A desperate drop of rain

It’s finally raining. Not just a refreshing mist like the jets inside the new Woolies fitout in Kyneton spraying the lettuces, but actual rain, and for more than five minutes. It’s been very dry here in the Languedoc-Roussillon region and alarmingly spring-like. But now the rain might just dampen the soil and the creeks that tumble down from the Black Mountains and altitude vineyards above us. This is brilliant news for our lovely old-vine vineyards as whilst they are unbelievably hardy, a little sip of water will make the autumn’s harvest a little sweeter.

And unlike the rest of the country, which has led to flooding in some places like Bordeaux’s vineyards, every vigneron and farmer here are over the moon for a tiny sip of rain. I’m surprised I can’t see people streaking across their vineyards; perhaps I should. I even don’t mind the leak that has appeared in our kitchen that has drawn my attention to a large area of mould. Gazing out at a delicious grey cloud, I can momentarily forget the administrative mountain that lies ahead of trying to resolve an issue like that.

Two months in and as of this week we, sort of, finally have bank accounts, don’t have French SIM cards (which has led to many frustrating and amusing adventures of being lost, missing appointments and unable to pester Henry to come down from the vines) but we are finally collecting a (second hand) car today. At some point this week I will have to be brave and try and sign us up to a dentist and doctor, but each little step is challenging and a(nother) incredibly good lesson to surrender, and to remember that things take time. And that little by little things do get done.

True, I still sleep on a borrowed old double mattress on the floor, but I wake sandwiched between two little bodies, and the light falling on us from outside (because, in truth, we have no curtains and broken shutters). Henry wakes in a child’s single bed after a night of ‘musical beds’.

But we are making small steps, and everyone around us has been so generous in getting us settled in, lending us (indefinitely) old hardy cast iron Le Creusets, or beautiful French-made clay serving bowls that they’re no longer using. All the sort of tiny, homely details we left in Australia, and can’t justify buying again new.

Because we’re attempting to keep Zig Zag Rd. (and so have put our beautiful house on Flop House to BnB it in our absence), we left everything behind and are starting from scratch. No shipping container is arriving full of our loved belongings as they’re all back home in Zig Zag Rd. for guests to enjoy.

And starting from scratch without much cash and a loathing of the feeling of having to buy everything new has led me to be open to receiving all manner of pre-loved bits and bobs, learning the word for second hand (d’occasion) and discovering the culture of Les Vide Greniers, attic sales. Basically when someone’s elderly granny passes and they need to clear her attic of its many mysteries.

Not so useful for the vineyard equipment we need to purchase, but the winery is fabulous and it’s a delight to make wine and tinker away in there.

Sadly, in the time it’s taken to write this (with interruptions from my 2-year-old, Wilbur), the rain has stopped and the sun has come out but more is promised tomorrow, so here’s hoping.
I’ll leave it there, and next time promise to share a little more on our vines and wines.