Small moments in Baugé

One of the best spots in the house to sit and decide what to do next - the base of the grand escalier.


Romy running free.


Colette, looking glamorous in the backyard.


Jules, patiently kicking the soccer ball back and forth with Romy, who would laugh mightily with every kick.


Colette, taking some pointers from her artist Aunt Marie.


Colette, looking rather old-maidish.


The grenier - unfinished, but all the better for a band of kids' imaginations to go wild.


With views to kill.


Marguerite and Jules have spent hours up there in their own world this visit to Baugé.




Un, deux, trois, soleil with cousin Louise.




Treasures from the trees.


Colette with the goslings at the local market. In love.


All the girls. Car wash time with papa.

l'Église Saint-Laurent

Since we are biding our time a bit here in Baugé, the girls and I have taken the opportunity to do some probing around the village. We set off from the house one morning without a destination in mind and found ourselves at the village church dating to 1593, just down the rode. It was a blustery day in the Loire Valley and the girls were wearing scarves. We escaped the rain and stepped inside. Romy ran through the door and bounded down the aisles, inspecting the succession of chairs, humming her song. Colette became very still. She walked deliberately - seemingly pulled magnetically over to a Lamentation statue. I watched her take off her scarf and drape it dramatically over her head, mirroring Mary in front of her. She stood in front of the statue for ten minutes without speaking. I kept my distance, creeping to various angles to try to guess what she was up to or thinking. Leaving Colette to her musings, Romy and I inspected all corners of the church - completely empty (its habitual state, I suspect). At some point Colette pulled herself away from the statue and with tears in her eyes joined Romy and me. We sat near the choir of the church and talked for a while. Colette was sad. We devised a plan. She could write a post card to Jesus. On our walk home we passed the post office - it felt predestined. She was buoyed by the idea of a posting the card and imaging it fly high to heaven to bridge the divide.

Arrivés.

We are over one major obstacle in our new life. Getting here. I know it sounds extreme, but I was seriously dreading the trip to France with our 2-year old and 4-year old. We added 2 hours to the jetlag scenario and flight time by heading to Utah and flying to Paris from Salt Lake. I have also had some past experience with transatlantic travel and toddler insubordination that left me feeling pretty weak.

Thankfully, not only did Colette kindly remember that I was her mother this round, but she also remembered she was Romy’s sister and acted protective and generous (!). Colette slept on the floor of the plane and Romy took up 2 seats, spread out - not an inch of her little body cramped. Neither Xavier nor I slept, but we were really just grateful that those two did - for most of the flight.

Running to customs after we landed (because Xavier feels a general compulsion to be at the front of any line, no matter how many bags or small people involved), Romy did have a temporary moment of obstruction - at the base of an escalator. She just stopped moving and would not be picked up. Xavier and Colette were already miles ahead. Thankfully, a sweet soul coming down the escalator just behind Romy was brilliant. She came up behind her, took Romy’s hand and said, “on y va.” Romy grabbed my hand on the other side and completely obliged. She went from being intransigent to dough in 3 seconds flat. We walked all the way to customs that way - hand in hand with a stranger. I loved this person. She was French and so helpful. I took it as a good omen of my new relationship with the French. I loved her discretion - I thanked her and she hardly responded, just kept holding Romy’s hand - no words of encouragement beyond the initial giddy-up, let’s go. Then a discrete cou-cou goodbye at the end when she had deposited us near the customs officer. What a gal! No chit chat about how hard it is to travel with toddlers. No condescending, understanding looks between two parents. A lot of respect for her approach.

I will admit that I’ve had my moments with the French. When deliberating on our move to France, Xavier and I agreed that I was going to have to open up - embrace loving my people (I am French too, after all!). So I've decided that I am all in. It has taken about ten years of being married to a Frenchman, but I think I am ready for it: francophilia. That woman in the glasses, holding Romy’s hand at the airport was a sign.

So now a few early shots from Baugé. Lovely Baugé.




"Uhh...I am pretty sure there is a ghost in here."

Gathering in Baugé.

From the Atlantic Coast of France we headed to familiar territory: la Vallée de la Loire, where we met the whole clan at Xavier’s parents’ home in Baugé. Colette talks about her French cousins all the time and her eyes gleam in a special way when she talks about Jules.



Baugé is special because it is detached from the world – an inward-looking home and garden. Through the entry hallway, the thick stone walls and rhythm of the rooms beat seclusion. Even the garden is an island from neighboring properties – walled in - nothing communicates, it is total retreat. A perfect place to connect with a group of people we don’t see often enough.



Meals are ritualized – in French fashion. No one takes fruit or cheese before its respective time on stage, except maybe Colette (oh my! She needs some work on her table elegance…we think Romy might be more French by nature – sitting properly in her high chair, batting her eyelashes through meals). Meals last a long time. I admire this aspect of French food customs. Kinship around the table.



The girls love Baugé in its might – to them it is an ancient expanse – full of ideal alcoves for cache-cache. For Romy, the staircase alone was hours of entertainment. Up and down. Terrifying.
For us, city-dwellers, Baugé is tranquility and rest.

L'église du Vieil Baugé.

There is Baugé and there is Vieil Baugé. The newer one has a château that dates to the 15th century, so I guess Vieil Baugé must be really old. My niece, Louise, and I went for a walk and found the old church with the twisted steeple and, for the first time, went inside. The walls were frosted with coats of time. The place felt heavy. It was really beautiful.







The walk there was also memorable. The sky was bursting while Louise and I walked along talking about her new adventure of lycée (high school), intense French exams and the problem of superficiality in high school kids. She is a French teenager, much wiser and more articulate than her age. We stopped to notice climbing vines and small châteaux and the sky.