July flower bouquets

This is a poignant round-up of my flowers this month. Because our lovely neighbour Danièle has died and two of my offerings were for her funeral on Friday.

She lived to 80 and her funeral was a very enveloping and comforting village affair.

The tiny church packed; lots of us just outside as it was boiling hot and the Protestant church lacks ventilation. The sermon very long, and the eulogies just heart breaking and tender.

Tears.

And of course the best best was the walk to the cemetery in procession where everyone can take a breath and catch up with neighbours and discuss the event before the internment.

Her grave was just a fabulous carpet of flowers which she would have loved. And I know the roses would have expired in about an hour with the heat, but she loved her scented flowers. Lilies, roses, big blooms and abundance.

And she was a wonderful woman. So welcoming to us when we arrived all those years ago. Back then she was still doing the extraordinary job all grandparents seem to do across this country in the long summer holidays – child minding. Rearing her grandchildren with devotion and love and affection. And beautiful food.

And she taught me so much about entertaining country style. Adding a chair or two even though ten guests were always at the table. Making a simple gratin dish shine as the centrepiece after the long and relaxed passing of the charcuterie and catching up. One large lettuce could always be turned into a good course of the meal if you added Margret de canard slices and good olive oil.

Meals were marvellous but often beguilingly simple. The act of hosting was effortless for her, but you knew she had spent hours prepping events. She never let it show.

Be it driving off to her brother in law Claude’s potager for more veg, coming round for coffee and then the emergency bunch of basil as she had run out. Hunting down exotic ice creams from Terre Adelice in the next village. Making sure the cheese was perfectly ripe.

And she was so right. Why have a groaning platter of seven cheeses when the real art was just the ceremonial passing of the one perfect runny cheese on a board around to her friends and family, making sure there was bread enough, and wine enough and conviviality?

I will treasure that.

And there I will leave this post.

It’s sad to lose people. Especially when they are ill.

And they leave behind grieving families. And emptiness.

Flowers are a balm.