The old blanket chest

At one of my many visits to the nearby dechetterie (tip) at Nicole, I spied this old trunk, painted a dirty brown and looking neglected amongst the mountain of broken pallets and rotting boards.

After scraping the paint off, I could see the chest was made of what looked like Baltic pine.

The interior was papered.

The trunk was sanded in preparation for finishing. I removed the inside paper.

The pale pine was stained to match our decor, particularly the ancient, oak beams and wooden doors in our living room.

I applied a traditional finish of linseed oil, beeswax and turpentine.

Once a discarded relic, the century-old trunk now boasts a new life as our coffee table.

The bench at the bottom of the garden

Ever since we moved into Ellesmere, I've wanted to have a bench on which to sit and enjoy our garden.

I soon discovered the cost of a new one was prohibitive.

So I kept an eye out at vide greniers (garage sales) for a used one.

At a local brocante (old wares) shop, I spotted a rusted, broken-down old bench. I quite liked the style.

It had cast-iron ends with wooden slats.

It was in very poor condition so I got it at a good price.

I dismantled it ... discarded the decayed and broken slats and began the painstaking task of removing all the white paint.

I also had to remove the rust from the ironwork and cut new seating slats. I kept the three back-support slats.

Once the cast-iron ends and back-support slats were cleaned and the new base slats cut, the bench was ready to finish. By "finish", I mean spraying the metal with black paint and oiling the timber slats.

Finally, the piece was finished and ready to install in the garden.

I placed it under the lime tree, by the many heuchera and hellebores, looking back over the pool towards the house.

There is something deeply satisfying about a garden bench, where you can sit calmly and contemplate the beauty and tranquillity of the garden.

 

Flowers galore

Cliona and I will be forever in the debt of the artist responsible for the palette of colour around Ellesmere.

At the beginning of her ten-year tenure, Nicole Negrello designed the garden and chose the plantings.

We bought the house from the Negrellos a year ago.

In these wondrous and warming Spring days, it is such a pleasure just walking around the yard.

The irises are nothing short of magnificent. They are like some kind of intricate, papier-mache creation.

And there are the roses, of course.

And myriad other blooms ...

a humble bumble bee feeding on a rabbit's ear

like a supernova

deep-throated pink

Uncle Jack's grave

I never knew my uncle Jack, who was a bomber pilot in the Second World War.

He was shot down whilst returning from a raid over Germany in the early hours of 2 June, 1942.

There was a crew of six in the Wellington that crashed that night near the village of Estinnes au Mont, in Belgium.

Flight Sergeant Jack Walsh was the skipper .... three Australians and two Englishmen made up the rest of the crew.

Last month, on the day before Anzac Day, I visited Jack's grave in Charleroi, Belgium.

The day was bleak and cold. The sky was overcast.

We easily located the Commonwealth War Graves section of the Charleroi communal cemetery but it took almost ten minutes to find the headstones of the six airmen.

Two ravens flew overhead and made an ugly, mournful sound.

Light rain began to fall.

I had brought no bouquet of flowers but my friend Hedley gave me a commemorative poppy lapel pin to place at Jack's grave.

It was a moving experience.

The attrition rate of bomber crews was such that Uncle Jack had written to my mother (his sister) in fatalistic terms.

John Francis Walsh was just 22 years old.

Everywhere I look

I see flowers and shrubs coming to life .... in all their splendid colours.

apple blossom

unknown flower

unknown

lily of the valley

crab apple

lilac

unknown

raspberry cream rose

coral

unknown

cherries forming

Medoc opens its doors

We travelled to the Medoc region, north of Bordeaux, for its annual chateaux open-door weekend.

This is an opportunity to have a chateaux experience without the need to book.

On Saturday, we checked into our hotel on the waterfront at Pauillac, as heavy rain clouds drenched and emptied the streets.

I'd imagined a bustling, tourist hot-spot. Instead, it was a tired, grey town with a worrying number of defunct businesses, such as the Yachting Hotel on the main strip.

Following advice obtained at Pauillac's brilliant tourist office, we took the road to St-Estèphe and stopped at the unassuming Chateau Chantecler.

Its owner, an urbane, well-groomed man his early 40's, grows grapes on just one hectare of land.

Yannick Mirande doesn't make a lot of wine. But what he does make is sensational.

A stylish and artistic nook at Chateau Chantecler

Yannick Mirande 

At his stylish cellar door, with its massive marble table, there were two millésimes (vintages) to taste.

For a wine not yet out of the barrel, the 2018 Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend showed remarkable character and balance.

He told us if we wanted it, it would be available later this year. Instead we opted for the 2016, which he assured us would age as well if not better than its successor.

After the tasting, Yannick showed a group of us his collection of vintage cars and motorbikes in a garage on the premises.

The collection was supposed to be out on display but the rain had killed that idea.

miniatures

Amilcar 1926

A rather old Ford, in reasonable condition

A Peugeot from a bygone era

We toured the garage with an avuncular old man from Brittany and a rather suave, well-heeled German couple in their mid-sixties.

Despite a number of guests in the tasting room, Yannick agreed to a photo outside his cellar door.

From Chateau Chantecler we went on to Chateau Le Crock and Chateau Cos Labory.

At the latter, we bought six great wines, four of 2011 and two of 2015 which we plan to cellar for at least five years.

In Pauillac that night, we had dinner in a tapas cafe just off the esplanade.

The lovely lady who served us understood quickly that we were not French and asked, with a disarming smile, if we spoke Spanish. Regretfully, no, I said. We got by in French.

She told us that she and her husband, both Uruguayans, ran the place, him in the kitchen and her  front of house. They are working hard to make a go of things in France. Good luck to them.

Sunday morning ... the town was drenched, this time in sunshine, but it didn't last long. Fog rolled in from the west, over the Girond Estuary.

A ship's foghorn sounded in the distance.

There were lots of people running or walking along the waterfront. They wore numbered singlets so it must have been some kind of organised event.

A bustling vide grenier was well-attended.

We decided to drive to the Atlantic coast and visit Lacanau, before coming back through Castelnau-de-Medoc and continuing our wine tour in and around Margaux.

The majestic exterior of a Margaux chateau

Cellar doors sell more than wine

Brilliant glass and polished wood

We visited Chateaux Ferriere, Lascombes, Prieuré Lichine and Haut Breton Lariguadière.

Our weekend in the Medoc was enjoyable and informative ... we bought a few high-class wines which will be cellared and appreciated down the track.