A Rainy Day in Normandy

Last evening there was quite a thunderstorm which continued into the wee hours. This morning when I opened the curtains, the sky was a low and featureless gray and the soft rain had been falling long enough to form a giant puddle directly in front of our doorstep.

We have been in Europe for two months now and, hard as it may be to believe, this is only the second day we've had actual rain. That first rainy day in Evora, Portugal, Al asked the desk clerk at the hotel where we might buy an umbrella. In response, he was given one that boasts the hotel's logo and which we have never needed to use since the downpour ceased before we finished breakfast.

Although the past few days have seen temperatures near 90 even here on the coast, you can tell that it rains a lot in Normandy. It reminds us of where we grew up, in Washington State. Everything is green, green, green and the hedgetrimmers, weedwhackers and mowing machines are in constant use to ensure that the roads, paths and squares are not choked by the rampant growth. The lilacs are past their prime, although we've been told that they are usually in bloom on D-Day and that the British veterans speak of smelling their fragrance during the invasion. The roses and peonies are in full bloom and every village has groomed its municipal flower beds immaculately. Flower baskets adorn window ledges and lamp posts alike. The annual plants are familiar ones but the perennial borders are full of species that I can't identify even though I used to be quite a gardener when I could still bend over.

Every French home with a little bit of ground has its vegetable garden. I have yet to see a weed among the potatoes, peas, parsley, lettuce and artichokes. If there is not space for even a square meter of garden, then one must rent a plot in the community garden, side by side with your neighbor who is no doubt comparing his plot with yours since each of them seems to be ready for judging in some obscure competition. One used to hear the stereotype that the French are a nation of shopkeepers, but today it looks more like they all aspire to be truck farmers.

The last time we were here, it was September and the crops had all been harvested but now we can enjoy driving down the farm roads and inspecting the state of the crops. The corn has grown visibly since we've been here and some of the grass-type grain crops look ready for harvesting, the heads bowed down heavily. One crop I could identify is one I had never seen before, but when you see a field of flax in bloom, the literary image of flax-blue eyes pops right into mind. Production of this raw material from which linen fabric is made is widespread in this region and the lovely blue fields add a welcome note to the palette of green, yellow and tan created by the other crops.

This being Normandy, there are also cows everywhere, doing their best to produce cream and butter for the rest of France. We've been sampling the regional specialities and cheese is high on the list. I've decided that Livarot is a bit strong for my taste and that Pont L'Eveque is perhaps a bit tame. What is perfect, of course, is Camembert, but any Frenchman could have told you that up front. What a shame that we have so little time because there is to much to learn about the art of ripening the cheese to the exact point at which it is perfect. Alas, one can only eat so much.

For the past two weeks we've had a kitchen and I've been doing simple cooking as an alternative to always eating out. Our village has a daily fish market, a group of stalls down by the harbor, where the catch from the previous night is sold. Some days there might only be one stall open, other days as many as six. The fish are generally whole and many of them are pretty scary looking. I recognize a couple of the species but most of them are a mystery. I bought a couple of pieces of what turned out to be whiting when I got back to my dictionary. Cooked with good Normandy cream, some shallots and a little white wine it was pretty darn good.

We have also tried the local oysters and mussels. For two euros you can buy enough mussels to feed two people, so of course we bought a lot. Easy to cook, just a little white wine and butter, and just as delicious as well as much cheaper than in the restaurant. However, I'm here to tell you that I've finally eaten enough mussels, something I never thought I'd say. Now, if I can only find some more of those tiny scallops which cost about two euros to feed two, I could work on eating too many of those.

If I don't feel like cooking, all we have to do is go to the local hyper-market for take-out. Last night we bought a lovely dish made of rabbit and sausage in a sauce that contained carrots, leeks and something else that made it absolutely scrumptious. I've never seen that at my local supermarket.