Belle Saison.

As Spring really gets into gear, click HERE to go to the continuing story of Les Saisons de Sainte-Cécile, after reading about Hirondelles et Martinets.

Then click HERE for transportation to more Sainte-Cécile stories...


"Il y a hirondelles des fenêtres et hirondelles des cheminées, Alan"

Says Norbert, in the tone of "L'Expert".
Hirondo rustica/Common Swallow/Hirondelle des cheminées.

Norbert has a ruddy complexion, and has chain-smoked Gitanes sans filtre since de Gaulle pulled out of Algeria. He attempts to mask the odour of tabac brun by using liberal splashings of eau de cologne, which makes it worse. This deodorizing strategy is known colloquially here as paille sur bouse. See note below.


You'd have to admire his bravery as a smoker: until his retraite at 57 years and six months from the Clinique in Nantes, he had regular reminders of the Gitane effect, because he worked in the radiography department.

"Oui. Effectivement. Deux types d'hirondelles. Ecoute-moi bien et je t'explique ça..."

Norbert L'Expert lights up, and informs me at length, in a tone which teeters between patronization and pédagogie, of the differences between the two.

Having spent seven years on various local government committees with Norbert, and not wishing to brusque his sensibilities, I know that I must settle down behind a sympathetic smile for a 15-minute/ 2 Gitane cours magistral about the differences and similarities between swallows and house-martins.

I listen, nodding sympathetically, and wait for a lull in the monologue to wind him up by saying that the Normands really stuffed things up linguistically back in 1066 by calling swallows "Martin-y" (probably because of the Y-shaped forked tail, interjects N).

In the modern French, un Martinet is... a swift.

Delichon Urbicum/Hirondelle des fenêtres/House Martin


"Oui, les gens sont toujours confus par la différence entre les hirondelles et les martinets. Mais ce sont deux espèces complètement différentes..."

You, dear reader, don't have to listen to Norbert: just look at the pic of those long, boomerang wings and you'll recognize swifts every time from now on.


Apus Apus/Martinet Ramoneur/Swift


TriviaLanguage note; Apus from Greek for "no feet".


Ramoneur=chimney sweep. So now you can really confuse them with hirondelle des cheminées.

Lexique. "Paille sur Bouse" A good name for a village? Comme Stratford sur Avon ou Bourton sur l'Eau?
Pas vraiment.

La paille; c'est ça:

La bouse; non, ce n'est pas l'alcool.
C'est le caca des vaches.

[Now that's what I call a blog. I can even smell it. Ed]

Ail Sauvage et Pissenlits

"L'herbe pousse vite, et elle est très riche en ce moment"

Remarks Daniel as he takes the blades off the mower.

As usual at this time of year, I managed to mow un gros caillou.

"Pas de problème, Alan. J'ai deux lames en stock. On les change tout de suite. Ta tondeuse sera vite réparée. Tu me donneras un coup de main."

Within ten minutes we've changed both blades, and the mower is back on the trailer.

Sainte-Cécile 1987: Pique-nique dans les pissenlits: les sièges de la 2CV sont pratiques...Pour d'autres projets aussi.
Daniel then proudly shows me the Deux-Chevaux restoration projet, and we go for a glass of rosé.

Back home, I carry on mowing, and the sharp blades make aromatic garlic and dandelion salad.

Lexique;
Gros caillou = petit rocher
Lame; A vous de deviner. Pensez à un couteau.
Coup de main; Donner un coup de main = aider quelqu'un. Donner un coup de pied, c'est autre chose. Et une machine anglaise qui coupe l'herbe n'est pas un "coup de grâce..." Ce serait plutôt une tondeuse (anglaise).

C'est quand même beau, un "dent-de lion" vu de près, non?

Now click on the 2CV pique-nique et pissenlits to see a re-awakening after 20 years.

More anon about Deux-Chevaux Cinéma Paradiso project for this summer.

Less is More from Nad'

Here at SDSC we received this morning a haïku from our resident poet Nad' Dubrège.

Menu Mimosa

Mire dans la mare

Sa mine ridée

Happy Easter week-end from Sainte-Cécile.

Le Silence des Lapins

Say "Easter Bunny" to an Anglo-Saxon, and they will think "Chocolat"



Say "Lapin de Pâques" to Jannick, and he will say "avec ou sans la tête?"



When I ordered our lapin (see blogpost, infra) a couple of weeks ago, Jannick explained why he preferred headless supply;

"C'est tout un art, la tête. J'enlève les yeux pour enlever la peau, puis je les remets après. Ca prend du temps".



He sounded like Raymond Blanc auditioning for a remake of Le Silence des Agneaux. Click HERE to decide whether he'll get the job.



If your francais anatomico-culinaire is now fluent enough to convey a full description of the above préparation, for goodness' sake remember Pagnol's wise counsel on the last page of Le Château de ma Mère;

"Il n'est pas utile de le dire aux enfants"...

Hoopoes et Pots de Chambre

A pair of hoopoes arrived yesterday morning, fresh and crested from Africa, and they noisily sussed out a hole in the south-facing stone wall next to the garage. So the insect population must be stirring with the warmer April weather.

The wall in question is a vestige of a house which was abandoned in the sixties, and which was inhabited by the Pompard family. Local legends still abound about the nineteen children and the abject poverty, or about the troglodytic father who every morning drank warm, hair-tainted lait de chèvre straight from the goat via a recycled pot de chambre. More about the Pompards anon.

Upopa Epops/Hoopoe/Huppe faciée

Lexique:

Lait de chèvre; très bon pour les gens qui souffrent d'allergies. Le fromage de chèvre est très bon aussi si vous aimez l'odeur des chaussettes.

Pot de chambre; Avant-garde "En-Suite Facilities".

[Bon appétit. Ed]

Coucous et Communes

This post will boost your technico-blagger French no end.
After you have finished reading, you will be un expert on Local Council-ese, level one.

And you'll need a strong drink.

"Une semaine en mars, une semaine en avril"

Denise, who lives across the river in the neighbouring commune, of L'Oie, explains that here in Sainte-Cécile, the cuckoo announces the arrival of La Belle Saison. She has listened for his call for more than three-quarters of a century.

Even after the long, cold winter of 2009-2010, Cuculus Canorus arrived right on cue last Sunday, two minutes before midday, the morning after the clocks went forward.

Denise set about sowing seeds in the poly-tunnel for the tomates coeur de boeuf crop this summer. More on this as the year progresses.

Click on les coucous pic above for a four-minute glimpse of vineyard work here, which will provide un ingrédient indispensable for the summer grillades: des fagots de sarment.

Lexique;
Semaine; lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi, vendredi, samedi et dimanche.

Commune; La plus petite division administrative en France. Il y en a 36,682...(En Espagne 8000, en Belgique 589, en Angleterre 8500 parish councils...) Par conséquent, il y a 36,682 Maires et beaucoup, vraiment beaucoup, de conseillers municipaux. C'est la démocratie participative et locale en action, plus ou moins. C'est du sérieux et c'est parfois le grand bazaar. Un peu "Coucou", même. Mais les machinations et les intrigues des accords et des désaccords, les vrais et faux-amis, les ententes-cordiales ou pas-, les règlements de comptes, les prises de décisions et les choix des orientations sont toujours une source de fascination.

Grillades; On peut dire aussi Barbecue.

Sarment; Morceau de bois de la vigne.

Voilà la leçon d'études civiques pour aujourd'hui. [Ouf. Pour moi, ce sera un Pastis. Ed]

Poésies, Primula Vulgaris et Primula Veris

If you drive due east from Sainte-Cécile, and keep going all day until just before Germany, you will be in the province of Lorraine.

Our friend Jean-Luc is from Lorraine, and his accent is that of the East.

"Salut Alan, content de te voir"

He said with his trademark smile and gentleness.

Primula Vulgaris-not so common as you'd think.

J-L ended up on this side of the country after falling for Nad'. They have teenage daughters and day jobs.

They also produce sculpture and poetry with passion, insight and sincerity.

Last Saturday, I took the Deux-Chevaux into a headwind to see Jean-Luc and Nad's combined work on display in Aizenay. The exhibition was the culmination of several weeks' work by local schoolchildren, their teacher, the town council, and a variety of partners.

The theme was "Poèmes-Objets": each sculpture had a poem displayed next to it, which was more-or-less related to it. The kids had written their own verses, and dozens of these had been laminated, then attached to cords which linked the town's cultural centre with the library and media building a hundred metres across the road.

The visitor could walk beneath and between these lines of poetry, which mostly remained attached to the strings despite the best efforts of an Atlantic gale, and which were called "la Rue des Petits Bonheurs".

These snippets of happiness, supplied by the children of Aizenay, perfumed the morning, Jean-Luc's sculptures and Nad's poetry.

Primula Veris/Cowslip/"Coucou"

There were erudite speeches from the Maire ("C'est quoi, le bonheur?"), the président of the Association (A Prévert-tribute list-poem to the participants which drew a standing ovation), and from grey-suited, pink-tied and élégant Monsieur L'Inspecteur d'Académie (A moving salute to the retiring primary school teacher who had spent thirty years developing these literary initiatives with his charges). The latter was a poem by Portuguese revolutionary Manuel Alegre.

Monsieur L'Inspecteur gave me a copy over post-speech apéritifs, and here it is:

Le Poète
Quand un homme se met à marcher
Il laisse un peu de lui en chemin.
Il est entier au départ épars à l’arrivée
Le reste demeure toujours en chemin
Quand un homme se met à marcher.

Il reste toujours en chemin un souvenir
Il reste toujours en chemin un peu plus
De ce qu’il avait au départ ou lui reste à l’arrivée.
Il reste un homme qui ne revient jamais plus
Quand un homme se met à marcher.

Manuel Alegre

On the way home, with a tail wind, the 2CV passed almost effortlessly from West to East of Les Essarts, where there is an invisible botanical border: the Primulae change from low-flowering Vulgaris to long-stemmed Veris.

As the little Citroën's forty year-old engine buzzed, driving past Le Lac de Rortheau, I thought of the common truths of the morning.

Lexique;

Well, this time you could just read the Alegre poem, don't worry if you don't get all of it, because that's Life and Language, and think about journeys.

Click on Vulgaris for another glimpse of J-L's sculptures.