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Hi there,

Welcome back and bienvenue to new subscribers - it’s lovely to have you here!

Today is (yet) another national holiday in France, scheduled to be 32 degrees (celsius) and definitely feels like the proper start of Summer.

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Let’s begin…

Alethea x

Good, bad, happy & sad

It’s the beginning of May 2024, and at long last a part of the main property is fully functional: the kitchen. However, it remains an island sealed off and gleaming in a sea of dust and renovations. 

With the advent of Summer, and the lure of this pristine (and much dreamt of) new kitchen – I am keen to make use of it. The only problem is the obstacle course, and distance, between my lodgings in La Petite Maison and cooking nirvana. 

With help from friends, an interim plan is devised. The idea is to clear out the adjacent dining room, currently stacked to the beams with storage boxes replete with a thick layer of dust from all the stonemasons work, and transform it into a mini renovation free zone. This two-room haven would lead to the garden terrace, and a quick ‘digger-free’ garden route between La Petite Maison and my ‘day quarters’. 

After nine months of squeezing everything - office, dogs, storage - into La Petite Maison, relocating my office to the dining room and carving out a bit more useable space feels not only practical but absolutely necessary. 

Overwhelmed by the scale of the task ahead, it’s a huge relief to have my friend M step in and take charge with calm efficiency. Boxes are re-packed (more stuff jettisoned to the charity shop or recycling), shifted to teeter under different beams elsewhere and the dining room is given the deep-clean it desperately needs. For the first time in months, the possibility of (ever) reclaiming the house feels possible. 

Until now, I’ve been unable to picture myself back in the property. Whether it’s renovation blues or full-blown “OMG what have I done, this will never be habitable again” panic, the idea of moving back in has felt abstract, years away. 

Not helping matters: the on-going health (and compatibility) issues with the dogs. Digby, the puppy, had knee surgery in November, followed by months of hospital stays and recuperation. Then in April, Romy needed a second knee operation. Managing post-op puppies at different stages of recovery, canine plaster casts, recuperation protocols, safety gates and all the worry in cramped quarters has been, frankly, exhausting. 

So, this small but significant act of reclaiming a space feels like a turning point. It’s not just a clean, and private, space, it’s a glimpse of normalcy. 

The next day we start our new routine: greet (or bark at!) the artisans, do the rounds, take two separate but short dog recuperation walks and then…drumroll, retreat to the dining room slash new home office to start work. 

A week later: I’m beyond grateful for our newly established day quarters which had quietly become a refuge in the turmoil of the past week. A space to breathe and cry - away from dogs and people. Because my lovely boy, Digs, had just left for a new life in Germany with the wonderful H and W. It had been a heartbreaking time. 

Put simply, the dog dynamics just didn’t work. Though it began with promise, relationships had slowly unravelled. Jealousy, clashing characters and a human who desperately tried, but failed, to fix it. All exacerbated by post-surgery pain, canine frustration, and the tight confines of temporary living. The strain became impossible to ignore. 

For months I had been trying to avoid the gut-wrenching reality, gripped by shame, self-blame and dreadful feelings of failure. My animals are family, and letting go to enable happier lives for both was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. Not what I wanted, but exactly what they needed. 

Daily updates from Germany already show a puppy who’s thriving, increasingly playful and delighted with his new humans and horse family. The emotional pain is occasionally blurred by physical discomfort too, thanks to a minor foot operation (this time, mine). A quiet irony, perhaps, to be limping in every sense of the word. 

Three weeks later. I still feel numb. Tearful. Weighed down with awful guilt no matter how much I try to reason with it. May has unfolded in full bloom, flowers everywhere, and renovation work is moving forward, but it has all passed by in a blur, barely registering. 

Yet, here and there, flickers of normality are beginning to return. These usually arrive after one of H’s videos: Digs playing in the ocean, or with his new friends, and happily cuddling his new family. While here, Romy is visibly more at ease and steadily healing. She too is back to her old happy self, and stays close content in her own space. In these moments, the knowledge, if not yet the feeling, settles in that this was the right decision for all of us. 

That morning, venturing into the grange, I was surprised to see one of the sauvage barn kittens had returned. First spotted in late September they’d vanished back in November, alongside their mother, before I’d had the chance to tame them. The little tabby, with a racoon-striped tail, looked starving. I rushed back with bowls and food. 

This particular kitten had always been the braver of the two, the one who’d edged closer when I’d tried to befriend them. Now, all fear seemed gone. It bolted straight to the food without hesitation. 

The next morning, back in the grange I announced myself with “breakfast time for cats” and was relieved to see the racoon-tailed kitten had hung around. Previously, on their last stay, the pair had darted towards me with a mix of hunger and kitten skittishness, dancing between bravery, curiosity and fear. But this time something was different. 

No movement. Instead, from the wooden cat teepee, she peered out at me with wary, watchful eyes. Suddenly, I knew. I leaned forward, just enough to glimpse over her head into the dark den and sure enough, four tiny newborns were snuggled up and attached to her tummy. 

They couldn’t stay there. The grange was too exposed, with artisans coming and going and the risk of other feral cats lurking. I wasn’t about to let it turn into a wild cat nursery again, not after failing to rehome the original two kittens. If these kittens were to have a real chance, they needed proper food, muti, shelter and eventually, homes. 

But moving them was easier said than done. One look at her (!) hissing, arched stance told me this wasn’t a solo mission. Thankfully, my ever-organised, cat-loving, friend M was able to come right over. 

After some lengthy logistics discussions, we decided the least disruptive option was to lift the entire cat teepee (kittens, mum et al) into one of the puppy’s old playpens. No direct contact with the kittens required and no separating them from their fiercely protective mum. 

Neither of us had attempted to relocate a sauvage new mother and her litter before. Every approach to the teepee was met with hisses and swipes. It took two hours of cautious manoeuvring before we managed to zip the entire structure into the playpen and carry it up to the main house. The terrified new mum ferociously protecting her young all the way. 

Once safely ensconced in their new room, with all the necessary accoutrements - blankets, litter tray, food and water - we left them to acclimatise. A few hours later, I gingerly cracked the door open. The first thing I heard was loud purring. Our teen-cat-mum (herself only at most nine months old) was curled around her kittens, relaxed, if still alert. The food had been devoured and the litter tray used. Result. 

I tiptoed back into the kitchen for more cat food. Our new, and it turns out very temporary, dining room sanctuary had most definitely been re-allocated. It was now a kitten nursery, at least for the next three months.

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

Podcasts, anniversaries & seasonal prep

First-up, some shameless Les Plonges project promotion: My chat with the brilliant Noelle Van on her fab podcast: Journeys Through Change, is now live and available to listen to wherever you get your podcasts! 

We cover it all: starting afresh (intentionally), moving countries (again!), business pivots, renovations, creative ateliers and figuring out how to bring your vision to life without going crazy. There are laughs, ridiculous stories, and (I hope) helpful insights and a bit of inspiration along the way. Such fun to be a guest on one of my favourite podcasts – big thanks to Noelle for inviting me 😘 – and I highly recommend a scroll and a listen through her 104 episodes! 

Seasonal prep 

This year, I am acutely aware of just how much energy the annual Spring to Summer transition requires 🤦‍♀️ Jet-washing terraces, hauling out the garden furniture, swapping Winter layers for Summer ones (bedding, towels, fans etc), opening the pool, ticking off minor repairs, the relentless weeding… and of course, removing the residue and impact of 18m of renovations.

What usually takes a few days, spread out in manageable bursts, has felt insurmountable this year. Recovery from head injury is a slow and tedious process, and weeks of debilitating headaches has made everything slow, stop-start, and frustratingly difficult. So I’ve had to let go of perfectionism (!), doing much of anything at all and allow some things to wait their turn. 

However, one space that couldn’t wait was La Petite Maison. It had to be perfect.

Since September 2023, it had switched from vacation rental to my renovation home and become a catch-all space: home, the dog’s domain, my office and temporary storage unit. It needed more than the usual Spring-clean! So when my lovely friends, R and M, offered to prep it for the season, I was beyond grateful 😘 

Together, they gave it the re-set it needed. Without their stepping in, it would still not be ready. The bathroom’s had a refresh, and there have been some updates to appliances, furniture and general kit – helped enormously by being able to now ‘find and unpack’ these items that had been stored away since moving from The Hague. It now sparkles it’s so clean and fresh, and is ready for guests arriving in the next few days. Thank you, thank you ❤️ 

Meanwhile… 🐾 

As a follow-on to this edition’s Snapshot (above), this May marks a full year since some major changes in the four-legged cohort at Les Plonges. So I thought I’d share some updates:

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 here 😄 

Paper & film

One of the very first things I bought after getting the keys to Les Plonges wasn’t furniture or tools or anything terribly practical, it was… a guest book. I know, possibly very sad, possibly a bit naff – but I simply: Do. Not. Care! 

For the stationery addicted amongst you (and I know there are a few!) this particular guest book is a fabulously chunky, block-printed, album-sized one from Cambridge Imprints. Thick pages, perfect binding and just right for some memory notes! 

With my penchant for a good photo, naturally, a simple scribbled note wouldn’t do. There has to be an accompanying polaroid shot! Living in the basket next to the book is a small Instax polaroid camera, ready and waiting. 

Now, I did encounter some resistance to this idea at first! Primarily from the men in my family, haha! But interestingly, with every repeat visit that reluctance has waned. Now, there’s often a full-on hunt through the pages to find their last photo, usually accompanied by some mock horror at past hairstyles, football player allegiance or bad jokes! 

Guest book highlights have included scrabble themed shots (courtesy of my eldest nephew), a very avant-garde Kusama inspired tile shoot in The Folly and of course, dogs being wrangled into chaotic group shots. 

It’s become more than just a book - it’s a joyful little archive of memories and time spent with the people I love most. I never peek at the entries until after everyone’s left, and then, in the quiet, it’s always lovely to discover what moments meant the most to them. 

Just this week, my amazing friend H came to stay for a few days. After she’d left and the house felt a bit too still, I reached for the book. Her note, and a smiling moment with the beautiful wildflowers she’d arranged all caught in a polaroid square. A perfect reminder that she was here, and that she will be back.

Small joys 🥰 

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Are you interested in…?

I’m excited to be able to shift focus a little - from full-blown renovation mode into the business side of life at Les Plonges. And of course, I have lots of ideas brewing for creative ateliers and retreats. 

With my long-lead communications planning hat on, I thought I’d put this out there: 

• Are you interested in running a creative atelier or retreat? 

If so, and you think Les Plonges may be a good fit, I’d love to hear from you. Let’s chat and find out!

Why Subscribe, even though this Newsletter is free?

Simply put, for two key reasons:

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