This week we experienced the “Moscow” winter, a cold front coming from Russia bringing the temperature down to -10 overnight for a week. It’s not cold enough on the north ice cap. In Paris, public transport was brought to a halt but the days weren’t all grey here near the Atlantique coast. Gloves, hat and coat and camera and one of the best walks ever. A full display of new winter flowering plants was a surprise. A small but lovely consolation.
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Parc de Procé has been appreciated by many people including Andre Breton, quoted on a plaque outside on the terrace café wall. Like most gardens in France they are entered by tall wrought iron gates and a café is housed in the old manor. Time doesn’t matter as we eat gelato and chat on the terrace looking down on the front park and fountain through the gnarled branches of the very old and well pruned crepe myrtle trees. Pruning is an art form in France where ever it occurs and I imagine taken for granted a little by the French, but to me the shapes are a key to recalling and respecting formalities of times past. A large Dahlia collection is secreted far away in the top corner of the gardens and comes as a surprise like many things. The species are all labelled and can be easily perused from markers along the stone mosaic paths. A traditional rotunda, mint green sits playfully among the flowers.
During my first Summer I experienced France at some of the finest moments, the long sweeping shadows of the Chantrerie defining the late afternoon, small sparkling flower heads leaning in as we lunched alone on the rear manor house steps oblivious to any activity the caryatids behind us had witnessed in centuries past. Nantes is visible only as a sole highrise, its only high rise tower, occupying a small spot at the centre of the horizon, the forest in the foreground and the Erdre River in the mid ground.
