Burgundian Beauty

Kate's home in Lucenay-l’Évêque in Burgundy

Kate, it has been lovely connecting with you. Thank you for participating in my occasional series, ‘Australians in France.' 

Can you tell us about yourself and your French connection? 

I really discovered France later in life. My first trip to Europe was at 41, with Paris being our first stop. It was definitely love at first sight. Since then, my husband Nathan and I have been lucky enough to spend time exploring many regions of France, especially those noted for their food and wine. As a chef, Nathan looks to France and French cuisine as the foundation of modern cookery, and we have embraced our quest to experience as much of it as possible with great gusto! Our travels throughout France have provided inspiration for multiple hospitality venues that we have been involved in - a tiny laneway wine bar, a French bistro and a neighbourhood café. We love that we have been able to bring a little piece of France back with us to share with others and to help us not miss France as much when we are not there. 

Kate and her husband in their garden

You have bought and are renovating a property in France, do you live in France or spend some of the year there?

We take full advantage of the Schengen visa that allows non-EU passport holders to spend 90 days per 180 in France. That means that we are in France for 6 months of the year and in Geelong for the other half.

Can you tell us how you settled on Burgundy for your French home? 

We love many regions of France and toyed with the idea of buying in Normandy (good proximity to Paris) or in the Jura (fabulous wine) but Burgundy has it all for us. We love its scenery, its easy access to Paris, Dijon and Lyon and of course its iconic food and wine offerings. The weather is idyllic for us too … four very distinct seasons with warm and pleasant summers and crisp, cold winters. 

What advice would you give to other families who dream of buying their own special place in France?

DO IT! It’s incredibly exciting and rewarding and relatively easy. Coming from Australia, where housing prices and the cost of living is high, we found that you can actually achieve your dream of owning your own little piece of France very affordably. 

Have your criteria on size, price, region etc. but be a little open and flexible. Your dream home may be where you least expect it. 

Do you have any practical tips regarding the purchase process? 

Have the patience of a saint. Nothing happens quickly. French real estate agents (Immobiliers) are more relaxed and not always as responsive as ones in Australia. 

Make as many appointments as you can to see properties in person whilst you are in France. We made our purchase online from Australia and had only photos and one video to go on. 

Open a French bank account. This is not necessary for the purchase, but will have you ready to sign up for all your utilities. 

Use a buyer's advocate if the agent for the property doesn’t speak English (and if your French is not up to deciphering legal documents) They will  guide you through the whole process, even negotiating the sale price for you, will hold the key for you until you get to the property, and in our case, help you get your utilities set up. 

The French purchase system we found does not have the big negotiation range that we tend to have in Australia. You may only get a few thousand off the asking price. 

A new roof, electrics and septic are expensive works and a change in ownership may trigger having to bring existing systems up to code. Have your agent or buyer's advocate alert you to any impending costs. 

If you are looking at buying purely a home for holidays, maybe reconsider buying a 5-acre farm or anything with a lot of land involving upkeep. The grass and weeds can grow at a staggering pace. We know this first hand with our property. 

If you are considering buying in a rural area, make sure that your land boundaries and right of access for you and your neighbours are explained to you very clearly. Often plots of land are not adjoining and in many instances, the farmer or neighbour has rights to go through your property. This is to note, particularly, if you’re planning to put a pool or a garage etc.

What do you wish you had known before you signed for your French home?     

Just how patient you have to be!  Especially when you are purchasing remotely. We wish that we had been more aware that when the agent said that the house comes fully furnished (which most do) that he also meant that we inherited the contents of all the outbuildings as well. That in our case included copious amounts of rubbish, old white goods and a gigantic, rust-riddled bulldozer. We were quoted €2000 to remove it all. 

If you can, use tradespeople that are referred to you by people you trust and ideally from your village or town. Usually tradespeople only work in a very small radius from their home base. 

Might there be a renovation story or two that you could share?

SO MANY! One fun one was that we found a secret room at the back of the house that wasn’t on the floor plan that we were given by the agent. The owners had said there was something back there but that they had never entered the sealed and padlocked room. Nathan had grandiose visions of unearthing a priceless collection of vintage pinot noir, but all we found was a dusty small room with two dormant dormice who were not very happy about being disturbed. It has now become a candle-lit cellar lined with wine racks and with a wine cask for a table.  It stays at a perfect cool temperature year round, and is filled with a lovely (although not priceless) selection of local Burgundy wine. 

Is your long-term plan to welcome guests (holiday let, other experiential services)?

We want to have guest accommodation and host cooking classes and food and wine tours as soon as possible. The house and barn are being renovated with that in mind as we are dying to share our little (relatively unknown) part of Burgundy with as many people as possible. 

Do you speak French? I talk frequently with families who feel that their French would not be sufficient for either living in or buying in France. What are your thoughts about the level of language required?

Un peu…..

We have found that you can definitely get by with “Google Translate” BUT negotiations and renovations and friendships can be very challenging to cultivate without knowing some basic  French. At the bare minimum, we feel that a basic knowledge and understanding of pleasantries, numbers and every day conversation is important in becoming a part of your new  French community. Making this effort, coupled with a big smile goes a very long way.

I love to hear of different village traditions and stories. How have you adapted to life in your village and your village to you?

We have happened upon an incredible little village on the edge of the Morvan National Park to call our own. A large number of French people have recently chosen to call Lucenay-l’Évêque home and have made a conscious effort to welcome and embrace all who follow suit. This simple town houses a primary school, a convenience store, a renowned restaurant, a locally designed handbag shop, a hairdresser, an architect's studio, a recording studio, a brocante, a wine bar and soon a patisserie. We have a medieval church that is currently under restoration, a lovely river and a town square that hosts a pizza truck on a Saturday night and a butcher on Wednesdays. 

Our village has accepted us with open arms, and we are humbled to be considered a part of this vibrant community. We are routinely invited to all manner of events and celebrations - birthdays, music sessions, pig roasts, shop openings and weeknight dinners. We, in turn, host couples, families and large groups of new friends to BBQs and dinners at our little house on the outskirts of town. 

Our next door neighbours are incredible. They always ready our house for our visits by opening windows and doors to air it out in summer, or lighting a fire before we arrive in winter. This past Christmas they decorated the whole house with Christmas cheer, and topped it off with a real Christmas tree covered in decorations and lights. I was reduced to tears with their thoughtfulness and generosity. We are very lucky. 

If you can’t live in France, what do you think is the best time of year to visit? 

Oh it’s too hard to choose in our region….

Summer has exceptionally blue skies and endless sunshine. 

Autumn is just stunning with the colour of the leaves in the mountains and on the vines. 

In the colder months, our countryside turns into a stunning, snow-covered winter wonderland. 

We have yet to experience a full spring in Burgundy, and are anxious to see this area come back to life from its sleepy winter. 

We will say from experience that we feel it’s a good idea to avoid Paris in the height of summer as it can be very hot, and many restaurants and small shops are closed for the holidays. We also wouldn’t choose to go to Alsace again in summer, where the wonderfully rich regional food and wine is definitely more suited to snowy winter days than hot summer ones.

Apart from your special region in France, do you have any favourite French places that you would recommend to other families?

Lake Annecy

Annecy and it’s lake. It is staggeringly beautiful and clean and the views will stay with you always. 

Normandy and Brittany. Lovely winding roads with beautiful scenery and stunning coastline (oh and the oysters!).

Jura. Again, beautiful scenery and picture-postcard villages, with really interesting unique regional wine.

And finally, what is your favourite thing about French living?

For us, it is specifically French country living that we love so much. It is the slower pace of life, the scenery, the markets and their magnificent local produce, the affordability of food and wine and the ability to cultivate relationships with those with whom we come in contact.. 

Thanks so much, Kate. I look forward to staying in touch. It has been a pleasure chatting.

If you would like to follow her journey (highly recommended), Kate can be found on Instagram @lapetitemaisonburgundy.

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

I hope you never write another book

“Well, I hope you never write another book.”

“Thank you.”

 

Distancing myself momentarily from our conversation, I twisted, tweaked and reassessed the words, touched by his compassion. 

 

We had had no contact since our university days but, thanks to the vagaries of random social-media connections, we were talking again. And, how exciting it was to feel the power and anticipation of our as-yet-undiscovered futures.

 

Of course, we exchanged in the usual polite, but curious, way of adults. Where living? Married? Children? Work? Where are you on the life-satisfaction scale? 

 

Woah, how did we venture so quickly down that path? And, how to answer when, despite my cherished and gratifying choices, I’d rather be young and free?

 

Traveling, teaching, family, restlessness, adventure, writing … it all came out. 

 

“I have just published my third book.” It wasn’t bragging nor was it an attempt to impress. I was still in the emotional aftermath of putting my figurative pen down and in awe that my words had come for a third time. “Interestingly, all my books have come about because of sadness and struggle,” I continued. Woah, again. How had I not realised that before? 

 

I know that if our situations had been reversed, my reply would not have been so quick and probably not as thoughtful.

I don’t know whether I am an oddity in the author world, but I have not re-read or opened “With bare feet and sandy toes,” since I pressed ‘publish’ several months ago. It certainly has not resonated as widely with my readers. After all, it is not set in France. But, today, I noticed another review (below). Despite all the feedback that my books have generated, I am still bewildered that people, actual people, people who do not know me, are interested enough to pick up something that I have written and then take the time to share their thoughts afterwards. But I like it. 

I enjoyed this well-written, easy to read memoir, which is the author's third. I certainly want to check out her previous books.

Catherine tells us about her childhood, growing up in an Adelaide suburb in a strict yet eccentric family and attending a Catholic school. While it's not a particularly exceptional childhood, I liked the way that she wrote about it. The style is quite literary and thoughtful without being overly nostalgic. I'm not sure there was anything that significantly made it a 60s / 70s memoir, because she didn't have a television or know about pop music, due to an upbringing that was both conservative and not wealthy. If it had been set a decade or two earlier, I wouldn't be surprised. The same principle applies to the location, because although there are some elements which are uniquely Australian, the book doesn't dwell on Australia and so again, with a few tweaks to the text, it could be set in Britain or the US. This isn't a disadvantage and actually it helps to make the memoir more relatable. I wasn't so interested in the sports element of the book, but other readers might be.

I liked how the epilogue told us a little about her current life and the events which made her decide to write the memoir. The book overall is charming and heartfelt.

And now, for the sake of completeness, here is another recent review of my first memoir, “But you are in France, Madame.” I don’t mean to offend but, fuck, it made me laugh.

 

2.0 out of 5 stars nothing special no artwork or photos

Reviewed in the United States on February 8, 2023

Verified Purchase

I was disappointed in this book. the writing is mediocre; as if you are reading someone's journal entries. early in the book, the author relates a song, with a 4 letter [foul language] word in it, why is that even in the book?

Links below to my books. They should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

Lucky is the wife whose husband is ...

Carcoar. En route to Adelaide. Note free town library

"I've finished a bit early. Are you free to pick me up?"

"Will come as soon as I can. Just helping to prepare my invoice. I didn't anticipate being here for two hours, but I got what I came for and a bit more," my husband replied.

"No rush. See you when you get here."

I tucked the phone in my handbag and, half closing my eyes, lifted my chin, filling my lungs with the salty air. Images of my last visit overlaid the blue and gold palette in front of me. There they were. My young children. Static and single-framed, like the press-out dolls of a longtime ago birthday present would have been if I had ever dared to destroy the perfection of the pages of two-dimensional paper models and their garments with tiny, hard-to-cut-out, square tabs, and hold them up to the horizon. 

It was one of those days when the insistent screech of the seagulls was unrelenting but not at all annoying, and, like my attempts to master the adjustable focus on my first real camera, the cries succeeded in blurring the past with the present. 

The footpath was bordered by a foot-high cement edge and, checking first that I was not readying myself for inclusion in a giant ant colony, I settled down to wait, my brown dress blending with the beige uniformity of the luxury apartment buildings across the road. 

Our conference chairs had been set to face the sand but between us and the rolling waves a thick blockout blind had been pulled down. Probably a good thing, I surmised, as I had lost the good student habit of sitting, listening and taking notes and was relieved when an early halt had been called to the hot afternoon session.

Photo taken at Victor Harbor. Not at site of conference.

"Do you know how many times a person looks at his or her phone each minute?" 

I smiled as, with my fingers brushing the top edge of the interior of my handbag,  I recalled my daughter's conversation starter over Christmas lunch. Plunging my hand deeper amongst the tangle of earphones, fold-up shopping bag, lip balm and dog-eared conference notes, I retrieved my phone and looked down at my latest message.

Lucky is the wife whose husband is in a bookstore 

With a slight furrowing of my brow, I glanced into the distance and back down again.

Sorry. Still haven't left as Penny, the bookstore owner, is insisting on individually wrapping each of my purchases at the same time as telling me what a lucky lady you are! Can't wait to bring you here.

D.A. Horn Antiquarian Books in Adelaide, Australia

Happy New Year. May your days be filled with the joys of an over-stacked bookstore treasure trove and the stimulating conversation of its 84-year-old owner whose answers to any question were not necessarily predicated on the essential or the related, but were eminently enjoyable (see below).

He would answer to "Hi!" or to any loud cry,

   Such as "Fry me!" or "Fritter my wig!"

To "What-you-may-call-um!" or "What-was-his-name!"

   But especially "Thing-um-a-jig!"

(from The Hunting of the Snark by Lewis Carroll)

Finally, a note for my Australian readers, I accepted an offer for a Kindle monthly deal from Amazon for But you are in France, Madame, which means that for the whole month of January, my first memoir is priced at only $1.49. I'm late, I'm late to this very important announcement, but there is still time. And, if you'd like to know the address of Penny's delightful Adelaide bookstore, let me know.

Links below to all my books. They should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

In need

The aftermath of the flood

"You can take more if you'd like."

I lowered my gaze and continued to stuff my new-to-me purchase and packet of day-old rolls into the plastic supermarket shopping bag that I had just been given. 

My soulful tone was in tune with my sincerity.

"That is really kind of you, but I'm OK, thank you." 

Donald Bradman's birthplace

Ten minutes before, I had walked into the Red Cross Op Shop in Cootamundra and folded down my umbrella, which was acting more as a prop than anything vaguely useful, having cut short my six-kilometre walking tour of the town. It had never been anything more than an optimistic venture and I should have paid due respect to the solid black clouds that were readying to tip their warning buckets on me as I closed the front door of my camping cabin. Half-way around, I had not even stopped to go through Donald Bradman's birth house. No, 'Miss-just-do-the miles-me' had charged on, squinting through dark sunglasses at the directions on the paper brochure from the Tourist Office. Uh-huh, I see your quizzically contorted expression. Trust me, I couldn't wear my reading glasses without trip-trapping as I walked, so sunglasses it was to keep my hair from blowing in the wind and rendering me completely disoriented.

They, the sunglasses, however, were completely ineffective when it had come to re-routing the gale and keeping the rain⎯when it inevitably pelted down⎯from pressing my hair to my scalp, glueing my shirt collar to my neck and soaking silently through the unsealed seams of my boots. Did I look bedraggled? In need of care? Hungry? All of the previous? 

"Can I help you?" 

I was taken aback. Was it pity or suspicion that I detected in the voice of the lady behind the counter as I walked into the Red Cross store?

"Oh. Am I able to have a look around?" Perhaps, this was not a place for sales but a donations drop-off point.

"Yes."

I took that as a sign of warm welcome and headed deep into the store, spying a warm duffle coat from the eighties that had to be trendy again. 

"Am I able to pay with my credit card?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Is there an ATM nearby?"

"Yes. At the IGA a couple of doors down."

Brandishing the one twenty dollar note that I had withdrawn, I re-positioned myself at the counter.

"How funny, each of my last few sales has been for fifteen dollars. I'm not sure that I can fit your jacket in a plastic bag, but would you like some bread?"

Mid shoving - yes, this jacket would fit - I worked my way slowly through the logic of her words and turned to survey the wrapped baguettes, packets of rolls and loaves of bread that were along the bench from me.

My hesitation lasted long enough to avoid the need to reply.

"It's free."

How could I say 'no'? I picked up the packet closest to me, pushing it in with my jacket and turned to go, refusing the offer of more.

Hours later, in an unfamiliar bed and through the haziness of my freshly found sleep, I detected movement and sound nearby.

The knock on our door came next.

"The river has burst its banks and the campground is flooding. You will need to evacuate." The voice was that of a local policeman.

"Now?" my husband enquired.

"Strongly recommended."

I jack-in-the-boxed up, pulled boots on over my sockless feet and threw as much as I could grab into the car with water lapping dangerously at its doors.

The sun taunted us the next morning as it revealed a damaged town in desperate need of every small financial contribution.  I'd happily wear second-hand every day as a choice, but I'm so glad that I put my discomfort aside and went deep into the Red Cross store.

Before the rain

Australian cricket captain walk

Map of NSW and Vic showing flooded areas in blue

Links below to my books. They should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

Belonging

Our village of Talloires

The name of my blog, book and social media accounts might be misleading. After all, I am not always ... in France, Madame. But, now that I have become known as "But you are in France, Madame," I am loathe to part with this identity. I like it. And, figuratively, it is true. But, Catherine, you might remonstrate, it is a wordy title: one that is hard to remember correctly. Yes, you are right, but if people want to find me, they do.

So, where am I right now? Not France. I am an hour and a half outside Sydney. For those of you who have followed me since the beginning, you would know the twists and turns of our path since leaving France. Briefly ... Sydney, buying our beautiful French home in Talloires on the Annecy Lake, an unexpected and lengthy Covid lockdown in Sydney and our recent delayed move to the Blue Mountains.

New discoveries in the Blue Mountains

We still have our French home and we visit when we can, but our long-term future there is not as clear as when we left. Back then, we presumed that we would have a two-year hiatus in Australia before resuming our full-time French journey. It hasn't turned out like that and so we have sought interim adventures, challenges and destinations. 

Our French home

I have turned onto enough new paths to know to expect joy, reinvigoration, beauty and amazement each time ... loneliness, too, plus discomfort and weariness. That comes with navigating the unknown and the quest to belong.

In the months following our arrival in France, our first smile from the bar tender at Le Café de la Place in Menthon, an invitation to morning tea with the mayor's wife in Giez and bumping into someone who recognised us in Annecy were steps towards feeling like my husband and I were not just extras on the periphery of French life, being swept along in a fast-flowing current of change. Those interactions felt good and we deliberately sought out more. Sub-consciously, we knew that if we were feeling more confident about our new life in France, we were in a stronger position to help our children adapt and thrive.

Our first home in France - Giez

I am still looking for my signs here in the Blue Mountains. Our dinosaur shenanigans in the street brought one neighbour out for a friendly chat; we have been invited for afternoon tea and lunch; are refining where we can buy a good baguette, sit for a while over a coffee, pick up op-shop treasures, walk or ride, and collect firewood (with a permit) to avoid another astronomical heating bill. But, at the post office with my latest book packaged for a customer, I caught the eye of the girl behind the desk. There was a glimmer of recognition and a return smile. The hairdresser, too, today asked me when we were heading back to France. Very soon, I was able to tell her, happily - but my point is, she knew to ask. 

Small steps.

Thank you to all of you who have supported my latest writing project. A book with readers is like its author - much happier.

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

And now ... first review for "With bare feet and sandy toes"

I have said on many previous occasions that connecting with people around the world has been the best part of my writing journey. Readers have (mostly!) been supportive, encouraging and generous. And, despite being competitors in one sense, authors that I have bumped into virtually or in person have been keen to share successes and eager to chat about improving our craft and untangling marketing strategies.

Reviews are critical to remaining positively visible in bookstores and on Amazon, but waiting for them to drop after a publication can be tense. Mardi understands this as an author. But, we have a lot more in common than writing and the rollercoaster emotional ride that it engenders, as she explains in her review of "With bare feet and sandy toes" (below). It can be found on her blog along with information about her books, details of her cooking classes, her newsletter etc.

If you have not yet come across Mardi on  Facebook, Twitter, Instagram may I recommend that you take a look at what she does. Right now, she is completing the final day of a six-year journey (not full-time) along the Camino de Santiago. Following her as she has walked has been a true joy, and prompted many a daydream. 

This is part of my Summer Reads series where I’ll be sharing book recommendations –  a series of “not just cookbooks”.

For Summer Reads this week, I’ve got another story that’s close to my heart!

Catherine Berry of But you are in France, Madame, and I have a lot in common. We’re both from Adelaide and both love  (and have lived in) France. A few years ago, I happened across Catherine over on Instagram (she’s also Our French Village House – another thing we have in common, rental properties in France that we operate from afar!) and downloaded her book, But you are in France, Madame and read it in one sitting. I loved that part of Catherine’s story (because I found out we had even more in common than just Adelaide and a love of France) – you can read my full review here) – and equally loved the follow-up story, Weaving a French Life: An Australian story which came out in 2020 (you can read my review here) where she describes the very delicate balance of loving two countries at the same time – something I know all too well about!

You can imagine my delight, then, when I discovered she had written a memoir all about growing up in Australia in the 1960s and 70s – what a PERFECT summer read and a trip down memory lane for me!

I read this book in one sitting thanks to jetlag, but also because it was so “more-ish” – each chapter had me nodding my head in recognition. Written to be read either as a stand-alone book to the first two or as a prelude, I’d say all the books make you want to read the others. This one completes the trilogy of Early Life – France – Australia (with her heart in France).

This book really transported me back to my childhood – the sights, sounds, and smells of growing up in Adelaide. I had to smile at SO many memories – from the warm milk “enjoyed” in the lunch “shed” at primary school, trips to the beach in summer, being subjected to confession at a Catholic school, and watching Test Cricket matches (sometimes over 5 days!) on the tv to the absolute wide-eyed wonder of a first trip to Europe as a teenager, there was SO much in here that I related to/ remembered.

Life really was simple when I was growing up in Australia and this is a very accurate depiction of that time. It’s a delightful breath of fresh air as Catherine remembers her hopes, dreams, and fears growing up in a more innocent time. For anyone who has happy memories of a simpler life as a child (wherever you grew up), who wants a book that will put a smile on your face or who wonders what life “down under” looked like 50 years ago, this is a PERFECT beach, couch, porch, backyard, plane or train read for the summer!

Thank you, Mardi and congratulations on your Camino journey. One day to go ...

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go wherever you are in the world to make a purchase.

Merci et bonne lecture

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

Book 3 ... published

 

Alex and I were married on December 30 ... a few years back now. It is a lovely time of the year to celebrate our anniversary as we are often with friends and, if we are extra lucky, in France. There, the seasonal festivities are layered with extra cosiness as we watch the snow fall, cradle beakers of hot wine with our gloved hands at the Christmas markets, rug up properly to go on cheek-reddening walks and indulge in our French mountain meals.

Making the trip from Australia, does; nonetheless, add a degree of difficulty to gift giving. But, my husband is ingenious and romantic - he always has been - and our last anniversary in France was no different to any other. His gift was a painting, or a little photo of the painting, that would hang on our wall when we returned to Australia after our Christmas holiday.

We had come across artist Robyn Rankin before heading to live in France and the first of her works that we purchased was the delightfully titled "To dither a daisy and lots of love too." It featured our two girls. No, it wasn't a commissioned piece but it could have been as it exuded joy and gave us happiness: just like our girls. Even the physical characteristics were not too dissimilar. 

As for my new gift "She just knew her toes were magic," it took me back to my childhood: that magical period where, if I had managed to kick my feet just a little bit harder and swing a fraction higher, I would have flown and joined all the other dreamers gambolling in the clouds. 

When I was thinking about a cover for my newest memoir With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s, I reached out to Robyn to see how she would feel about her swinging girl - my special anniversary gift - being my cover. 

Robyn thought it was a splendid idea and together (and once again with Alex's design help), we have come up with a beautiful book cover ... don't you agree?

I invite you to head to her website for details of both the artist and her paintings. 

And, of course, if you would like to continue to journey with me as I revisit my early years, I would love to have you along for the ride.

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go wherever you are in the world to make a purchase.

Merci et bonne lecture

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

With bare feet and sandy toes

Being watched as I write

I have just sent my third book to the printers and am waiting for my author copy to be delivered. When it gets to me, I will have that moment of awe, amazement and pride, then I will proof it ... again. How do I feel? A little lost, to be honest. My days, nights, dreams and conversations have been consumed with this project. What is interesting is that, when I talk with other writers, this after-writing time is almost universally hard. For fiction writers, their characters become part of their lives: they create, communicate and live with their characters for months and it is hard for them, ultimately, to say good-bye to that closeness and familiarity. It struck me that, as a memoir writer, the same applies to me. Perhaps it is even more difficult. After all, each time I write, I reconnect with a person from my past and that person happens to be me. And during those months that we are together, I reminisce, I cringe, I puff up with pride and I laugh. I cry too. 

Let me share the title of my latest book: With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s and 70s. In a divergence from my previous memoirs, I don't head back to France. I go further back than that.

My cover is special, but I want to wait just a little longer before I share it, and its story, with you. In the meantime, here is the quote that I use in my front matter, which gives a little taste of the story it precedes.

Overhead in the Paris sky
Two airplanes fought it out one day

And one of them was my whole youth
The other was my days to come

Guillaume Apollinaire

In yesterday's Instagram post, I reflected on being a writer. Ali, whom I met serendipitously, posted a photo of the street in her French village that inspired the cover of But you are in France, Madame. I commented that connections like the one that I have with her have been the most surprising and rewarding aspect of my publication journey.

And, to demonstrate more completely how fulfilling and global my conversations have become, I want to share a beautiful e-card that was sent to me on French Mother's Day by a friend whom I have met through my books. I was so touched by the thought and today happens to be a most appropriate day to look at it again. It is Noah's birthday but, for the first time, I am not by his side to give him a cuddle and celebrate. He is studying for exams at university in Canberra and I miss him⏤and my most cherished role: Mum.

I cannot get the link to work, so let me describe it for you. Music plays in the background as an empty vase fills with flowers, each with its own little gift (see below*):

The message at the end reads:

Hello, Catherine, 

Reading your second book now, and I am once again so impressed with your honesty, your determination, and your love for your amazing husband and children. So universal, and at the same time so personal for those of us who are all French at heart! 

This is partly why I write but if you'd like to throw a little bit of luck and self-belief my way as I step out once again on this solo memoir-writing path, I'll look out for it. 

And if you'd like to dip into my first two books before number three is released, here are the links:

But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps

Weaving a French Life: An Australian story

*

Tulip: there is sunshine in your smile

Cosmos: harmony, peace

Lily of the valley: return of happiness, humility 

Allium: unity, humility, patience 

Lilac: first love 

Lily: birth 

Poppy: pleasure 

Jasmin: grace, elegance, modesty 

Rose: love, simplicity, happiness

Give peace a chance

I was sitting on the front porch drinking coffee. ‘5 Ernest Hemingway passages that every gentleman should know,’ Alex read from his phone. “Only gentlemen?” and I raised my eyebrows, already put off by the over-used, formulaic title. But I had taken the bait. See, the marketers do know their stuff. 

The first was a banal everyday scene set in Paris, which for some enables any prose to transcend the ordinary without undue effort. 

The fifth passage was from ‘The Old Man and the Sea.’ 

Then, while the old man was clearing the lines and preparing the harpoon, the male fish jumped high into the air beside the boat to see where the female was and then went down deep, his lavender wings, that were his pectoral fins, spread wide and all his wide lavender stripes showing. He was beautiful, the old man remembered, and he had stayed. 

At that moment, a cockatoo flew towards us, its wings wide like the spread fins of the male fish. Not striped lavender; pure white. The bird landed on our fountain, slurped, cocked his head and grinned. I’m sure it was a grin. It looked for all the world like he was seeking praise. “Ok. You’re clever,” I acquiesced as I turned my gaze coyly, alighting on a geranium standing tall. I had worked the ground in that spot yesterday, denying the sprawling lavender its unfettered claim, and clearing a space for the hedge it was using for support to push through.

The open face of the lushly red geranium was looking straight at the cockatoo. 

“I can’t fly but I have strong roots and, if you stay by my side, I can stand my ground.” 

 Could it be that nature was sending me soothing messages after my disturbed dreams last night?

Please world, give peace a chance.

Links to purchase digital copies of 'But you are in France, Madame' and 'Weaving a French Life: An Australian Story'.

It's ok, Mum. I've got this.

Ready for adventure. Noah, age 6, on our way to France

On this day, nine years ago, we put our French life on hold for what we thought would be a couple of years and flew back to Australia. My little boy was little and my three children all still at school. In a few days time that will change. The littlest, Noah, is no longer little and, like his two sisters, neither will he be living at home. 

I know that at this juncture of family life all parents have to say something of a good-bye, and perhaps the emotions of one's last child to leave home is different...more raw, strangely physical. But, Noah is champing at the bit to discover what life has in store for him and it is with pride that I will watch him go. 

He is a dreamer who sees himself sailing the seas, wandering barefoot, playing his guitar campside, exploring the depths of the ocean (with his brand new SCUBA certificate en poche), wearing his Indiana Jones hat (passed down from his father) under the scorching daytime sun of distant archeological digs and debating the mysteries of time and space - in English, in French or in any language born of mutual comprehension - at night. 

Another family member that will miss him

My son, I know that you will be kind, loving and generous whilst living your adventures. 

Ah yes, I see that smile in your eyes and hear the rising chortle that precedes your quip in response. And, in translation, I know that it is saying, "It's ok, Mum. I've got this." 

Cold, wind-blown, but special walk in the mountains

"You can't live in that" and straying from the best path

My husband was away so there was no calling out for help. Not that it would have made a scrap of difference if he had been within cooee*. We were stuck in traffic with ten kilometres to go. That doesn't sound like a lot and on any normal day it wouldn't be, but it was no ordinary day. This final year of secondary school for my son Noah has required him to navigate a labyrinth of challenges and yesterday was his penultimate exam in his favourite subject, physics, (no, not French); the one to which he had strategically devoted the maximum amount of study time.

I had already dropped one child at the bus stop and, given that it was pouring with rain, had seen firsthand that the roads were clogged. Ten minutes later, Noah and I were in the car en route to his physics exam with a theoretical good hour up our sleeves. A cheery 'hello' wave to my neighbour and we were off.

We didn't even make it out of our street before there was a build up of traffic. I made a quick decision to vary our usual trajet ... straight into roadworks, onto a mind-numbingly slow 30 kilometre-per-hour school zone, and into three lanes of traffic at a complete standstill.

"Look at the flag on the hill. Shows how strong the wind is," said Noah, oblivious to my rising stress level.

Five minutes crawled along with us a few metres up the road. 

I was desperate to not communicate my anxiety, but wringing my hands and rubbing my eyes (to wipe away the unchanging scene?) was no doubt a less-than-ideal way to do that. 

The strange thing is I had guessed that something would go wrong on this particularly important day for my son. After all, nothing else has gone right this year for him.

But, let me tell you about another mistake that I made. I laugh now but at the time the only thing I could think to do was to hit the 'leave group' button...quickly.

You see, the best place to advertise one of my dresses for sale was not to the FB group 'Rent your maison long term in France'.

"Ha ha. You can't live in that..." and probably worse, but I didn't wait around to read the rest of the comments.

Oh well, today I am sitting in my garage holding a vide-grenier. So far, I've 'sold' one item (for free) to my daughter and it is the curtain of rain that is keeping me company. And, I forgot to post about my Amazon Countdown promotion, yesterday, which would have given readers a chance to purchase 'But you are in France, Madame' for a scant .99c. 

At least, I have nowhere to be, I have a soundtrack to my writing and a hot cup of coffee beside me. 

It's the small things. 

And the big things. 

I did get Noah to his exam on time, kissed him 'goodbye,' wished him good luck, saw him walk around the corner and burst into tears. 

*Australian vernacular - nearby