Quote of the day: ‘If the grass is greener on the other side, you can bet the water bill is higher.’ - Unknown
Down in the fecund, rolling hills of Lot et Garonne, along with a goodly chunk of Southwest France, we are accustomed to summer droughts. No rain for weeks or months during the summer is perfectly normal here. Hosepipe bans happen almost annually, but are generally slightly different here to the UK’s blanket bans, where we are sensibly still allowed to judiciously water our potagers in the evenings.
This year was a bit more severe in some départements, where a total ban was placed on filling swimming pools or watering precious veggies, although Lot et Garonne was not put under those extreme measures. I’ve never seen a French person watering their lawn, only their veggies. A verdant greensward seems to be a very English thing.
‘Better weather’ was one of the many cited reasons we upped sticks to live here: to actually anticipate and enjoy a proper summer every year. Thankfully, each year has delivered that wish. Spring and autumn are usually extremely agreeable too, with even a December day sometimes warm enough to have drinks outside with friends.
In summertime, what we laughingly call our lawn desiccates to become a bone dry as a brown dust bowl. Completely normal, as it recovers after a few showers.
Moving here at the end of November in 2012, we had a swift baptism into the chill of a Lot et Garonne winter. It’s very different this year.
While chunks of the UK this weekend have been blanketed in soft, white, muffling snow, albeit in quantities slightly more than anticipated, last week Lot et Garonne saw the dramatic effect that a 48 hour non-stop deluge can bring.
For the first 24 hours of that two days, it rained in torrents.
Continually.
Incessantly.
Hard.
As if someone had an alarmingly large watering can and was holding it over the entire area.
Skies were grey. Arnie and Ruby were not happy at all. It is accurate to say they are fair weather dogs, much preferring the warmth of sunny porch steps in spring, to gloom and muddy feet. Simon and I became slightly concerned when they both decided they would not venture outside in the morning after the long, wet night. Ruby became agitated and grumpy before finally relenting and braving the deluge, a full 12 hours since her last excursion outside. She returned back inside only a few minutes later, greatly relieved and in much better humour. Arnold, perhaps being slightly younger, lasted a further four additional hours before realising that something had to give. His undercarriage is somewhat lower than Ruby’s, being as he is, ‘stumpy’ in an unfairly short leg department. He also detests water and is terrified of swimming, doing so only under duress or in a life or death situation. He emerges shaking and quivering with fierce intensity. Ruby, on the other hand, starts doing doggy paddle if you even hold her up over water. She loves it but not when it is coming from the sky, dictating her demeanour and affecting those precious walks.
As rain continued to fall, flower beds disappeared underwater.
Le Perchoir gite was surrounded on two sides by a partial moat as the continual downpour turned our drive into a river. The gite’s huge swimming pool was brimming over.
Local lakes, most of which are manmade and used for irrigating the region’s plum, hazelnut and walnut trees, maize and sunflowers by the farmers, reached capacity very quickly.
Rivers gushed with frightening intensity, widening and engulfing trees and shrubs along their banks. There was nowhere else for the inundation to go save onto the fields, so it did exactly that.
Trenches that were recently dug to take the drainage system in the house extension, quickly filled with water. Simon was not pleased as the moisture seeped out into the floor, making it sticky and not possible to walk or work on.
He (de)constructively directed his efforts back in the old house, to finally dissemble the ‘temporary’ old shower unit sited atop a pallet that we used for ten years. The end of an era. ’At last!’, given we now have a fully functioning and modern shower room upstairs.
The shocking pink, glittery tile surrounds that were cobbled together from the leftovers of one of our Hampton Court show gardens scattered, as the old, rotting plyboard backing behind them disintegrated. But there’s so much more room with it gone - a useful space rather than a cluttered and useless one.
The barn extension started to dry out when there was brief respite over the weekend when temperatures dipped but it’s raining again now.
It really won’t be long until spring, but in the meantime the dogs are still snuggled by the fire.
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