by Caro Feely
Half an hour. One hour. My partner in impatience organised for a friend to fetch her son and give him dinner. I got up and did some stretches.
'I'm so hungry,' she said. She rose and bought a cup of soup from the machine that had been humming intermittently at my side.
About 20 minutes later, I succumbed and bought a 50-cent tomato soup from the machine too. It was horrible but I was desperate. I hadn't thought to drink water after tennis and there was no sign of a water fountain in the A & E waiting room.
At one and a half hours, I got up and did more stretches. If I ever returned I would bring a book and a snack pack.
At two hours, I decided to go home and come back when he was ready.
I rang the intercom.
'It's Madame Feely, the wife of the man who cut his hand.'
'He's arriving,' said the nurse.
After another 15 minutes, my partner in impatience said, 'Well, he's arriving sometime tonight.'
We both laughed hard, the humour easing our worry.
'I hear a voice. I think it's my husband,' she said.
The door opened. It was Seán. She and I laughed again, and Seán looked at me quizzically, his left hand bandaged thick and held up like he was giving us a very large one-finger salute.
'Ah, bad luck for me,' said the blonde.
'I hope it isn't too long,' I said. 'Good luck to your husband for a fast recovery.'
'Thank you and to you too,' she said.
I held the door open for Seán. He passed through and we walked to the car.
'How many stitches?' I said.
'Seven.'
I guffawed. '"Just a little cut, nothing to worry about. We could just tape it closed."'
'I don't think he really needed to put the last one in,' said Seán defensively.
I laughed even harder; a little from euphoria that Seán was OK and a little from the absurdity of his comments.
'Still, as a way of getting out of doing the winemaking it's going a bit far,' I said.
Seán smiled.
Fortunately he had just finished all the winemaking steps that were required before bottling otherwise I would have been back in there like I was in our first year. I thanked my lucky stars. I wouldn't know which end of a barrel was up after years of Seán doing all of that part of the business on his own.
Then we were home. The girls had shared a jar of organic baked beans for supper. Seán went to lock up the chickens with Ellie helping since he only had one hand. Sophia let her friends know the latest in the drama via social media. It was way past their bedtime but on nights like this – that would go down in family memory – that didn't matter.
I decided to cook fried eggs, comfort food. Our chickens were well settled and we were back to enjoying the self-sufficiency they added to our lives. Sheep were still a way off.
I placed the eggs on rough slices of organic bread made from heritage wheat grown by an organic farmer up the road and a side of purslane and chicory – two salads that had made it through winter, with a dressing of local sunflower oil and cider vinegar. The bread was a find by Cécile that had quickly become a favourite with guests on our wine tours. It was nutty and satisfying, a world away from industrial bread.
We lifted our glasses and did cheers in the family way.
'To health,' I said.
'To health' echoed round the table.
'My friend Lauren's mum had a heart palpitation in her sleep,' said Sophia, following that train of thought. 'She could have died. She nearly died before when she had cancer on her kidneys. That's when you realise the most important thing is your health.'
'You are so right, Sophia,' I said.
'So when people complain that organic is too expensive they only need to think about that. Once you have cancer it is too late,' she added.
I could not have said it better myself.
'That egg is so good,' said Seán.
'A feast. So simple and such flavour,' I added.
'Well done for keeping calm, Sophia,' said Seán. 'You were so cool in the crisis.'
'I thought you said it wasn't a crisis?' I said.
We all laughed.
'When I came in I thought Papa was going to ask me to wash beetroot – the basin in the sink was so full of red,' said Sophia.
I pictured it and it took me back to when Seán slashed his arm on the vine trimmer, another accident that happened in our first year. There was so much blood trailed through the kitchen and in the sink that I kept having to sit down and put my head between my legs to stop myself from passing out.
'And well done to both of you for getting on and having your supper and getting ready for bed,' I said.
'Well done, Mum, for not having a TSA,' said Sophia.
TSA was her latest saying, as in 'Total Stress Attack' – what mums did when their kids forgot their school bag and they were already at the bus stop or when their husband chopped off his finger.
Aideen and Barry O'Brien, our friends from Dublin, arrived for their Easter holiday that coincided with helping with our annual bottling. With bottling complete, they moved my office out to the tasting room. It felt like freedom, like when I took my duvet cover back from the Cottage. Moving the office out of our living space to the business area gave us back a little of our personal life; part of finding balance. I bought an office chair, one that had proper back support, to replace the old wicker chair that had travelled the world with us.
Perimenopause had been akin to the phase of conversion to organic that I called the 'valley of despair'. When we started the organic conversion and stopped the chemicals it was like 'cold turkey' for the vines. They were weak and susceptible; the mycorrhizae had not had time to build in the soil and their immunity was weak. It took three years for them to make the transition. I was into my third year of transition and I was approaching the other side: my hormonal balance was coming back. My dreams about dying had stopped. I hadn't punched a table top in more than a year. My periods had stopped. I was close to, if not at, the other side.
Sophia and Ellie announced that they had sleepovers with friends and would both be out the same evening.
'Date night for us then?' I said to Seán.
Despite our best intentions, time and money constraints meant the last time we had had a date night was on the truffling weekend almost four years before.
'Maybe,' said Seán.
Spring had been cold and wet but the day dawned with perfect sunshine and a fresh breeze. We packed our daughters off to the respective friends.
'So should we go out?' I asked.
'No, let's stay in,' said Seán. 'I picked up our organic beef box and I have two steaks in the fridge. If you do the starter I'll do the main.'
'Deal,' I said.
I set a small table for two with tablecloth, cloth napkins and candles, angled to take advantage of the magnificent view in our salon. The setting and table looked idyllic and romantic. Satisfied with my decorative efforts, I returned to the kitchen where Seán had music playing and cooking preparations under way.
While I made herbed goat's cheese toasts for our starter, Seán's knife flashed through spinach and onions fresh from the garden. We found the music of Sophie B. Hawkins online, a CD we had fallen in love to. Her erotic lyrics were backed by smoky rock, perfect music for a date night. 'California, Here I Come' started playing as I poured glasses of Sauvignon Blanc, a Californian biodynamic wine made under the advice of Philippe Coderey, a friend we met in Santa Cruz who had passed by to visit a couple of months before bearing it as a gift. It was delicious, balanced with good acidity and a roundness we didn't usually find on Sauvignon Blanc in France.
With wine and goat's cheese in hand, we chatted, looking intermittently on to the breathtaking view and into each other's eyes. It was the first time in years that we had had an evening together and talked about things that were not to do with the business or immediate day-to-day concerns. Our conversation flowed through current affairs, new adventures, dreams.
/> Seán served the organic steak pan-fried to perfection with a side of homegrown spinach and beans, and I poured us each a glass of our no-sulphites-added Grâce red wine. We soaked in the moment, the exceptional food, the view on to the vineyard and Seán's bountiful potager, the music.
I felt like scales had been lifted off my eyes, like I was seeing Seán clearly for the first time in ages. He was still the man I had fallen in love with. We chatted into the night, candles burning and lights twinkling in the valley, enjoying each other's company like we had when we first fell in love. After being missing for most of the perimenopause, my libido returned. The valley of despair was officially over – perhaps Seán had slipped a little truffle aphrodisiac into the sauce.
I could see why so many long relationships broke up around this point. Menopause was a tough transition. We had to keep reinventing ourselves to keep us and our relationship strong. Seán was the love of my life, the only shoe that fit. I could not imagine growing out of him but it was frightening how close we had come to tearing apart. We had so much shared history, so much shared happiness together, a family, a life.
Each morning I rose at 5.45 a.m., went downstairs and did two salutations to the sun and the Five Tibetans. Seán was usually up with the dawn with me, out doing handwork in the vineyard and the potager before the heat of the day. We kissed each other hello instead of passing like two strangers. After our greeting I took my tea and crossed the courtyard, the crunch of the gravel under my feet, my eyes turned heavenwards to marvel at the sky. Earlier in the spring the brilliance of the stars was exceptional; I saw formations and clusters I had never noticed.
As the days grew longer, I watched the ever-changing sunrise and saw Seán's evolving garden and vines in a different light every day. We debated options long and hard. We weren't earning what we could have in the city but we were stewards of the land; we were taking care of a small part of the earth, and each year we saw progress that filled us with hope and joy.
Like any work there were days where we felt down, like it was an uphill battle, but we were making a difference to this earth where we had rooted and to the people that came in contact with our passion for organic wine and organic farming. Our plans were evolving: we were looking at ways to increase our self-sufficiency and at equipment that would ease Seán's work in the winery. Sophia started giving Seán lessons to improve his French grammar. The inspirational vineyards we had seen in South Africa had sparked new ideas for our vineyard and wine tourism. I wanted to share our passion for organic beyond our farm gate and to do more writing. With intense debate we were working out what we wanted to do. We hadn't found the perfect balance yet but we felt renewed energy for what we were doing and we had reignited our passion for each other. I had a feeling our vineyard adventures were far from over.
MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR
Reading this book you will have realised that I am passionate about organic and how critical it is to choose organic and to grow local food. Each of us can make change happen. We don't have time to wait for governments to legislate it. We can do it ourselves by making informed choices every day. If no one buys chemically grown food farmers will stop producing it and will turn to organic methods.
Over the coming years, I wish to share my passion beyond our farm, to do more outreach, more book festivals and book tours. If you would like me to chat with your book club online or if you wish to host a local event, please get in touch at [email protected]. I also invite you to join our mailing list at www.chateaufeely.com, to like Chateau Feely on www.facebook.com/chateaufeely and follow me on Twitter @CaroFeely, where I regularly share information about farming, ecology and how we can make a difference.
You can find out more about our certified organic and biodynamic vineyard at www.chateaufeely.com, our walking tours and wine school at www.frenchwineadventures.com and our accommodation at www.luxurydordognegites.com.
I look forward to seeing you online, in the Dordogne or beyond. Thank you for joining me on this journey.
À bientôt et merci,
Caro
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A memoir is a personal journey, a way of making sense of the past, so my biggest thank you goes to my family, Seán, Sophia and Ellie, for their participation in this adventure and for supporting me in sharing these intimate portraits of our lives – from my perspective bien sûr. Seán says I write great fiction.
Thank you to our family: my mum and dad, Cliff and Lyn Wardle; Dad Feely; the Bristow family; my sister Jacquie and brother Garth. Thank you also to the friends that are part of this story: Thierry and Isabelle Daulhiac, Pierre and Laurence de St Viance, Antoine Mariau, Dave and Amanda Moore, Ian, Brigit and Chiara Wilson, Chris and Dave Drake, Fearn and Andrea King, and Cécile Rousseau.
An important thank you to the team at Summersdale and particularly to Claire Plimmer, Robert Drew, Madeleine Stevens, Nicky Douglas and Lizzie Curtin.
Last but not least, thank you to my readers for reading my books. A special thank you to readers who have written to me over the years – your emails and letters have provided great motivation to keep writing.
GRAPE EXPECTATIONS
A Family's Vineyard Adventure in France
Caro Feely
ISBN: 978 0 85765 715 2 (ePub), 978 0 85765 714 5 (Mobi)
'Delicious.' I licked my lips. The wine filled me with joy. A picture of a vineyard drenched in sunlight formed in my mind. Sean drew me rudely back to the lounge of our semi-d.
'How can they be in liquidation if they make wine this good?'
When Caro and Sean find the perfect ten-hectare vineyard in Saussignac, it seems their dreams of becoming wine-makers in the south of France are about to come true. But they arrive in France with their young family (a toddler and a newborn) to be faced with a dilapidated eighteenth-century farmhouse and an enterprise that may never, ever make them a living.
Undeterred by mouse infestations, a leaking roof, treacherous hordes of insects, visits from the local farm 'police' and a nasty accident with an agricultural trimmer, Caro and Sean set about transforming their 'beyond eccentric' winery into a successful business as they embark on the biggest adventure of their lives – learning to make wine from the roots up.
SAVING OUR SKINS
Building a Vineyard Dream in France
Caro Feely
ISBN: 978 1 78372 209 9 (ePub), 978 1 78372 208 2 (Mobi)
Frost can be fatal to a fledgling wine business... gorgeous glitter with a high price tag. On a winter's day it is beautiful, but on a spring day after bud burst it spells devastation. For Sean and Caro Feely, a couple whose love affair with wine and France has taken them through financial and physical struggle to create their organic vineyard, it could spell the end. Until they receive an unexpected call that could save their skins…
This book is about life, love and taking risks, while transforming a piece of land into a flourishing vineyard and making a new life in France.
WINE
The Essential Guide to Tasting, History, Culture and More
Caro Feely
ISBN: 978 1 78372 683 7 (ePub), 978 1 78372 682 0 (Mobi)
'Wine is sunlight, held together by water.'
Galileo Galilei
No other beverage has created the excitement and emotion that wine has over its vast history. It fills our mouths with flavour and our hearts with joy. It's also a subject whose complexities can be baffling and mysterious to the uninitiated – but wine expert Caro Feely is here to unveil all the secrets of this most marvellous drink.
Packed with engaging anecdotes, fascinating history and a wealth of information on the world of wine, this miscellany is perfect for any wine fan, from the expert to the casual drinker. So let's raise a glass to the red, the white and the rosé!
À LA MOD
My So-Called Tranquil Family Life in Rural France
Ian Moore
ISBN: 978 0 85765 907 1 (ePub), 978 0 85765 906 4 (Mobi)
Comedian, mod and professional gru
mp Ian Moore has had enough.
Tired of being unable to park anywhere near his cramped house in a noisy town he doesn't like, he hatches a plan to move his wife and young son to a remote corner of the Loire Valley in search of serenity and space.
Several years later, Ian finds himself up to his neck in bilingual offspring, feral cats, promiscuous horses, dysfunctional spaniels and needy hens; he's wrestling with electric fences, a foreign language, a mountain of animal waste and a wife who collects livestock like there's a biblical flood on the horizon, all while trying not to dirty his loafers.
