A Cariad Life

One of my fondest memories growing up was going to visit my grandparents on Emerald Isle, NC–my grandfather was the pastor at Chapel by the Sea, and they lived in a parsonage right next to the pretty white church with a steeple. Every afternoon in the summer, after my grandfather worked at the church (including typing up the weekly bulletin on an old typewriter), he would take my brother and me to the beach–a short three block walk–where we would play in the waves for hours (and help my grandpa find his glasses that he always seemed to lose in the waves.) Afterwards, I loved coming back to the parsonage, taking a cool shower, and having dinner together. Though if you really knew my grandmother, she really just had dinner so that she could have dessert(s). I can’t remember a time that she didn’t set out at least five different types of dessert after our evening meal.

My grandma’s other great love was her roses. My grandpa worked tirelessly to build her a rose garden to the right of the parsonage, between the house and the church. Because the soil was so sandy, he had to bring in dirt and fertilizer to help the roses grow, and my grandma tended to them every day. She had so many colors and varieties, and the scent was so sweet. At dinner, there would always be a jam jar or two with some of her roses in them. Just seeing roses now makes me think of her–here in France and now in May, I think of her all the time.

Little did I know that roses grow everywhere here in our area of France–they climb up the sides of houses, they grow in trellises over garages and alongside fences, they bloom beside front doors–they even grow from cracks in the sidewalks. They come in every color imaginable, are as big as tea saucers, and smell like heaven. My very favorite thing to do lately is to go for a walk with Darrell at twilight and look for them around corners and through courtyards–the scent of the roses at that time of night in particular is intoxicating.

I was so pleased to discover that we also have a rose bush. It has creamy white petals with a very light pink center and is growing from a small patch of dirt next to our garage. I’ve never owned a rose bush in my life because I had always heard they were high maintenance and a bit temperamental–I also thought about all the work my grandparents put into their roses, and although I come from a lineage of amazing gardners, I wasn’t sure I had the “green thumb” to have a rose bush. What I’ve learned here is I don’t have to do anything. It looks like my neighbors don’t have to do anything to their roses either–they just seem to bloom and prosper in this climate, with this soil, and this weather.

We are like that as people too, aren’t we? I think there are places and environments where we just naturally bloom and prosper. It doesn’t mean there are not things that can hinder or destroy us in those places, but that in general, particular places or environments just suit us. I’ve described our days running the B&B, of getting to meet amazing and interesting people on a daily basis, and how I am enjoying this culture that celebrates the art of living–I really love it, and I know it suits me. This past weekend, I was affirmed in that work.

We had a younger French couple and their 13 month old son stay with us for a night. They were so complimentary of the house, the room, and the breakfast, and before they left, the wife shared with me that the French have always been known for creating ambiance and honoring hospitality. She said, “unfortunately, we have begun to lose the importance we have placed on those things in our culture, and here you are, an American here in France, and you show that honor in your home. You are doing it better than the French.” I was almost in tears and thanked her for her incredibly kind words.

As I reflected on that comment this past week, I realized that I have been able to find a bit of my personality, of myself here. I don’t think we will be in France forever–I miss my boys and my family immensely, but at this time of my life, I feel like a rose in France. It’s the perfect place for me, for right now.

I’ve added pictures below of my rose bush–the first set of pictures. The others are roses we have seen on our walks. By the way, my husband is the photographer–he is developing quite an eye!