Je suis habituée. It means, I’m used to it. I think of this sometimes when I’m working in the garden. I’ve been out weeding and slaving over my plants all morning, and I’ve forgotten to take a moment to survey our sweeping view of the valley.
But there is a view from the front of our house, very different from the one at the back. We live in the shadow of a Romanesque church, built in the 10th century. It stands alone on a grassy knoll, our watchman, the pinnacle of our perched village.
In daylight it looks friendly and lovely, its stone roof and steeple silhouetted against periwinkle sky and pillowy cloud. And if I pass it by sometimes without a glance or a thought, it’s because it is so closely woven into the fabric of the village. Photo right, the front of our house faces the church.
But when darkness comes, it’s different. When I go out into the quiet heart of the village at night (which I so often do, very late, to corral our roaming cat), it never fails to startle me. Bathed in its floodlights, it looms above, dazzling against the dark sky napped with stars. In the dead quiet of a village midnight, it speaks volumes, of the present and the past, of the many centuries that have passed under its stony watch.
Then there are the bells, three rounds of them, which define our day. They start at 7:00 am—not just with seven bells, but with a bright carillon. Traditionally for waking the farmers, but a bit hard on the expats who might like to sleep just a tad later. But the church is a stone’s throw from our bedroom window, so it keeps us industrious, and 7:00 it is.
Working in the garden or around the house, near mid-day I have one ear tuned for the sign that it’s time for every French person’s favorite time of day: lunch. Twelve bells means it's the moment to put work aside to putter about the kitchen, and set a table on the terrace for two.
As evening sets in, we wait for seven bells, quitting time for farmers (and gardeners) and the official French moment to bring out the wine (though we’ve been known on occasion to follow the American it’s-five-o’clock-somewhere rule).
Sometimes, in an off hour, the village is suddenly filled with an insistent clanging, a carillon that plays and repeats, each swing of the heavy bell pealing louder and louder. We pause from our tasks. Did someone in the village die? Or is it a wedding? Or a funeral? We can’t know until we peek through the gates to see what sort of procession is passing by.
La cloche and its ringing: je suis habituée. The rhythm of a French village, shaped by bells and steeples, and now matched by the rhythm of our hearts.
In the COMMENTS: One of our comments this week is from Lidy at French Garden House. Francophiles, rush right over to her design blog where you can get ideas, plus buy something from her edited French collection. Then click on her Facebook page to see that her house is on the cover of French Country Style Magazine this month. Felicitations, Lidy! On Facebook, my old friend Steve Savage talks about fallen chocolate cake, which we must try. And Myrtile offers another mother's day quote from Victor Hugo: O l'amour d'une mere, pain merveilleux que nul n'oublie. (Oh the love of a mother, a marvelous bread that no one ever forgets).
FAVORITE READS: My friend Patty recommends Mrs. 'Arris Goes to Paris
Photos below: The church viewed from our bedroom window; and on the other side of the hill, the path to the church from the village cemetery.
17 thoughts on “In the Shadow of A Steeple”
Periwinkle sky!! I wish my coloring box had had more than eight colors. My wife’s always wearing cornflower blue and she is a Ballou. My color knowledge has had to dig out of where the house painters were in Mr. Blanding Builds His Dream House. One of my daughters-in-law, a color designer for Nike, continues my education in hues.
Paul Gallico was one of my favorite authors back in the early 1970s. He wrote about baseball, fighting kangaroos, and Mrs. Harris, among other topics. His writings seemed to work their way into movies, including Lili (with Leslie Caron), Pride of the Yankees, The Snow Goose, Matilda, Mrs. ‘Arris Goes to Paris, and The Poseidon Adventure (???). I never really understood his writing that last one, but it was in-between cat books. There’s probably a cat theory for it.
I love your church too! Je ne suis pas habituée!! I try every day to look around me and pinch myself – that we have the privilege to live in the most beautiful French countryside. I hope I never take it for granted. Loved your description of your feelings to be here. We, too, are just by the church in our village but our church bells ring EVERY hour and half-hour during the 24 hours! I just love it and, once when something was broken there, I really missed the lovely chimes across the village. I can also hear 2 other churches, one in each direction from our village. Funny how they are never quite coordinated!?
Loved reading your post about the church. Beautifully written.
Thank you for the beautifully evocative post. I could hear the bells.
Oh, how much I want to be there!
Beautiful. Thank you.
Lynn,
I loved this…maybe my favorite post so far! I am not a church goer either but I love and appreciate the tradition, and as you so aptly say, the heart. We too have those bells, and I hardly hear them anymore, but it is so nice to know the time of day when you need it! Even the one bell for the half hour comes in handy!! WE have a rooster in our village….but give me the bells to awaken me, please! xo,alix
Thank you so much for this beautiful post, Lynn, and mentioning my FrenchGardenHouse! Merci, mon amie. xo
Lynn, you have written MANY wonderful posts,but this one is absolutely at the top of the list.Your words,your pictures, are just pure magic to capture our imaginations.We’ve been carried off to a place filled with beauty,tranquility(even with bells ringing!) and well being.
Oh! To know such a place exists,especially after watching the evening news!
THANK YOU!!!
PS I do remember Mrs ‘Arris Goes to Paris(giving away my age here,read it in ’59 or 60,I think.) Patty is right,it IS charming!
A beautifully written post – a delight to read. A friend recently loaned me “Mrs ‘Arris Goes to Paris”, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
I do prefer the romanesque churches in Burgundy more than fancy cathedrals. Dijon was once known as “city of a hundred steeples.” While it no longer has that many, it still has an impressive number. I do love the 7 p.m. bells in our neighborhood. And seeing the floodlights illuminate the grand church in our neighborhood as I head home at night. What I love more, though, is on Saturday afternoons when the air is filled with the bells of all the churches in town, celebrating all the wonderful weddings of the day.
What lovely descriptive writing Lynn of your beautiful village church and the many ways in which those gorgeous bells inspire and enhance your days. We remember posing for a photo in front of it following a fabulous lunch in town and wonderful time sharing experiences over coffee. The photos are all stunning, your garden absolutely stunning.
It’s a lovely book, Lynn, and one I have had, at times, in my bookshop! (English Book Centre, Valbonne)
Lovely town and church and views!!! And we are gardeners together, you and I. Isn’t it wonderful to garden in France? Just planted roses and tomatoes and everything you can imagine but our weather is not properly settled for growing. Hope it’s better where you are.
Hello Lynn,
My husband and I are the guardians for a chateau 15 minutes from Cluny. I’m happy to have stumbled upon your blog. It’s nice to know there are other Americans around in 71.
Such a beautiful posting Lynn. Your view is definitely to be envied from afar. I’m sure your garden is gorgeous. The sound of church bells brings back fond memories.
Lovely story, Lynn! It sure makes me homesick for our own little village with the church walls forming the edge of my garden. Our neighbor tells the story of his great, great….grandmother and the other women of the village guarding the doors of the church with pitchforks when the soldiers came during the Revolution. The women were all arrested and jailed in Macon but the church was left unharmed. Our life too is lived to the rhythm of the bells. We love it all with the exception of the 69 clangs at 7:00 AM which are repeated 3 minutes later! Hope to be there in a few weeks. Our bell has been replaced but I’m pretty sure it will still ring every morning.