I confess. I am not a gardener. But I do love to look.

Likewise I am a sometime cook, more a voyeur of delectable cookbooks and garden books than a get your hands dirty kind of gal. Imagined pleasures without the toil, dirty fingernails and calories.

Thus, I love experiencing gardens, potagers or parks, it matters not to me. My point of view is delighted ignorance. I know virtually no common plant names, let alone the Latin cousins. Its the looking I love, the transcendant pleasure of losing oneself on a path shimmering in beautiful light.

If one is lucky enough to know someone with a lovely private French garden, take the late afternoon leisure of stroll with apero, and count your blessings. If one is passing through with guidebook in hand, be sure to visit three of our notable treasures: Manoir d’Eyrignac, which I believe Michelin now rates as worth a detour, Jardin d’Imaginaire, another wonder with a surprise at every turn, and lastly Jardin Marquessac, whose elegant simplicity gives new meaning to the scent of boxwood, not to mention views to chateaux and castles to die for.

The marvelous thing about all three of these gardens, and this coming from one who possesses a young pup’s enthusiasm mixed with sheer ignorance, is that each is completely unique and splendid in its own in character. Pas the formality one would associate with historical French landscape, yet each making a very strong, compelling impression. Don’t think Louis XIV as that is not what you will find here, although two have historical roots. Each is so imaginative, and so different from the other, that your visual palette is bound to be inspired, even if you are like me, and just like to look.

I’ll take transcendant green magic anytime. Et vous??

(originally written 23 April, 2006)

When that heaven scented baguette gets stale, which it naturally does within 24 hours of purchase, what does one do with the remaining half or quarter? Its a dilemna. The neighbors no doubt, devoured their baguette at lunch (and would not be caught dead with a dried out speciman for their next repast). They will be going right back down to the village for another, fresh loaf later in the day and I for one want to run right back the hill with them. I can’t help it! I might miss something.

How can I rationalize not finishing this loaf which just hours ago held so much promise, but now seems so dull? And that wonderful artisanal butter from the market. It won’t be tasting that wonderful on a sad old loaf as this surely will be before the sun rises demain matin.

So it’s a problem. Too much of a good thing. That’s the problem with France. Not nasty rude people. Surely not. Could not be more polite and helpul. No, the problem is my inner glutton. And the countless mouthwatering distractions. I confess. I want fresh bread at every turn. I am attached to the outcome. Fresh bread, daily, at every meal. Can you blame me?

That’s a lot of driving up and down the hill. Ah but what a drive, which route, by the river or over the hill and then again, which boulangerie should I go to? Walnut bread or Crustillot? Ficelle or Baguette?

And then of course, the morning croissant. Oh, but that’s only for Sundays! OOOhhhh, how about a chocolatine for breakfast. Mmmmm, what to do?

I can’t decide, so this will have to be continued later…..

(originally written 11 April, 2006)

Walking up the chemin de service, or tractor trail early this morning, I glance back over my left shoulder and grind to a halt in awe. The barn is completely engulfed in a divine spotlight, the shimmering early morning sun framing it perfectly.

“This is just too much Slaine. Come on, I have to go back and get the camera” But she wants nothing to do with my serendipity and digs in her heels as only an Irish can. “Vite, Vite, Slaine, please!” But NO GO!

After some serious bribery in the form of promised cookies, we turn around and I go back and grab the camera. By the time this mini drama has ended, a good 7-10 minutes have elapsed. And when I reach what I thought was again the pinnacle of divinity, I can’t find the exact spot. And of course, the illusive magical light has shifted.

At first I am frustrated. Then I realize, no matter. I saw it. I felt it. I was in the moment and present for the gift, glorious and fleeting, but so memorable.

(originally written 3 April, 2006)

The moutons up the hill are completely preoccupied with their craft. Munching constantly as they root forward, they are creating trodden paths in the newly emerging grass. Their glissened pathways are made more apparent by the early morning frost here at the end of March.

(originally written 29 March, 2006)

After one week of clear clear air and arresting blue sky, everything almost sweet in its intoxication, I find each morning when I open the shutters, that I am almost in shock by the simple quiet beauty that is unfolding daily in front of my eyes. Boy are we lucky. And just wait until the guests get here. I can hardly wait to see their expressions.

(originally written 4 April, 2006)

It’s been less than 24 hours. And this is apparent. I never really left. And either did Slaine. That dark New England winter. I just imagined it. A bad dream. That lack of color, those blues and grays, surely an illusion.

HERE, hillsides dotted with great gobs of egg yolk yellow. March 27th, and the forsythia are shouting from every coin. My tulips are six inches tall! When did this happen?

Closing the shutters for the very first evening at 9 pm, I breathe in the sweet scents of grass and mouton. All matter of baby bahhing, as I am gently reminded, yes pinch me, I am here, I am here, I am here! I am present on many levels here in the verdant paradise once again.

On my very first full day, all the neighbors up and down the hill, stop to say hi. “We saw the lights. We knew you were back. Et le chien? Ca va?”

My first stop on the drive down from Michel and Marie France’s house is at Bio Vital, in Brive, my favorite organic grocery shop. Weary and bleary eyed, I want to make sure I have some decent nourishment having missed Bernard and Luc at the Friday Souillac market. A whole week to wait for those wonderful repasts.

I buy something I don’t even love, namely broccoli. But if broccoli can create rapture, then this is it. I have never tasted steamed broccoli with this sweet flavor. La terre. This effusive French earth. It permeates and influences everything; families, food, culture. I see it here on my own hillside.

I turn in knowing that this is the first of many early mornings and sunset wonders that soon await me. Nascent spring, March.

Happiness permeates my jetlagged body. Here’s what I know though. It does not get any better than this.

(originally written March 27, 2006)

As I settle in to my rentree after 3 magical months in France, I watched on the Today show, the last two mornings, segments on special vacation ideas women can take with their friends, siblings or mothers. I can tell you, if you are especially sick of the wet soggy weather in the East, then there is no better place to enjoy a long languid spring or fall than the Perigord (Lot and Dordogne).

I would like to remind you that if you want to create your very own memorable trip, nesting in a castle or wonderful private home away from home, we can tailor make a special experience for you and yours, just to your tastes and likings. Or, sign up for one of our organized programs. There is loads of opportunity within the structure of each program to create time and space for your own interests.

TWO wonderful aspects of spring in the area, for which we can thank mother nature, include, a very early beginning to the season and long long days of daylight. When I left my little coin, my neighbors and I were taking our evening stroll together and parting company, in daylight, at 10:15 pm. Walking around the house, viewing the valley as I closed each shutter and noting the time as 10:40 was nothing short of amazing.

So if private market tours, garden tours, golf, massage and wellness, secret and special walks or hikes lead by those in the know, painting, collage, making fois gras, you name it, appeal, then challenge us and we will make it happen for you.

Watch this space for my latest blog entries, written as spring was unfolding in this perfectly temperatured setting.

The region never ceases to amaze me, and I can guarantee you the same. The look of delight and awe upon my guest’s faces as we turned corners to see new and wonderful sights always confirms what I hold dear to my heart. This is a very special place- simple, still magic!

Come and see for yourself

Last night, here in the Berkshires, the wind howled like no one’s business. Frankly it was almost scary. It felt great to hunker down in the bed with my nightly reading materials. I was amazed that my house was not shaking. Having stood the test of time since c. 1810, those ol’ post and beams have seen it all, I guess.

Its very cold here today, and the color palette remains lacking, or better put, positively half full, but limited. Gray, brown, white. Stiff neck drinking in the gift of blue sky today. It’s crazy how the eyes almost atrophy from the lack of color.

I showed yoga teacher Karen some 8×10’s from the region yesterday. She remarked as many have, how wonderful the images are. Incredible subjects inspire, would be my guess.

What I notice is the fact that there is such a richness in tone and color- such a saturation. I look at them and feel nourished- like the blood orange I just ate- ping of color, zest of excitement. Its almost time to go back, to get my eyes moving again. to build that head of steam, to suck in every nuance of the landscape. Its been really great to have these photos to infuse me these wintery months.Being mindful of when and where I took them, cements the imagery and the feelings.

Soon I will again return and reawake with the overflow of spring invention. I will commit these to pixels while walking with Slaine.

I can hardly wait.Taking photographs completely relaxes me. Very much like meditation. Everything in me changes as I focus in. Colorful nourishment.

With so many people remarking that I should make these images available for sale, I am working on just that. If you would be interested in purchasing them, a way to set your intentions for coming and experiencing for yourself, please do send an email to: info@metavacances.com . They will be nominally priced, with the intent of sharing an intention. I think if you look at them enough, you too will soon be sitting in this wondrous landscape. Just have to get the web program functioning. Please be patient and let me know your thoughts.

When you least expect it, gifts appear. While learning about blogs and wanting to see what others write while thinking of France, I came across two lovely sites. They have quickly become part of my daily smile factor. Julian Merrow-Smith, a wonderful painter, living in Provence with his equally talented cellist/writer wife Ruth, were, I thought, my very own little cyber space secret. That is, until last Thursday, when Julian had his 15 minutes of fame, in time zones, too many to conjure, all across the US and on line.

A lovely little piece in the New York Times, featuring his work and its means of distribution via cyber space, put the Phillips/Merrow-Smith household a bit on its ear. New found clamor from a larger adoring cyber space audience found its way to their in boxes, hourly, in mind boggling numbers.

It was interesting for me to observe this instant fame unfold. Prior to Thursday, one could look at Julian’s paintings at a dreamy pace. Now, within seconds of receiving Postcards From Provence in my in box, the daily said object of my affection is quickly sold. And sadly, those whose fingers are not as quick, seem to be more disgruntled with the idea that they can not possess, than with the joy, that they can delight.

Finally, after reading enough of these, my meditative ephiphanies from France, practicing yoga and sitting on the hillside in stillness, floated to the surface. I put in a blog comment about attachment as a cause of suffering- a basic Buddhist tenet. Whereas it’s probably 5:1 disgruntled would-be patron to the “oh, I get it” viewer, I hope more people will understand the nature of the “you’ve got mail”serendipity, and just enjoy. And let the man create!

Lucky me, with many serendipities. Were it not for the calmness I gain from yoga and meditation practice, I could not see the difference. Were it not for my passion for France and the above, I would not I have thought to create metavacances. And were it not for my toe in the water of blogdom, I would not have found the Phillips/Merrow- Smith’s wonderful offerings.

Serendipity indeed.

And have a look for yourself. Just take a deep breath and enjoy!

meanwhilehereinfrance.com and shiftinglight.com