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Alethea x

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In putting together a pack for plein-air artists, I’ve been scouting potential viewpoints and easel spots through my (extensive) photo collection! It’s been a lovely reminder of just how amazing the views are around here.

I don’t think you ever become immune to it -  the light, the random chateau on a hill that suddenly pops into view – but in trying to see it through visitor’s eyes and searching out spots for artists to sit and paint has given me a fresh perspective all over again.

Meanwhile, in village news (and as a follow up to the last edition for those of you on the edge of your seats) our new Maire is… our existing Maire! A result I’m very happy about. A clear win, with no need for the second round of election shenanigans currently unfolding in many of the larger cities across France.

And finally, another hurrah: thanks to some knowledgeable intervention, the lawnmower is now working and I’ve belatedly joined the annual lawnmowing cycle. It’s a novelty that soon wears off, particularly come May, when the grass grows at what feels like an hourly rate, but there is something so restoring about that first cut of the year : )  

The 2026 calendar for our perfectly formed little house is now open and filling up fast : )

Apparently one of the most loved homes on Airbnb!

Lighter evenings make for better bat-spotting, as they swoop out from the grange and silhouette against the dusky skies. The grange hosts a sizeable population, and they can often be found in other spots too: a favourite being lined up in neat rows behind open shutters*. 

Unlike the giant bats you encounter in other parts of the world, the tiny creatures inhabiting the grange here should not, in theory, be in the least bit scary. Although it could be argued that their pooh-to-size ratio does make me wonder if there are not some larger cousins lurking nearby… 

However much I appreciate their stunning sundown swoops and mozzie munching capabilities, I am content to watch from afar. 

There was an incident that put me off further close bat encounters for life. Many years ago, while visiting my mother in Scotland… a bat attacked me in the shower!

That’s my version. If you were to ask the bat, I suspect you’d hear a different story…

“Quiet at the back” said Nat, smoothing her wings in front of her small, young audience. “Tonight’s story is about the one and only time I found my own roost… and very nearly didn’t make it back.”

“I was comfortably snug and asleep, suspended from my excellent new nap-spot, a circular metal contraption with a wide brim and several well-placed holes, from which to safely hang. 

Without warning, I was blasted awake by jets of hot water. As any sensible bat knows, water in your secure roost is never a good sign. I attempted my usual exit route only to discover, with mounting alarm, that it had been blocked by some sort of invisible force field. Multiple attempts to forcibly break through were in vain. Under sustained water attack, I did the next best thing, regrouped and sought refuge on a large, rounded object. I latched on and held tight.

This, as it turns out, was a good decision. The object began to move in a series of violent, unpredictable jerks crashing through the invisible barrier and out into open air.

This was my opportunity. Unfortunately, my feet had become tangled in something soft and resistant. I flapped my wings with all my might but struggled to break free.

So, I called for help. Yet instead of the calm, reassuring clicks of the colony, I was met with a series of high-pitched shrieks in a language I didn’t recognise. As the object continued to lurch this way and that, I caught glimpses of rapidly changing surroundings. Disorientated, my grip tightened while, embarrassingly, my dignity loosened.

Then, out of nowhere, a giant flailing object appeared from above, wrenched me free, and hurled me into blinding daylight. Flying almost blind, I eventually spotted the colony entrance and landed inelegantly, dizzy with relief, back on my beam.”

“And that” said Nat, perched securely amongst the group, “is why you should never select solo nap-spots.”

Needless to say, the ‘object’ in question was my head. This particular episode – the ‘when you ran around naked screaming with a bat on your head’ incident – is still regularly recounted, with much amusement, by those that witnessed my calm, collected reaction : )

Much like my entirely unnecessary habit of checking loo rims for snakes (totally unnecessary here, I know**) there’s a similar check in place for any wide brimmed shower head before turning on the tap.

*Note: a friend’s visiting guest, besotted by bats and, on hearing of their love of French shutters, determined to get a closer look at them as they slept. Unfortunately, as she moved the shutter, exposing them to the light, all five bats awoke and flew off into the sky. At that exact moment, a pair of buzzards was flying by and couldn’t believe their luck. The bat-loving guest watched in horror, and guilt, as four of the five disturbed creatures became opportunistic buzzard lunch.

**Note: the rationale for the loo-rim inspection is here: Wildlife encounters #1 - Serpents

More Snapshots of the Domaine Les Plonges ‘journey’ next edition.

Possibly you found your way here via Instagram? @domainelesplonges? If so, an extra Bienvenue! You’ll already know I love a good visual. So here I’ll share others and a little more context behind the images…

Whether it’s discovering unique work by artists and designers from near and far or rummaging through vide greniers, brocantes, and hidden treasure troves, I’m always on the lookout! I’ll be sharing my favourite artists, designers and sourcing spots together with more prosaic general things I find useful here 😄

My favourite season of the year is almost here. Not Spring, Summer, Autumn or (are you crazy!) Winter - but France’s brocante / vide grenier season is almost upon us!

A long-time fan of markets in general, but particularly the lovely mix of tat and treasure found at vide-greniers, vide-maisons, local brocantes and the occasional foire, I keep an enthusiastic eye out for local events, and regularly check brocabrac.fr and videgrenier.org for updated listings.

They are a great source of interesting and affordable finds, and I love going even when I have no need for anything. It’s an opportunity to bump into friends, meet new people and get acquainted with a new village. You may also stumble across the perfect one-of-a-kind gift, an odd random button or some completely un-urgent item you’re missing. All while enjoying a deeply satisfying shopping fix for under five euros.

Romy is well-used to being hauled off to markets at the crack of dawn. It’s highly sociable for her, with plenty of stallholders accompanied by dogs, and a steady stream of people to fuss over and adore her.

On this particular occasion, a friend and I had found a new-to-us vide Grenier at Carsac-Aillac, beautifully situated in a tree-lined field beside a small river at the edge of the village. Even at 0900, temperatures were already in the late 30’s, so after each of our now highly methodical row by row inspections (a system developed after one too many zig-zag confusions) we paused for a cooling Romy swim-break.

This particular vide-grenier was a goodie. Over a hundred pitches with everything you could imagine: oak furniture, vintage glassware, silver, clothes, agricultural machinery, books, pictures, lighting, toys and much, much more.

While engrossed in a book stand, great for the history of the region, I felt a tug on Romy’s lead. Expecting her to be making friends with the stallholder’s dog, I turned to find her enthusiastically rootling around in boxes on the next stand.

Romy investigates bags and boxes for two reasons: food and toys. Her tendency to insert her head into unsuspecting shopper’s baskets at local food markets is something I monitor for closely. Today, she’d struck gold with a whole box of squeaky dog toys.

She was busy making her way through them, testing squeakiness and placing her chosen toys carefully on the grass. As I apologised for this clear rearrangement of stock, I asked the stallholder for a price. Only 50c each, so…

After a few more minutes of serious deliberation, Romy had made her choice: a small Santa hatted penguin, equipped with an impressively shrill squeak.

We walked off, a very happy dog trotting ahead, squeaking all the way and proudly presenting her new toy to absolutely everyone we passed. She attracted considerable attention, and a lot of smiles, but after two or three rows of this, during one swim-break, the toy somehow disappeared into my bag. There is, after all, only so much festive penguin squeakiness one can reasonably endure in mid-July without intervening.

In answer to the Q in last week’s edition:

Apparently, the answer is… hawthorn, and lots of it : )

Simply put, for two key reasons:

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