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Wednesday Vine Report

The Wednesday Vine Report #2

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Last Wednesday we looked for progress in the vineyard behind our house and you’ll recall there was little to report. We chose one particular vine to photograph and share with you whatever we discovered.

It’s a red. Our neighbour told us. He walks that way all the time and says these are definitely reds growing there. But, we still don’t know which variety it is. As soon as I get to the bottom of this small mystery, I shall give it a name. You know the way women name their cars? That sort of thing.

In my time, I’ve driven Vera VW, Benny Benz, Harrison Ford (that was a white Granada and I loved it to pieces), Brian Orion and Veronica Vectra, to name but a few. Now, we have Pierre Peugeot. But I digress.

One week has passed. Come with me on a walk along the lanes.

chateau and vines
vines near the old chateau

The chateau below the village is near the river. It’s now a convalescent home and is the inspiration for one of my short stories. The weather has turned today. Those cold blasts from the mountains have stopped.There’s still a breeze, but it feels much warmer. It’s time to swap woollens for cottons.

vine
our chosen vine week one
vine
week two

There’s no visible difference in our vine. Maybe she’ll be happier when she gets a name. Marilyn Merlot? Sharon Shiraz?

But have a look at what’s happening in the vineyard next to our chosen vine. They are on the move and they’re sprouting fast.

vines
fresh green leaves on white grape vines

Whites always develop fastest, apparently. Sometimes, the white harvest is weeks before they bring in the reds, depending on the weather. When the summer is long and dry, the whites are in danger of shrivelling into sultanas while they’re still on the plant.

white grapes
April sunshine bringing on the whites

Soon these support wires will be completely hidden and you’ll hardly be able to see between the rows.Partridge nest there and hide under vine leaves so red kites, circling above, can’t see them.

Let’s continue our walk. Follow the road beside the chateau as it turns toward the village. Here’s the other side. It’s a beautiful building.

Chateua domaine
the convalescent home becomes Chateau de Quatre Tours in my novel Trobairitz
mairie
our village town hall

When these trees are in full leaf, I wouldn’t be able to take this picture; the facade of the building would be obscured. Keep walking, up through the village centre and back toward home. Pass the Mairie (town hall) on the way up the hill, back toward the vines at the top of the village and out into open country beyond.

We love living here. We love tasting the fruits of the vines each year and finding new favourites.

Next week on the Wednesday Vine Report, I’ll show you more of the village. And more of the vines. Signing off from Languedoc.

montblanc
aerial view of our village
Wednesday Vine Report

The Wednesday Vine Report

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Himself and I like to keep an eye on what’s happening in the vines. In an earlier post, I posted a photo of next year’s grapes under inches of snow in January, an unusual event here in Languedoc.

We’re surrounded by vineyards. This is a working village. There are twenty growers supplying the co-operative and three self-sufficient Domaines. Needless to say, ALL the produce is first rate. We know. We try them all. Every year. Without fail.

vines
vines surround the village

It’s warming up nicely now. There’s real strength in the sun. We’ve had plenty of rain, too, so everything in the garden is growing fast. Himself and I always watch for that first glimmer of green in the vines. It hasn’t happened yet. It will soon.

vine
waiting for the first sign of life

It happens before your eyes. One minute there’s nothing to see; the vine looks almost dead. It’s just bare wood, all gnarled and knobbly. Blink, and the thing’s spreading along the wires.

I don’t actually know what variety this particular vineyard grows. I will make it my business to find out. This is the vine we have chosen to watch carefully and report upon its progress. It’s third vine in from the end of the first row opposite the first cypress tree after the cemetery gates. Yes, really! (I do enjoy a complex narrative arc)

For wine lovers like himself and I, progress of the vines is vital information. They don’t call it vit – iculture for nothing. We may even give this vine a name. Suggestions are welcome. Please click the Twitter button at the bottom of the page to re-tweet this post.

Celia's passions, France, Writing

What, no writing? Monday singing rehearsals.

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Capestangchurch
The Bishop of Narbonne was jealous.

I don’t get much serious writing done on Mondays. I don’t get much writing done at all. I might find a few minutes to write a short post on here, then it’s warming up the old vocal chords (and I do really mean old ) before it’s off toward the hills and rehearsals in Capestang.

The wind blows fit to knock you off your feet as you turn the corner around the church to walk to rehearsals. To the right of this picture, you can see where the building stops. Like the church was suddenly chopped. In fact, that’s exactly what happened in the 13th century. Some contributing factors may have been to do with the Plague and/or the change in the course of the river, but there’s also the story that says the Bishop in Narbonne sent out his spies to see what was happening in Capestang and when he discovered the completed church would have been bigger than his own seat, he used the money for something else.

musicnotes
the language of music

I love these old stories. Even the smallest villages here have stories to tell. I love to hear about them, read about them. Sometimes, I might be inspired to write a new story based on what I’ve discovered. But I can’t get into that today because it’s Monday. Monday is singing. There’s no serious writing today. Serious singing instead. We’re rehearsing Carmina Burana for performances in May. O, Fortuna, velut Luna statu variabilis . . .

Singing is so vital. I can’t imagine a life without music. When I take Mondays off, away from writing, I know I’m gonna come back Tuesdays all fired up and ready to go again.

no writing
Choir of Capestang
Blogging

Not so cabbage-looking this morning! New widget appears

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Languedoc cross
Languedoc cross

 

 

Ahem! Is that a new widget in your sidebar, Celia?

What, that old thing?

Well, it wasn’t there yesterday.

Oh, it’s just something I found lying around.

Exactly where did you find it lying around?

On Google, darling.

You mean, not actually on WordPress?

Not at first. I did try to find a new widget on the ‘search for new plug-ins’ thingummy, but it didn’t matter how I worded my query, I couldn’t find what I was looking for.

You just wanted to add pictures to the sidebar I take it?

That’s right. I tried writing ‘add pictures to the sidebar’, and ‘sidebar photo widget’ and any number of combinations of all manner of prompts, but it took Google to understand what I was asking for. And do you know what happened next?

No. Go on!

Google redirected me back to WordPress and found me this page. http://en.support.wordpress.com/widgets/image-widget/ It’s called IMAGE WIDGET support.

No!

Languedoc
The five regions of Languedoc

Yes. Oh, yes. After I’d done it once, I liked it so much I had to do it again.

You’ve got a strange look in your eyes, Celia.

Widget-lust, darling. I think I’ve got it bad.

Reading, Writing

Reading anything good? What happens to your own voice?

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There’s a Fridayread page on Facebook. People share what they’re reading and what they like in particular about that book.

I can’t join the discussion. I have nothing to share. When I’m writing, I can’t get into a book. It’s as if I’m afraid I’ll somehow ‘catch’ their voice and lose my own.

I keep Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca by my desk as my talisman to remind me of the power of characters. See my post here on the subject. Not only is Daphne one of my sources of inspiration, I find I’m safe with her. I can re-read her short stories and I know her voice won’t get into my head. I’d recognize it straight away and so I’d be able to stop it from turning up on my page.

But, if I’ve been reading Joanne Harris, for example, I know I’m going to start describing my settings the way she does. Before I knew it, there’d be sugary, powdery aromas in my sentences or Gothic shadows lurking in my paragraphs. If I’ve been reading Lee Child, to give another example, my characters would start acting out, different, sharp. Clipped sentences. Move in. Move on. Fast.

So, I don’t read when I’m writing. Except for dear old Daphne.

France

A Place in the Sun?

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DCF compatable JPEG Img
Red Nose or home-grown tomato?

Move over Stella. (McCartney) Here’s Celia’s design for a Red Nose.

Red Nose Day is coming up again. Here’s a picture of a perfect home-grown tomato. I know it’s home-grown because I grew it myself. I loved it and cared for all its siblings and they all tasted very nice, thank-you-very-much with basil and olive oil and a few crushed pine nuts, maybe a bit of Parmesan cheese. Ah, eating lunch outdoors.

It feels like a long time since it was warm enough to do that. It’s probably the coldest day of the year here today. We have proper, real, honest to goodness, on-your-face red noses.  It snowed in the hills yesterday. They don’t tell you that can happen on A Place in the Sun. They don’t tell you how much it’s going to cost you to heat your place in the sun through the winter months.

Holidaymakers haven’t a clue what happens here from November through till March. They arrive in June, July, August and September and are disappointed if they see a cloud.

Ah, well. It’s a perfect afternoon for watching the Six Nations Rugby.

Inspirations, Writing

Creative Writing Courses

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In principal, I am opposed to courses.I don’t see the point of aiming to turn out clones of the This is Best School of Literature. What good would that do? You’d have shelves of books in the bookstores and titles of ebooks all in the same mold. Boring, or what?

On my Home Page, I’ve already said how variety is the spice of my life. I grow jaded with repetitive activities such as dragging out the vacuum cleaner and planning meals. Odd, isn’t it, that sitting at the keyboard doesn’t have the same effect?

But, I digress. Creative writing courses. I went on one once. It came at a time when I needed a break from domestic dolour and an injection of uplifting motivation. I’d had my share of rejections and was looking for other avenues to explore.

snoopy1
Snoopy the hack

I found the book doctor. The course, held in the Dordogne, which happened to be a convenient train ride for me, was a combination of motivation and relaxation. The setting was peaceful and nurturing. Our hosts were kindly and nurturing. Their food was delicious and nurturing. Above all, Philippa Pride was friendly and, you guessed it, nurturing.

I wouldn’t say I came away with startling new perspectives about the complicated world of publishing. After all, I wasn’t an absolute beginner: I knew something about what I was attempting to get myself into.

It was such a delight to meet with people who had similar ambitions, who were supportive of each other, who had no ulterior motives. Needless to say, I loved this course and returned home feeling refreshed, ready to get back to work and thoroughly nurtured. Philippa provided a perfect combination of workshop/retreat. Here’s a link to her website:

http://www.thebookdoctor.co.uk

Happy writing!

Blogging

OMG – here it is!

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See, I don’t understand the language. Did I mention that before? I thought I had to put the widget thingy in the widget area for the static front page option as my site doesn’t open with the blog page. So, I fiddled. I got hold of my trusty mouse and dragged the little bugger into the sidebar. Nowhere, in all the FAQs in the world did it point that out in simple terms people like me could understand. Yeah, yeah, I know there are WordPress for idiots books out there. But that involves READING and, as I already said, my eyes are shot, bloodshot. I can’t actually see what I’m writing here.

And now, tah-dah, we have the Celia’s tag cloud.

Tomorrow, I’ll have another go at linking to other sites -if I can see – if my head hasn’t imploded.

Blogging, Inspirations

Wishing on a Tag Cloud

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I said I was green at all this stuff. I told you I didn’t have a clue. So far, the learning curve has been vertical. My knees are grazed; my fingers keyboarded to the bone. Don’t even ask about my eyes. Alright then, okay, my eyes hurt. They’re so tired they feel as if they’re all dried out.

I can’t read any more Help forums ( should that be fora? forii?) See what’s happening. My brain’s giving out. Cache memory full and spilling its grey matter. I CAN’T HOLD ANY MORE INFORMATION. I only wanted to drag and drop and click once every so often. I didn’t want to have to read the equivalent of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

And now, my Tag Cloud isn’t showing itself. Maybe the Tramontane blew it out to sea. Maybe it’s raining all my nice tag words in a village in Provence. Look, everybody it’s showering WRITING in Nimes and SHORT STORIES in St Tropez. So here’s an image of a tag cloud, just so we all know what I’m talking about. If you see mine hanging over the coast somewhere, drop me a line.

tag cloud
somebody else’s tag cloud

 

But, there is an upside. All this thinking and reading about tag clouds has seeped into the subconscious mind and presented me with another idea for a short story. C’est la vie.

France

Blowing a hooley!

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tramontaneWe’ve got the Tramontane today. It blows over the top of the snow-capped Pyrenees and circles around rattling shutters and stabbing you between the eyes – a perfect afternoon for staying indoors and watching the start of the Six Nations.
I won’t beat myself up if I don’t do any writing today. That’s how it goes. Sometimes I write two or three thousand words; sometimes I struggle to get down five hundred.