Gerberoy

Dear Mother,

One brochure on the Oise recommended visiting the very small medieval village Gerberoy.  We were sort of toying with the idea of visiting it, but then a talkative lady at the "Press" (where you get newspapers) really talked it up with me, so we decided to visit.  It was a winner.  Destroyed by war and plague, an artist finally became aware of it and led the way to giving it new life.  In part, the village became renown for all its roses.  We arrived just at the end of the rose season, partly because the extraordinarily warm spring pushed vegetation's schedules ahead noticeably.  I will do more with my photos when I get home, but here are a few for now.

We parked our car just outside the village, wrongly assuming parking would be impossible in the village, but the day was quiet, with only the occasional busload of elderly tourists hobbling about.  The walk from the grassy parking field offered a nice view of the gentle valley, and of course some roses.

One farmer had a nice vineyard with his old wine press in the uppermost corner, ready for action this fall.  Gravity will likely help the process of filtration.

A number of buildings still need work, and I can imagine that much of the village looked like this in the mid 1800s before the artists and retirees arrived.

One farm on the edge of the village is still active, reminding me that this was once a village of farmers.  We were intrigued by the variety of chickens in the courtyard, wondering what the differences might be between the various breeds.  Since Janice once had a pet chicken, I was obligated to take a photo here.

I did not get to visit the former castle site (now a rose garden) because it was closed that particular day (a recurring theme this spring).  It was usually too windy to take useful photos of individual flowers by houses, though I did manage one after several tries.

I spent some time around the old church and its grounds, just above the old village wall.  This gave a nice view of the roofs.  I had not seen other villages cover the sides of house peaks with tiles, but it seems practical, especially if one is not fond of painting.

There were quite a few half-timbered homes, which are fascinating with their patterns and climbing roses seemingly growing right out of the sidewalk.

By now, the revived village is awash with vegetation of all kinds, which softens the stone homes and walls.

 

I also briefly enjoyed the quiet village church, but it was soon overrun with tourists, so I had little opportunity to get clear shots.  The pews are quite short, wide enough for two adults to sit comfortably and it will accommodate a family if they are willing to be crowded.  Presumably one rents a pew for the year.  The doors would keep toddlers within reach, let the adults control traffic in and out, and prevent drafts from disturbing your feet.

The weather has been changing constantly today.  Janice has been taking laundry in and out, in and out, trying to get it dry.  I am finally caught up on putting labels/numbers/cards on the newly-catalogued books, and there is quite a stack.  I made some osso bucco (braised veal shanks) for Sunday evening when there will be two guests at the Centre, Yves (with whom Janice works two days a week) and Philippe (Sociology professor associated with the Centre).  It will be Fathers Day in France, so I'm cooking for myself and the other Fathers.  This evening we are serving duck confit to Neal--straight from an enormous can which has 4 fat duck legs already cooked and just about ready to go.  I will then do the sliced potatoes in the duck fat, which will be a real treat.  Add one of Janice's salads, some fresh strawberries with Hagan Daz vanilla ice cream (on sale) followed by a cheese-and-baguette course, and the evening starts to look promising.

With love from us both,
Evan