I shouldn’t be surprised, it being summer, but the heat is making a comeback tour. Just when I had happily settled into seemingly endless mild sunshine, the dial’s been turned up to “scorch”.
Having found a cool spot by the Bourgogne Canal last night, Himself is reluctant to leave. “Why don’t we stay put for the day?” he says. He doesn’t have to ask twice. I’ll take water views and a waft of breeze over belting sun any day.
Seeing no need to hurry, I dial back the morning pace (already slow) to a crawl. Himself, being a morning person meanwhile, bounces around with an indecent amount of energy. “I’ve been up to get a baugette” he announces. “Mmhmm’ from me. “They’re setting up a market next to us”, comes next. Mild interest. I send him out scouting, he returns with farmhouse fresh goats cheese and eggs.
“They have baby bunnies” he says. And just like that, I move into warp speed. All it takes is the magic word. It’s possible I beat him out the door.
And oh my goodness, it wasn’t a ploy to getting me moving, they really do have baby bunnies. Two, quite free range babies, for sale as pets, completely amenable to receiving pats.
When they’re not busy helping out with sales, of course.
There’s nothing quite as gentle or as soft as a bunny. They melt my heart everytime. 🐇🐾 ♥️ Himself can consider it a very lucky escape that we don’t live here. I’d be the very proud owner of two wee buggies if we did.
The market meanwhile is a sheer, if tiny, delight. Local farmers, and those I suspect with just home gardens, have put their efforts on show. There’s home made salami, marrows, wine, the tastiest cherry tomatoes and twirly tiny cucumbers, grown the way nature intended, supermarket inspectors be damned. I fill what little space is left in our fridge and cupboards.
Post market, and a very reluctant farewell to my new bunny buddies, we stroll the canal before the sun come out in force. The reflections are particularly good – there’s barely a breath of wind to stir the waters.
This enormous old boy doesn’t seem too happy though – I suspect he’s not a fan of the heat either.
We pop into the village for a coffee, debating our plans for lunch. Even in a tiny spot like this, there are three restaurants to choose from.
In the end though, come lunch time, it’s too hot to move. And there’s a fridge full of market goodies crying out for attention. Not to mention a fresh baugette.
The afternoon slips away between the covers of books, suspended only to spy on a family of ragondins in a nearby lake. I spotted one crossing early in the afternoon, hoping she might have been an otter. It’s not until late in the day she re-emerges, two kits in tow, to nibble on the grassy bank. It’s my own David Attenborough moment, if only through binoculars. The whiskers are plentiful and most excellent.
Evening brings release from the sun’s ferocity, and ducks, inquiring about the likelihood of yesterday’s bread making an appearance.
Market treats make a welcome return appearance for dinner.
It’s been a lovely, peaceful day.