Le Printemps in Villard de Lans

visitors, traditions, and our final season

Spring arrived slowly, it seemed to us, with chilly, overcast days. On the first of May, leaves are just coming out on the horse chesnut tree outside of my office window. (Now on the fourth of May, it seems they’re halfway out!) Tulips are opening, joining a smattering of daffodils. Tiny flowers burgeon from garden rockeries.

The past two days I’ve headed out open my bike for short rides around our town and the neighboring town. I had to stop, one time, for all the beauty. A dozen parapenters hanging in the air, the thin long wings of a glider catching updrafts above the ridge, below, fields of dandelions bright in the afternoon sun, and cows languid and unhurried in the fields, reflecting all the sun enough they seemed to begin to shine. It’s enough to make you forget about what it is you can’t do, about what’s not working, abut what’s happening a few country borders away. It’s the embodiment of hope.

(looking back at a neighborhood on the outskirts of the village from a little trail through the fields on a bike ride)

As spring arrives, so does our date of departure near, which darkens spring for me for sure. We decided last week after Peter and I each lost an aunt and an uncle, watched memorials over Zoom, and have felt the challenges of work off time zones more acutely. It will be so hard to leave this place— the coffee group, le petite choeur, the “coffee” group (really Apero, who are we kidding), French lessons with Chantal, hiking from the house up high, biking through fields, walking through the old buildings of this little town, and so much more.

It’s taken most of this year to get our feet on the ground, really, and from what we’ve heard from others, and what becomes clear to us as well, the next year would be a year of building on this foundation of wonderful people in a beautiful place. And so: we will come back next year, to visit this place and its people. Sam wants to stay, but we’re hoping he can look into an exchange, perhaps ext spring. And meanwhile…enjoy each moment of what we have left in this village.

The last week before the Paque Vacance (Easter vacation), Jude’s class took their long anticipated trip to the Mediterranean for a week. Because we’re so behind in posts, I’m not waiting for his description— but his class headed down by bus (at 5:45 AM on a Sunday morning) to the southern coast, stayed in a kind of dorm, and spent a week sailing, beach combing, learning about ocean health and minerals and more. He returned at 9 PM (!!!) the Friday before Paque Vacances— at which point we headed to Lyon, met Peter who had just returned from the states, and flew out a few hours later to Greece! (that was a long/short night). It sounded like a grand adventure, and a wonderful chance for a little independence for him from family, too.

(loading up at oh-dark-thirty…thankfully the school is right across the street from where we’re living)

(the kids out in their Optimists in the Mediterranean)

May Day

May 1 is a holiday in France, their Labor Day— an association borrowed from the United States. Jude and his class sold flowers— tiny sprigs of lilies of the valley, tiny bell shaped and very fragrant flowers— walking around in twos in the morning rain in the town square to help cover the costs of the school of the Class d’Mer. It was very sweet to see, and we felt fortunate to be able to participate in another French tradition. The lines of the valley are the specific flower for this day; one online source said last year the French spent over 22M euros on them! Though tiny, their fragrance makes up for what they lack in size. We delivered them to our French teacher and the aide in Jude’s class.

(Jude and Renault sell flowers at the local cafes— even in the rain!)

As I shared coffee with my friend Sandra (while the kids sold flowers), she told me that on May 1 in Alsace, people give chocolate beetles tied with a green ribbon!

Visitors

It’s hard to say how special it is to have visitors from home when you are living far away for a long period of time. Shannon’s mother came to visit for a few days in March. Our dear friends Greg and Matthew came in late April, and Jen and Pete came in early May. Anywhere, visitors help you break out of your routine, but it was special to have a chance to think about: what do we love here that someone else will also love? (And is it open?)

We visited our two favorite places to eat…Le Clarient, at the end of a 1 km walk in the woods, for raclette, and Fleur de Vignes in the neighboring village of Meudre— the best food we’ve had in the Vercors! We walked with Greg and Matthew up Bois Barbu to see the Stations of the Cross and the village of Valchevriere. Card games, conversations, and the chance to connect past and present lives and loves was really special for us. We didn’t choose to live in the most convenient place to visit, so these connections were especially dear.

Jen and Pete were here Monday and Tuesday, when many restaurants aren’t open— but we found a new gem near the house (thanks to Sandra’s recommendations again), revisited Valchevrierre, and headed down the gorge to the Resistance Museum at Vassieux. While small, there is enough there to visit many times, especially as the fields stretching in all directions also hold a cemetery from the war, old gliders, and more. Jen and Pete brought some excellent wine from their travels up north, which we paired with cheese for Apero before our dinners. It was a perfect day to drive; the cows in the fields, all the trees in flower or bud the light against the cliffs opening up new vistas every hour.

This next week I’m away for a week in NY and NH; the week after Peter’s away with his team. Work calls! And so the time is shorter still.

We continue to reflect on what this year has meant, still means, and will mean as the experience rests in us, and what is certain is that we will return, many times and for as long as possible. The people and the place, all are so dear. Travel itself heightens our awareness, what we see, how we begin to understand. It requires a deep vulnerability, all the more so for leaping into a new country, community, culture, a growing of the heart. It is a part of each of us, and of our family story— this adventure, this willingness to venture out, to take a risk, sometimes— maybe even many times— to fall down and have to get back up. The way a community we didn’t know so kindly took us in. This year is like a stolen love— and the anticipated leaving, the necessary ephemera of this time—makes for exquisite poignancy.

One day in many years we'll say— remember— that horse chesnut, as the leaves came out that spring? And the light- the light on the limestone cliffs! The lines of the valleys— the laughter and good cheer of aperos with hearts wide open?

And yet- also our hearts are warm knowing the love to which we will return, the love we bring to those of you across the pond, the love we’ll keep on both sides of the world. And a love we might extend to those we don’t know from somewhere else who might arrive when we’re in the place that we call home, the way we might be as gracious to others and to the stranger as we have been welcomed here.