Patricia Atkinson - La Belle Saison

About the Book

How often have you eaten a mushroom that you picked yourself that morning? Or sat on a boat opening and eating oysters as you lift them from the sea? Or partaken of a seven course feast of game to celebrate the success of the chasse?

When Patricia Atkinson bestselling author of The Ripening Sun first moved to France, her intention was simply to establish a vineyard. Over the years, however, she found herself becoming integrated into a way of life that, had she stayed in England, she would hardly have believed existed. Grounded in the rhythms of the land and the seasons, daily life in Patricias south-western corner of France is dictated by a series of rituals and celebrations that we have long lost in our supermarket age.

La Belle Saison is Patricias eulogy to this way of life: a testament to the timelessness of the beautiful French countryside, the bounty of the land, and the generous-hearted French neighbours who showed Patricia that a simple life has many rewards. In France, every season is la belle saison, offering up its gifts to those willing to appreciate and look after the land.

Prasie for The Ripening Sun:

This is the genuine article written with real charm and passion for life, the land and everything that lives on it Joanne Harris

This is a heroic story, beautifully written, like smelling the grapes. It is immensely humane and funny too Jilly Cooper

The most striking story of la vrai vie rustique francaise since Peter Mayles A Year in Provence Malcolm Gluck, Guardian

Remarkable an extraordinarily affecting read Carla McKay, Daily Mail

Also by Patricia Atkinson

The Ripening Sun

Patricia Atkinson

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Version 1.0

Epub ISBN 9781446439012

www.randomhouse.co.uk

Published by Arrow in 2006

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Copyright Patricia Atkinson 2005

Patricia Atkinson has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

Every effort has been made to contact all original copyright holders, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers will be pleased to make any necessary changes to any future printings

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published in the United Kingdom in 2004 by Century
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 0 09 945507 2

(export 0 09 949794 8)

I would like to thank everyone who appears in this book for their generosity of spirit, their kindness and their friendship. I would also like to thank Oliver Johnson, my friend and editor, whose patience, skill and arm-twisting are inexhaustible. And Eugenie Furniss, my agent, supportive and encouraging at every point. Not forgetting Red Shively who supplied the photographs that helped me with the personal bits thank you, Red. My thanks also to Freddie Hawkins for his French corrections. Georges will be forever grateful, I know. And my thanks, as ever, to Nigel Farrow for his discerning support.

Duck, Goose, Truffle, Pig, Pigcuts, Cuve, Bottls, Oyster, Mushrooms, Wild Boar and Pressoir from Aug, Claude, Petit Larousse Illustr (Paris: Librarie Larousse, 1914)

Market, Town, Stonehouse and Townwall from Murray, A. H. Hallam, Sketches on the Old Road Through France to Florence (London: John Murray, 1904)

Hunter and Hillside from Long, William J., Fowls of the Air (Boston, Mass. and London: Ginn & Company, 1902)

Hare from Westell, W. Percival, My Life as a Naturalist (London: Cecil Palmer & Hayward, 1918)

Fish and Doves from Beach Thomas, W. and Collett, A.K, The English Year: Spring (London: T.C. & E.C. Jack, c. 1910)

For John and Chantal

For every thing there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to be born and time to die

A time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted

A time to kill and a time to heal

A time to break down and a time to build up

A time to weep and a time to laugh

A time to mourn and a time to dance

A time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together

A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing

A time to seek and a time to lose

A time to keep and a time to cast away

A time to rend and a time to sew

A time to keep silence and a time to speak

A time to love and a time to hate

A time for war and a time for peace

What gain has the worker from his toil?

Ecclesiastes, III: iix

ITS LATE A UGUST IN THE D ORDOGNE AS I LOOK OUT OVER towards the valley of Bergerac from the highest point of my land. Green and fertile, it is bathed in summer light. The rays of the sun illuminate its fields and vineyards, quietly, as they have for centuries. Ancient limestone houses dotted in the landscape and whitewashed by the suns rays contrast with the dark silhouette of woods on the skyline.

In the near distance gently sloping rows of vines spread out beneath an orchard of fruit trees. A calm over the valley with the stillness of late summer presages the cusp of the turning year. La belle saison is almost upon us. The vines shimmer in the summer haze, sweeping down in front of me, their sinuous curves lush and green. The rhythm of their ripening has come full circle again, the seasons and the land changing and nourishing them.

I often come here, as much for the view that stretches for miles over the gently rolling Prigordian landscape as for the calm stillness the view gives me. It is timeless. The pilgrims of Santiago de Compostela would have enjoyed the same view after their long climb from the valley bottom five hundred years ago. The same fields, the same farms, the same churches stood then as they do now. I imagine pilgrims resting after their exertions by the mission cross that stands a little behind me, next to Madame Cholets house.

The cross reminds me of her. She died some years ago, peacefully, of old age. But mostly, it reminds me of Edge, my favourite vineyard worker and dear friend, also gone. His words have never been far from me in the years since he died. Boss, he said. Theres nothing that cant be achieved, youve just gotta stay positive. And go forward. He had vitality and kindness, a passion for life. I think of him often, particularly at this time of year. I own the land on which the cross sits, along with Madame Cholets house and the vines in front of me. Her son, Gilles, sold them to me before he moved to Sigouls, ten kilometres away. He lived off the land, worked the vines as I do now. He often hunts here, or just wanders through the wood that sits to the right of the vines with his black Labrador, Prune. Its beauty and familiarity draw him back. He has known it all his life, hardly leaving this small part of rural France.