Dog, I and lad road trip

He's not a lad anymore (25) but our road trips started when he was - around eight or so.

We had a free day so perused the map for a short while pinpointing a town we knew nothing about, not too far away but with some potential interesting stops along the way - probably not the usual things folk stop for: castles, famous monuments, prettiest villages of France, etc; rather, abandoned quarries, desolate unused railway stations, abandoned railway lines, and lakes, in case it was still warm enough to swim.

The town chosen was Bressuire, between Poitiers and Nantes. We stopped to give the dog an airing at an actually very pretty and interesting village called Curçay sur Dive atop a hill with panoramic views of the Anjou and Torraine landscape. The most interesting part was a small field at the top of the village where many species of vine had been planted in rows with accompanying notices describing the types of vine, age, original region, wine produced etc.

 

Dog aired, we moved on to Bressuire via Thouars - a town I think I have blogged about before which is a strange melange of faded grandeur and desolate concrete infested buildings/vast car parks. I don't think we gave it and its rolling countryside enough chance and will return to re-explore.

First impressions of the Bressuire were ones of the same faded grandeur and eclectic mix of post war/70s/80s buildings but with a more thriving atmosphere than Thouars - the main street being full of fairly up market chain shops. Soon, architectural detail, faded or otherwise, disappeared in significance as lunchtime arrived. Having decided against a picnic, we'd assumed we'd find a nice old fashioned bistro with cheap menu - sadly not. There seemed to either be plasticky, over-lit bars or a choice of two very expensive restaurants towards which well-dressed people were heading. One was fully booked anyway and the other, 28 euros for two courses - prices have certainly gone up . . . that used to be a relatively expensive evening eatery experience. I stopped trying to find an excuse for why we should go ahead and treat ourselves as the mental sum became around 70 euros for lunch - and the dog wasn't even included in  said treat.

The bakeries were shut. I had a banana and some cashew nuts in the car. Then we noticed a kebab place. The right choice, 8 euros a head with some spare meat for the dog, and the most smily restaurant owner I can recall.

Dog preferring wheely suitcase path

Fuelled, we decided on a walk to the factory area near the station, pulled mainly by the site of a bizarre blobular - new word - metal water tower. The station has had much revamping with new areas of planting, benches, sculptures etc, slightly spoiled by the glowering form of a vast abattoir at the top of the hill. We passed by feeling guilty about the kebab and then followed a path back down the hill and into a lovely and contrasting area of meadowland with winding brook and young willow trees. The town and region have spent much on this area, re-digging the river into its wandering shape and thus recreating previous wetlands and helping biodiversity, and probably feeling guilty in turn about kebabs and all the other stuff that starts its product life from the scary abattoir. 

The path continued into the grounds of the impressive and in parts crumbling castle/chateau that looks over the town. More money spent on gardens, metal structures and potagers of unusual vegetables and fruits. The grounds were lovely, enhanced further by a troop of handsome black goats (gated away from the edible stuff). We passed through the entrance gates and back into the melange of over-the-years architecture and searched out a cup of tea in the previous fully-reserved brasserie overlooking the very magnificent town church.

it was time to return to household chores and angry neglected chickens. I had saved them a pitta bread though, so all would be forgiven.

Pond therapy

I'm sure I've posted about this before, but, it could be a thing, I'm sure - pond therapy. Harmless, cheap, meditative, nature-encouraging . . .

I put our first pond in a couple of years ago on a dismal February day - or rather the person with a mini digger who was there doing our reed bed system put it in. It being a large plastic cattle feeding basin donated by our lovely organic veg growing friend up the road. The first year wasn't bad but this year it's really become its own tiny universe with little help from us - just a bit of water butt topping up from time to time, and purchasing of a 'mother' water lettuce which has spread into a citadelle of smaller plants. The lily pads have spread and the frog population has increased dramatically, their voices chorusing through many a warm night. There's no filtration system but the plants seem to be providing enough oxygen and the earlier algae appears to have cleared.

This year's pond - an old enamel bath - was installed by our lovely Workaway, Christopher on an equally cold and drear February day. It sat for a few months gradually filling with rainwater and later, mosquito larvae . . . the purchase of a few baby goldfish sorted that and after the one outlay of some new water plants the pond has sorted itself into a lovely, tranquil little place with birds and insects coming to drink. I've planted up the surrounding rubbly earth with stuff from the rest of the garden and a discarded corner of our land has now become a place I enjoy - feeding the fish, watching dragon flies and marvelling generally at what happens when you provide a few raw materials and then leave mostly alone.

The smallest garden or terrace has space for a pond, even a washing up bowl pond. There's just something about creating a tiny aquatic world and watching what arrives and the plants that develop. I'm hoping for newts next...

Pondlife

 After Blur's 1994 track, Parklife. 

Ponds could be the new therapy; certainly works for me... Overcome by the enormity of the world's problems? Build a pond, even a titchy one. There's something reassuring and meaningful about taking a dull bit of lawn, digging a hole and inserting an overlooked sink/water trough/washing up bowl, introducing water, a few plants, stones etc and watching a whole new, small scale, and without vast problems, world unfold before you. 

Our local organic veg producing friend gave us a large round plastic tub which had been destined to be part of a reed bed idea, now rather put to one side. When our own reed bed was installed I asked the man wielding the small yellow digger if he could make an extra hole, which he did. I filled in the drainage hole with silicone, let it dry and we filled the pond from the river via many hosepipes joined together.

For about three days it looked like a disappointing muddy mistake then the water started to clear due to the oxygenating plants Mark had bought, including an extraordinary floating nomadic 'water lettuce' plant that trails its roots and requires no permanent fixture. The first visitors to our watering hole were about 4,000 mosquito larvae - eek! . . . I scooped a few hundred out then gave up - something would surely snack on these? 

On our favourite forest/lake walk we stole three baby frogs, and later from a river, a few minnows. They seem to have happily taken up residence and the mosquito population has vastly reduced. The latest arrivals are a huge water beetle and many small ones, various snails, a family of pond skaters and several dragon fly larvae. I can happily spend several minutes just staring into the now-clear depths of the tub, delighted at the glimpse of a fish or a new addition to this small universe. Watching from our back window in the house gives also glimpses of the bird and animal life that have started to view the pond as a good garden addition. 

We have now installed an old kitchen sink and will be adding a bath I got from the local recycling emporium. A biodiversity corridor, I heard it called on one wild gardening channel. And . . . if one day I get a film deal, win the loto, whatever, we'll add a natural swimming pool . . . pond is fine for now.

Reasons to make a pond

I can think of many, mostly obvious, reasons: providing water for wild animals, birds and insects, creating biodiversity, and just for the pleasure of sitting by water - something we humans, or at least most of us feel naturally drawn to, but of course there are other reasons, just not something I would have imagined. When talking to one of our local veg growers recently I pointed to a mound of earth and a line of young trees at the edge of a nearby field and asked what was going on. He had smiled wryly and said, 'un mare' (a pond); how wonderful, I had said, people finally waking up to encouraging nature being a vital thing. Ah, he had said, that's not exactly why he's doing it. The field owner is a hunter and he's realised that the local small game has virtually disappeared, therefore by making a pond and surrounding hedges he hopes to encourage wildlife back in and then shoot it . . . 

Ten minutes into a dog walk this very sunny morning I remembered with a slight wariness that it was a hunting day; dogs would have to stay mostly on the lead and I should have been wearing a gilet jaune or at least a bright scarf or something, not black and grey - too late. We took the road opposite ours, past various stone houses, bored dogs, wandering chickens, and past the sad sheep. I have to turn away at this point in the walk and fight the urge to run over and release the creature from its very short chain and no flock situation. It's an aspect of French rural life I struggle with - a disrespect (not always) for other creatures' feelings. Maybe I'm just a sentimental ex-Londoner but I know that sheep would be happier with others to pass the time nibbling at grass and lying in the shade on a hot day. 

I took one of the many cycle tracks that weave through the fields in this region, assuming we wouldn't actually get shot on such a route - there are occasional shooting accidents but usually after lunch and the accompanying large amounts of red wine - this was nine-thirty and although a possible glass of calvados might have been consumed, hopefully people would be fairly alert. 

The morning was truly beautiful: the meadows that glass white-green colour of almost a frost but not quite; rising mist spoked by sun rays, slow downward twirling yellow leaves, and, less lovely, camouflage-attired men staked out waiting for whatever gibier (game) is still left in the hedgerows to show itself/themselves. I passed a small group and they were friendly enough, staring at my hounds with their brocade collars as if they knew these were sofa-loving beasts, spoilt and pandered to, unlike the dogs they stalked the fields with. Of course our spoilt hounds were hunt animals in their previous lives and had suffered much before we took them on (Spanish Greyhounds). Hunt hounds here are probably on the whole not treated as badly as the Spanish ones but they do spend weeks and months cooped up in pens presumably dreaming of the rare days they are let out to streak across fields and collect the birds and rabbits shot by their masters.

                                                                       Where di't go?

I'm not completely against hunting; I'm sure I'd be the first clamouring for a spare gun if/when the supermarket aisles are laid bare and finding food became/becomes a little more complicated than nipping to the market or calling into Super U on the way back from somewhere in the car. I don't have a problem with someone fishing or shooting something for the pot per se - it's something that happens very regularly in my novels - but its the getting together to track down small beasts (and larger ones where we lived before) the sport element, the joint celebration of further nature devastation I find less understandable.

Anyway, none of us got shot, even the dogs who took advantage of a few minutes non-lead liberty to streak across a distant field behind three young deer - an image I won't forget: the deer bouncing gracefully against a line of yellowing poplars, our dogs in manic pursuit but unable to gauge the terrain familiar to their potential (unlikely!) prey. We walked back, the older dog's back limbs quaking after such a chase and they collapsed gratefully to their respective sofas while I prepared their lunch and thought about constructing a pond.