Reflecting Pool . . .

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A small contribution to Weekend Reflections, which has just moved to a new address... Am on vacation again for the next three weeks, so may be a little absent, but may also be hovering around the blogosphere from time to time, as I can't live without you all for very long.
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Chicken Little . . . Or . . . A Little Chicken . . .

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Seems like a lot of folks are saying these days, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling", and for flightless birds, that may be the case. But I'm not going to go into any of that here. And as much as I'd like to stay sitting on the fence rail in the previous post, the show must go on, as they say. Today the show will ask you to take a side trip to Pine River, Michigan, USA, where World Bird Wednesday is in progress still. Mr. Springman does some of the finest bird photography I've ever seen anywhere, it is as simple as that. And he hosts World Bird Wednesday, where anyone can post their own bird photos. So, this is my entry, though it be so humble as an ordinary free range chicken from southern France. I can't claim to be a fine wildlife photographer, but I wanted to participate in WBW this week simply to spread the word a little bit about the beautiful bird shots over there. Audubon is smiling down from wherever he is.
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Another Fence Post . . .

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Building a fence is hard work
Digging post holes for planting posts
Hammering in the posts
Nailing up rails stringing wire hanging slats
Bracing where needed
Hard hand-blistering callous forming thirsty work
Beer is the best beverage for slaking such thirsts
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Once done the reverse process begins soon after
Sun wind rain snow frost all conspire to unwire
To unravel to deconstruct to disconnect to devastate
Decades later the fence has no further defense against such onslaught
Wine is the drink required for watching things unwind
One small sip at a time, savouring the fine flavors of aging oak
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What say we gather round
Break off slats here and there to pile them on the ground
A big bonfire build where late into the night
We can dance to the beat of sheepskin drums
Dance and chant and drum and drink and feast
And roll in the firelit shadows
Under a full moon of course
Under a full moon howling our delight . . .
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Fence to Nowhere . . .

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In a high and lonely desolate windswept place
There is a fence falling down
A fence with no beginning no end
A fence to nowhere
In the middle of a wide open empty space
Wind whistles through rattling slats
One can only wonder
What needed to be divided
In such a vast and boundless realm
No here and no there can bear meaning
Such fences must fall before long
For no free and wild land
Can stand a fence to nowhere forever
Yet while it lives while it lasts
There is something beautiful
About such futile efforts
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A bit of music that could go with this . . .

Something For Everyone . . .

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Somewhere in the south of France
Is a land that time forgot
I went there to forget
The madness of this world of ours
For a little while
And as I rushed back up the highway
At close to seventy miles an hour
Away from that place today
I wondered at all we have forgotten
All we have allowed to fade away
Wisdom in the earth and plants and beasts
How the village gathered for the ritual feasts
Now ancient stone buildings fall
Into ruins that call, that call
For some caring hand
To come rebuild those walls...
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These first two images may give you a little bit of an idea as to why I'm in love with the Causse Méjean, and have been since I first went there over twenty years ago. There is something there for everyone.
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Back in 1878 Robert Louis Stevenson travelled through the Cévennes, stopping in Florac, accompanied by his beloved donkey Modestine. I think some of her descendants are still living in the area. This is another one dedicated to Stickup Artist ; she may just have to take a little trip to southern France to go see some of these handsome creatures for herself.
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As some of you apparently appreciated the butterfly on lavender image in the last post, here is another photo from that same lavender bush, which was the largest lavender plant I've ever seen, in the cemetery in Saint Enimie, Gorges du Tarn.
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Finally, over the past few years, there has been a lot of very fine blogging going on at "Life Is Beautiful". Many exchanges with Jeff, the creator of Life Is Beautiful, have led me to the conclusion that he is a fine connaisseur of certain kinds of beverages, for which the French name is "tisane". Tisanes are drinks made from various sorts of herbs which are steeped in hot water in order to extract the active ingredients and flavors in the herbs, along the lines of herbal tea. I've sometimes wondered though if Jeff may on occasion be referring to other forms of liquid refreshments when speaking of tisanes, as he has indicated that he enjoys some tisanes which travel in barrels. I mentioned to Jeff just the other day that I had seen some tisane barrels near Florac recently, and that visual proof would soon be forthcoming... here it is. ( Jeff, désolé encore pour l'anglais, mais la traduction prend du temps, et voilà, bien que j'aime la langage de Molière, ma langage adoptée, l'anglais vient plus facilement et plus vite, et puis, pour ceux qui sont en dehors de l'hexagone, certains ont un peu du mal à comprendre autre chose que l'anglais, voilà tout. Sur ce, je te laisse imaginer ce qu'il y avait comme contenu dans ces jolis fûts anciens. Les deux premiers se trouvaient dans la rue à Florac, mais le troisième j'ai déniché dans la cave d'une très ancienne maison en ruine sur le Causse Méjean... Je me demandais si c'était peut-être la maison de ta grand-mère ? Est-ce qu'elle aussi aimait les tisanes ? ) 
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Another Appetizer . . .

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Hello one and all ! Although I had been hoping to do at least a little bit of blogging in the evening after long days out in the wilds of the Cévennes National Park and the Causses, it turned out the "free and unlimited wifi access" in the hotel was actually nearly inexistant, it only worked on two evenings out of the all the past week, so I've been disconnected from everything... which is not necessarily a bad thing, except that I couldn't get out to visit anyone, and couldn't respond to comments, or post any of the numerous photos that have been happening over the past several days. We are here in Florac until Monday, so maybe once back home in the north the floodgates will open and photos will start appearing through the aperture of the magic lantern. In the meanwhile you will have to survive with just another small appetizer (which I'm trying to get up quickly while the wifi is working this evening!). A door leading to the alternate universe which is the Causse Méjean, and a butterfly spotted feasting on a lavender plant in Saint Enimie, in the Gorges of the Tarn River. Best wishes to all, can't wait to get back in touch with your blogs, and to bring you more images from this splendid part of the world.
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South of France : Florac and the Causse Mejean : To Whet the Appetite

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We planned our little getaway to the south of France fairly late in the Spring, as vacation possibilities were a bit uncertain until then... but we finally decided to just go for it. For many people "the south of France" means the Cote d'Azur or other areas along the Mediterranean coast. For our purposes here, "the south of France" can be stretched to include the Cévennes National Park and the region known as the Causses, and the gorges of the Tarn River, near the town of Florac. In my humble opinion, Florac and the surrounding area should be much better known than it is, even here in France I had to explain to a number of people where we were going, just saying Florac was not enough. It seems that the UNESCO folks feel the same way, because at the end of June they named the Cévennes and the Causses a World Heritage Site. A well deserved denomination (again IMHO), as the region is simply out of this world. Robert Louis Stevenson came through Florac on his trip in 1878 with a donkey which gave rise to an early travel book. I came here for the first time in 1989, and then again in 1996 with la Grenouille, so this is my third, and longest stay in Florac to date. It is a place that grows on one, but perhaps which needs to be visited in person to be fully appreciated, photos hardly do it justice. But I tried nevertheless. These first two photos give a rough idea of the high desert (and deserted) plains of the Causse Mejean, which seems to go on forever.
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In a tiny hamlet we stopped in the welcoming committee came out to serenade us with a considerable amount of barking... we were definitely trespassing.
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As the post's title says, this first glimpse is simply presented to whet your appetite for more to come soon. The Causse Mejean is dotted with ruins of old farms long since abandoned, if one can find them. This aging window frame is from one such example. As you can imagine, I was like a kid in a candy shop, overwhelmed with the beauty in disintegration, materials returning to the earth, slowly but surely. More to follow, but for now, I have to get my beauty sleep, as tomorrow morning bright and early we will drive back up the steep road from Florac which climbs roughly 1500 feet vertically in less than two kilometers horizontally to reach the edge of the Causse Mejean. Some stretches have no guardrails, and it is a long way down; one needs to be wide awake. Will be dreaming of ancient stone ruins up there waiting for us.
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An Afternoon Out . . .

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Sunday a week ago, which would have been the 26th of June, la Grenouille and I decided to get out for a bike ride; stretch the legs and clear the cobwebs from between the ears. There is no shortage of places to ride around here, there are miles of forest in every direction with trails running every which way, some of which lead to rather interesting places. Before we'd hardly gotten started we found that there was a polo match in progress at the Polo Club of Chantilly, which is actually adjacent to the village of Apremont, just north of Chantilly. Now I can't say that I belong to the class of people that owns horses in order to race them at the Prix de Diane or to show them off at polo matches, and most certainly never will, but as with the hats recently at the horse races, I found myself watching with some fascination and even a touch of admiration; the horses were magnificent beasts, and I can only imagine that riding them while trying to chase a small white ball around a large field and whack the ball along with a slender stick is no mean feat. The following pictures were the result of a few minutes of observation there, before we rode off back into the woods. The flags here in this first image are at the entrace to the Polo Club of Chantilly.
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Even the cars driven to the polo fields had horses on them. (I have to admit, I was feeling better on my bicycle than I would have in been in one these gas guzzling ostentatious monstrosities. The epitome of planetary irresponsibility...but some are obviously oblivious to the fact that the human race is consuming oil at an accelerating and dizzying rate. "After us, the deluge...")
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In the nearby forest campfires and barbecues were forbidden. This sign is on the small road from Apremont to Aumont-en-Halatte, where we continued our ride.
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While riding through Aumont-en-Halatte we stumbled on this sign for the Henri Barbusse Museum, which I'd never even heard of before in the region, though we've been in the area for the past 14 years now. Henri Barbusse was best known perhaps for his account of his experiences in World War One, having enlisted at the age of 41 in 1914, serving actively until 1916. His book was titled "Le Feu" (Fire), I'm going to have to track down a copy, and also go back and visit the museum some time when it's open.
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This flower appears here for no apparent reason, other than it was growing just under the museum sign.
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Same for this deceased moth : it just happened to appear at my feet while walking in the cemetery in Aumont-en-Halatte. So I took a picture, for whatever it may be worth in the greater scheme of things. Something similar happened in Lynne's life in Canada the other day at about the same time, as you can see in this posting at Décolleté Glimpses, a charming blog if there ever was one. Except her moth was a much bigger moth, a behemoth, as she put it so aptly. Synchronicity.
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Abandoned in Belgium . . .

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Where to start ? One of my favorite bloggers in the whole wide wonderful world of blogging has just announced she is taking a break of unknown duration while she sorts out some metamorphasis in her life. I'm going to miss her for however long she's away. Her photography is quite simply out of this world. But at least we can look through her back posts while she's away. If you haven't been there before, her blog name is her stage name : Stickup Artist. Do go take a look.  I was thinking of her just before I saw her announcement about taking a break, because I've been reading Robert Louis Stevenson's lovely travel journal about his voyage in the Cévennes region of France with a donkey. Stickup has posted two absolutely beautiful photos of donkeys here and here.
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I also may be taking a bit of a blogging break, as I'm going to be travelling for the next two weeks in the same area that Stevenson travelled through with his ass named Modestine. I don't know yet if I'll have an internet connection available in the woods we'll be camping in. Sometimes a break is a good thing... go charge up the batteries a bit. I've been secretly hoping that the last four posts about the fabulous hats at the Prix de Diane were going to drive this blog a bit viral with women from all over the world stopping by to look at all the hats; but it isn't happening, attendance has been dropping over the past week... oh well, so much for dreaming silly dreams. In the meanwhile, I would like to dedicate this ass which I photographed last weekend to Stickup Artist, hoping she'll see it. I wish I knew some of her post-processing tricks, to bring out the colors as only she knows how to do, but I don't, so I made do with grainy sepia treatment. Here's braying at you ! This may have been a distant descendant of Modestine herself.
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Having now proved what an ass lover (but not an ass kisser) I can be, now let's get back to some of the photography fare that some of you have seemed to appreciate over the past three years : abandoned buildings ! The following series was taken on my way back from Germany a few weeks ago, near the Belgian city of Liege. The imposing brick castle-like structure is visible from a highway that skirts Liege, and it caught my eye in such a way as to force me to take the next exit and go take a closer look. Maybe I should be forced to wear blinders when travelling to avoid this sort of mis-adventure ? I'm already dreaming of a return trip there to find a way inside this most intriguing building. I'm thinking around the back side, in the woods there must be a hole in a fence somewhere.
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