Laurie Apgar Chandler

In the turning of the seasons, we give thanks

They are treasured old friends, those forest places that we walk until we know them with every fabric of our body, and soul. We return, unbidden, adding layers of memory as the seasons pass. On the blank canvas of a place, we paint the story of our time together.

So it is with the trail behind our house, the less-than-two-miles out and back that I walk most often. Late one fall afternoon, not long ago, I followed the path through a gap in the mossy old stone wall, to an opening under a few magnificent hemlocks. This spot has always drawn me, and I often pause there.

My thoughts rushed back from wherever they’d been wandering when something moved, close beside the path. A spiky hummock of quills, its back turned toward me. This was my first porcupine in “my” woods and deceptively quick despite its cumbersome gait. It wasted no time reaching a tree and climbing steadily to safety.

This encounter will forever enliven this bend in the trail. No matter the season, on my homeward way, I’ll conjure up a prickly ball in the crotch of that tree, framed by the yellow leaves of fall. Just as I’ll remember the night I looked up into the surprising face of the full moon, shining white behind the firs. And farther along, the hill where an owl had snatched a mouse, leaving only the marks of its broad sweeping wings.

Since that fall afternoon, the snows have come, early for our part of Maine, and we’ve embraced the turning of the seasons to this time of gratitude. I think how our lives, too, consist of layers upon layers.

This Thanksgiving, we will gather in another log cabin, in Virginia, for the first Thanksgiving hosted by the new generation. Megan and Jacob will fill their home to bursting, stretching the seating and sleeping and serving, with the aesthetic creativity of two graphic designers.

As we paint new memories, they will never replace those that went before. The years of Dad’s rousing voice singing Over the River and Through the Woods. Searching for hazelnuts in a worn wooden bowl heaped with nuts that you had to crack yourself. Grandma Searls, urging everyone to “eat some turnips for the Pilgrims.” New on old, forever and ever, or at least for today.

This then is my prayer for all of you, that you paint memories anew this Thanksgiving. That you embrace the turning of the seasons, from prickly porcupines to the frosting of the forest, and that this season of gratitude brings you joy. Happy Thanksgiving!

Simply delightful

Yesterday I woke up full of energy and anticipation. Saturday, October 20th was an unheard of, empty-square-on-the-calendar day. Lately, I’ve been marathoning through, doing whatever it takes to satisfy my school, family, community, and author roles. With the Kindle release of Upwards, I’ve been glued to my laptop far more than I should.

For a day forecast to be sunny and 60 degrees, it did not have an auspicious start. The first pale light of morning revealed trees already bending to a vigorous, audible wind, under thick cloudy skies. In fact, a gale warning was in effect until mid-afternoon. Perhaps I would start with the safe chore of stacking wood, I thought.

A tidy porch and empty wood rack beckoned

Tis a gift to be simple, tis a gift to be free, was running through my mind as I headed out to the garage. Did you know that the song “Simple Gifts,” also used as the tune for “Lord of the Dance,” was composed by Joseph Brackett, a Shaker elder from Maine, in 1848?

I like stacking wood. The orderly pattern pleases me. There’s the puzzle component, fitting the pieces together just so, while arms and shoulders grow gradually weary. Today, rather than use the tractor, I decided to haul it by the armload. Lots of armloads.

Sometimes the camera forces you to see the beauty right in front of you

After some Biscay Orchards cider, cheese, and crackers, I headed for Dodge Point, one of our local preserves. There’s a lot of history entwined in this 500-acre property on Newcastle’s River Road. A brick factory there, on the Damariscotta River, left behind a mosaic of brick-red fragments, which can be found all along the shore. Today, though, I crossed the heart of the preserve on the Ravine Trail.

Not surprisingly, the brilliant reds had mostly fled and even the yellows looked rather tired. The beech leaves, though, were still stubbornly green, just beginning to move toward yellow. I knew they would cling to their branches until spring, keeping skiers and snowshoers company with their papery rustle throughout the long winter.

The trail skirts Ice Pond, once a local source of ice for cooling old-fashioned iceboxes. Looking at the relatively small pond, I wondered what qualifications made one pond more attractive than another for cutting ice. Perhaps in this case it was just proximity.

A day like this should end in a boat and mine did. The far shore of Little Pond was bathed in golden sunlight as I slid my old canoe into the water. I made a slow circuit of the pond, to the “kee, kee” of a soaring red-tailed hawk.

For perhaps the last time this year, I followed the path of the setting sun toward the western shore. There, in the shade, the colors were reflected with surprising intensity. Out in deeper water, a large fish jumped, and a flight of ducks took flight in a bright spray of water. I lingered as the moon rose and the sky behind me took on a pinkish hue.

Whether I would return again this season, I did not know, but this place and its spirit, its life and rhythms would stay with me, within the memory of a day of simple delights.

The icing on the cake, Upwards e-book on Kindle today

Just in case you can’t wait another moment, the Kindle version is available here, for $9.99.

Upwards cover 2nd printing

Smushed cupcake — My daughter Megan celebrated her first birthday on vacation in Maine

Somehow I can’t think of first birthdays without thinking of cake and icing, chocolate being the most effective, smeared across chubby cheeks. Forget the presents, which the older kids are always glad to rip open. The real joy is in the smashing glory of the cake.

Picking up the second printing back in May

Today marks the first birthday of Upwards and the culmination of a rewarding, fulfilling year for me. With your help, we are well into our second printing and looking forward to a jam-packed season of holiday events. And more than the numbers – 47 author events and a bank account almost in the black – is the joy of the people. In the indie bookstores and libraries at the heart of communities from the Adirondacks to Maine. In the words of cards and emails that both thrill and humble me. In the memories of readers’ stories.

Eleventy-first birthdays make me think of Bilbo Baggins, that most beloved hobbit, and his party of “special magnificence.” Though we don’t have any of Gandalf’s magical fireworks, today would also have been the 111th birthday of my maternal grandmother, Janice Sutherland Crowell Wheeler.

4609_1079072296603_1479283_n — Four generations, from Grandma Jan to tiny Megan

“Growing up,” I wrote a year ago, “Grandma Jan and I shared a love of books and birds and wildflower walks. Through her, I discovered treasured favorites like The Secret Garden, and she encouraged me to publish my first article at age 13. I have chosen today, October 19, 2017 as the official release date…in honor of a very special woman.”

A year later and another milestone, as we release the Amazon Kindle version of Upwards. I’m not sure what Grandma Jan would make of that. She worked in a library, with books whose pages you could turn as you read to a small granddaughter. Her nature guides and history books were filled with notes in a scribbly hand that got harder to decipher as the years rolled by. What would she have thought of reading on a screen?

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies…the man who never reads lives only one. George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons

I believe I know. She wanted everyone to love books, and read them. With Kindle, travelers can carry dozens of titles on one small device and read to their heart’s content. There are some whose vision is so much happier with zoomed up print. My book will even be enrolled in a lending library, with royalties coming in each time a page is read. New horizons, for a new year…happy 1st birthday, Upwards!

If you’re visiting for the first time, welcome and please consider subscribing by clicking the blue button, on the right sidebar. Explore the blog, from poetry to stories of building homes in Honduras or passing through Greenland’s Prince Christian Sound. Learn more about Upwards and my NFCT thru-paddle here. For those who love Upwards, Amazon reviews would make a wonderful Christmas gift for this grateful author! Thank you.

A blog post at last

Hello from your long-lost writer and many apologies for the months of silence. I last left you in France, an eternity ago, and certainly have some catching up to do.

After spending most of the summer of 2017 shepherding Upwards from tender manuscript to the polished published version, I promised myself that the summer of 2018 would be for travel and adventure. Let’s see if my promise came true!

Hi res John Meader photo

John Meader snapped this picture of me during his photography workshop at the Maine Canoe Symposium. Nursing some bruised ribs, I did not get out on the water, but enjoyed both presenting and learning, as well as trying out my new camera, a Canon point and shoot that can zoom to 25X.

As school ended, I headed south, to camp in Shenandoah National Park with my kids and extend my book tour into the Adirondacks. Waterfalls in full torrent joined several bears in making this a memorable visit. Driving in along the Skyline Drive, a curious cub stood watching from some tall grass, just a quick connection, then I was past. A mother with two cubs, in steadily growing rain above Dark Hollow Falls, and later a lumbering, unconcerned young bear right on the manicured gravel-and-bench civilization of the Limberlost Trail made my week. We hiked, made pizza and peach cobbler in the reflector oven, and wisely retreated home one night when it simply poured.

Our family has not been blessed with any babies for around a decade, so we were thrilled to discover we had a new little cousin on the way. Stopping to see the mother-to-be in NJ in June, I brought some of my family’s favorite books, of course!

Epilogue – We welcomed Emmett Archer into the family on September 22, 2018!

July was intense. At last, after three long years, another expedition was on the calendar. A combination backpacking and canoeing challenge, it would prove to be the heart of my next writing project. Off the grid most of the time, I chose not to blog, but promise to share the story in detail with everyone who has been hoping for another book.

Then, of course, there is the thrill and pull of the author life. I’m still in love with it and there’s no end to the stories that I could tell. Meeting thru-paddlers and people who’ve climbed Everest, famous authors and readers with heart-wrenching stories of challenge and loss. I loved my recent review in the Adirondack magazine LOCALadk, by J.T. Hall, whom I met at the Adirondack Paddlefest back in May.

(Proving that my life is way too busy, I had scheduled this post and not quite finished it, when it posted itself right on schedule this morning. I promise…more soon!)

An amazing, extravagant day

By now, we had made peace with a slower, more thorough pace than originally planned. We toured only one chateau, but we chose well – Chenonceau, billed as “The Ladies’ Chateau,” influenced over the centuries by the women who lived there. In the 16th century, there was Diane de Poitiers, the mistress of Henri II, and later his wife, Catherine de Medici, who ousted Diane when the king died and she became Regent. Then, in the 18th century, came Louise Dupin, a brave, enlightened promoter of writing and learning, who cleverly protected the chateau during the French Revolution.

P1010859

The history doesn’t end there, as Chenonceau also had a role to play in both world wars. We decided to rent audio guides and again found them a wise choice. In room after room, I would listen, then go back to hear again the more interesting tidbits. The chapel’s stained glass was destroyed by bombs in 1944, but has since been tastefully replaced.

P1010797

Visitors walk on the original floors, where in some places the design remains only at the edges of the room. This carefree hare was protected by the nearby furniture. Although some corners were roped off, we were free to wander more than I would have expected.

P1010793

P1010844

The stately arched bridge that reaches out over the River Cher was Diane’s creation, but it was Catherine who later built on it a long, elegant ballroom. It’s possible to rent a canoe and paddle downriver and underneath the chateau, if you have time.

P1010848

By World War I, Chenonceau was owned by the Menier family, of Paris chocolate factory fame. They transformed the ballroom and another gallery above it into a 120-bed hospital at their own expense. Simone Menier served as matron of the facility, which was equipped with a state-of-the-art operating theater and one of the first X-ray machines. From the windows, convalescing soldiers would fish in the river below, tying small bells to their lines to signal a bite. Then, during the second world war, the chateau found itself sitting on the line between the occupied and free zones, allowing the Resistance to spirit many people through these same rooms to safety.

P1010809

In honor of baby Prince Louis, whose birth was announced while we waited in Charles de Gaulle airport for our flight home, I am including this incredible portrait of Louis XIV. The massive ornate frame draws the eye and dominates all else in the room. The Sun King reigned for over 72 years, the longest of any European monarch. He visited the chateau in 1650, at age 11, and later sent this portrait to commemorate his visit.

P1010828

Every room had fresh flowers, often many arrangements in one room, all changed twice weekly by the chateau’s florists. Here are some from The Five Queens’ Bedroom.

P1010842

Don’t you just love this photo of Mom and Dad, patiently waiting for us to finish?

P1010836 (2)

Of course, Diane and Catherine both had their gardens…Diane’s was my favorite.

P1010872

Next time you are in France, I hope you will go to the Loire Valley and see Chenonceau. It’s worth the trip. Now, though, it’s time to say au revoir, after one last story.

To make our adventure complete, we wanted to visit a winery and not just any one. In Charlottesville last fall, Megan had been impressed by a red wine from Domaine Fabrice Gasnier, from the nearby Chinon region, and had taken a photo of the restaurant menu. As we drove, though, vineyards lined every road and there were countless signs with grapes and bottles on them. How would we find Fabrice?

P1010885

Luckily, we soon came across a large, helpful map on a display board near the river, showing the location of all the local wineries. After one small wrong turn, we found the right place and squeezed into the crowded driveway. By the doors to a large barn, a couple was sitting outside, but there were no signs to indicate where to go or if the place was even open. They came right over, though, smiling. “Come, come,” they said, drawing Megan and I through a door into a dark, crowded room, filled with voices and music. In the dim recesses ahead, a long row of barrels faded into the darkness.

P1010889 (2)

Incredibly, we had stumbled on a party, been welcomed into a gathering of friends, to celebrate the first bottling of the new year. Before long, we each had a glass in hand and were tasting different red wines, while chatting as best we could in both languages. Then Dad got up there and sang “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad,” with his new friends.

P1010896

Afterward, we all agreed that this had been a highlight of the trip. Eventually, we even found the retail area. In the photo above, Megan and Dad are making a few purchases from Fabrice himself. I plan to save the bottle that I bought for when Megan comes up in August and we’ll drink a toast to serendipity! So, a la prochaine, until the next time.

The humblest and grandest of dwellings

P1010742

Mention of the Loire Valley brings visions of exquisite châteaux, but there are other living spaces here, that couldn’t be more different. In the Loire Valley, winding our way up along France’s longest river, we would experience both.

As we left Carnac, I was navigating, tracing our route carefully to find the smaller roads that would hug the river. Driving in France, unless you are on the large toll roads, is slow and picturesque. If there is a village, it seems, you will pass through it, with a sign as you enter with the village name and another as you exit, showing the same name with a slash through it. Just past Angers, we found the river and followed it toward Saumur.

P1010746

Dad had been telling us the history of the area’s sparkling wines, when suddenly we came upon the grand facade of Gratien & Meyer, the cellars that he had visited long ago. They offered tours to see how their wines (not called champagne because we weren’t in the Champagne region) had been made in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Their cellars, like the many troglodyte cave homes around Saumur, were originally quarries. When the soft limestone called tuffeau was dug out in this region, the caves left behind were inhabited and still are. Often, part of the structure would be in the hillside caves and part would be outside, constructed of blocks of the pale yellow-tan tuffeau that had been quarried there. Tomorrow night we would sleep in rooms like that.

P1010758 (2)

Deep in the cellars, we were introduced to the wine-making process, from the careful blending of grape varieties, through the labeling of the bottles. Labels were applied up the neck of the bottle to hide the inconsistencies in how full the bottles were. Men turned the bottles 1/4 turn each day and could do 50,000 in one day. Then there was the innovative change to metal wire to hold the corks, rather than the hemp cord that rats would sometimes chew through. Note the knight-like face mask above, that the workers wore to protect themselves from carbon dioxide-fueled accidents!

P1010774 (2)

P1010776

From Saumur, we drove to our B&B in Amboise, whose chateau towered above the city. We enjoyed the family feel of Les Collones de Chanteloup, located along a quiet lane. Our breakfast there included some dainty local strawberries very close in size and taste to wild ones and tiny individual pots of chocolate mousse, served in antique flowered porcelain as old as the recipe. Of course, there were also the typical cheeses, meats, breads, cakes, croissants, yogurt, and freshly-squeezed orange juice, too.

P1010766

That day, we visited the chateau at Chenonceau and had our most surprising adventure, a true serendipity and the subject of tomorrow’s post, most likely the last for this adventure. We’ve been home now for almost a week – time to finish up!

P1010914 (2)

The experience of cave dwelling for a night did not disappoint us. Megan and I had the interior room. The curving walls, damp and rugged, set off the clean bed, which was bravely made with crisp white sheets. Crusted on the rough walls were bits of rocks, tinged green with moss or lichen, that mysteriously made their way into our hair. The cooler sleeping temperature (naturally around 54 degrees Fahrenheit unless the heat was on) was a nice change after several sweltering nights in much fancier rooms.

The hotel’s restaurant served dinners centered around bread baked in the traditional troglodyte manner, with various toppings, but we opted for burgers a short walk away at a restaurant by the small village church instead.

P1010919

P1010905

Carnac’s mysterious standing stones

P1010646

I wish we’d had more time to devote to the old walled city of Saint-Malo. Familiar to Megan and I as the setting for the second half of the captivating WWII novel, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, we felt honored just to be there. This was also the home of Jacques Cartier, who, in 1534, sailed from here to explore the St. Lawrence River, claiming (and naming) Canada for France. We spent our too-short time in the many high quality shops, buying gifts.

P1010707

Carnac, which we reached after driving south across Brittany, was one of the areas that Dad most wanted us to experience. Think Stonehenge, but with nearly three thousand prehistoric megaliths, the largest number anywhere in Europe, scattered throughout the countryside. These mysterious, giant standing stones date from as early as 4000 B.C.

We loved our small hotel, Lann Roz, which had a nice patio area and stellar cuisine. Dinner started with three amuse bouche, which we’d first encountered at Le Spinnaker. These surprise treats, courtesy of the chef, included a miniature cup of savory mousse, a cube of smoked salmon and a tiny pastry. From the fixed price menu, I chose langostine cream soup, lamb with new potatoes, and a chocolate, coffee, caramel tart. Heavenly!

P1010708 - dolmen

The next morning, we were (or mostly I was) determined to see some of the stones without company. No little trolley trains or fenced in areas for us. So off we went, map in hand, for a driving loop in the country. The route, we discovered, consisted mostly of walking paths and narrow overgrown drives. However, we felt right at home after years of exploring dubious logging roads in northern Maine.

P1010715

Dad headed our low clearance Opal sedan down a steadily dwindling farm lane, one of its warning sensors dinging in outrage. We saw two not-very-skittish partridge, gorse in full yellow bloom and, at last, three of the vertical standing stones known as menhirs. (The table-like configuration of three stones, as in the top photo above, is a dolmen, often a burial site.) Though their origins are shrouded in mystery, the Carnac stones are believed to have both religious and astronomical significance.

P1010712

This small chapel is typical of Breton architecture, clean and white and simple. The weather, as you can see, continued to be totally unlike the rainy cold we’d anticipated. The temperatures around 80 degrees F. were near record highs, and I was glad to have brought some sleeveless tops. Leaving Carnac in the noon heat, we headed east toward the Loire Valley, where chateaux and wine awaited.

A millennium ago in Normandy

Coronation of Harold

The 11^th-century Bayeux Tapestry is a remarkable work of art and storytelling. Embroidered with richly dyed woolen yarns on a 224-foot-long strip of linen, it is not actually a tapestry at all. Tapestries are woven, not embroidered. Its colors, primarily blues, greens, gold, and russet, still hold true after more than nine centuries.

Going to see this treasure is a must; the visitor experience is so well done. Before entering the darkened room, each person is given an audio guide, like a telephone handset, that narrates the tale and keeps everyone spaced out and moving at the same pace. The subtle lighting enhances the colors and you can move up close to see the details of the stitching. No photography is allowed; these photos are from Wikimedia.

330px-Bayeux_tapestry_laid_work_detail

The tapestry’s more than fifty scenes tell of the events leading up to the Norman Conquest, culminating in the famous Battle of Hastings in 1066. There’s a Norman spin to the story. The scene at the start of this post shows the coronation of King Harold after the death of England’s King Edward, despite Harold having previously pledged allegiance to William of Normandy. Much like a comic strip or graphic novel, the scenes are action-packed, depicting treachery, heroism, and humor. The audio guide pointed out details we might have missed, like Hailey’s Comet, seen as a portent of the coming invasion.

P1010657

Mont-Saint-Michel is even older than the Bayeux Tapestry. Clinging to the top of the island of Mont-Tombe, this monastic enclave has grown over the centuries and has long been a place of pilgrimage. Early in the 11th century, the abbey church was built.

P1010671

The simplicity of the architecture and stained glass, the glorious weather, and the silent presence of the nuns and priests who still serve here, made this a very meaningful time for Megan and I, who climbed to the top for the full self-guided tour.

P1010677

P1010691

P1010686

The Benedictine monks ate in silence in the refectory, shown below, while one read scripture from the pulpit in the right wall.

P1010692

The wheel below was used to haul provisions up to the abbey in the years following the French Revolution when it was used as a prison.

P1010696

Below the abbey, the narrow streets were packed with shops and tourists. We settled for a quick picnic lunch before hurrying to catch up with Mom and Dad. We tried two types of galettes or buckwheat crepes, vegetable (filled with spinach, mushrooms, and tomatoes) and a cooked apple and cheese variety. We loved them!

P1010703

A freedom dearly won

P1010601

Men would have to come to France by sea, and many would have to die.

It was simply a question of where to land and when. Tens of thousands of lives depended on finding the best answer. At the Musée Memorial 1944 Bataille de Normandie, which we visited in Bayeux, it was sobering to learn that an entire department of the military was fully prepared to handle all the fallen soldiers before the first had even landed.

P1010594

Two alternative plans were considered for Operation Overlord, the initial sea-borne invasion that would liberate France. The first, crossing the Pas-de-Calais, where Great Britain and France lie closest, seemed intuitive. There, in northeast France near Belgium, the Allies would be far closer to friendly air support and supplies, and within striking distance of the heart of Germany. The strait, though, was heavily defended.

The beaches of Lower Normandy, forever memorialized now with the simple code names Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword, were also well protected,. There were mines, physical obstacles (Dad stands by one above), and artillery batteries hidden in bunkers. But there was also a weakness. If the bridges across the Seine and the Loire were destroyed, the German troops would be cut off from reinforcements. So, on June 6, 1944, the Allies cast the die there.

P1010619

This museum’s focus was the entire battle for Normandy, up until the liberation of Paris in late August 1944. I wish we had more carefully researched which museum to visit. The town of Bayeux was a good choice for us, though, as we also saw the Bayeux tapestry, part of a future post. We opted for a quick lunch in town, ham and cheese crepes with some of the fabulous Normandy cider, then returned to the museum for the English showing of their film, which did not even include any footage of the beach landings.

P1010604

At the museum, the woman at the information desk grew very emotional as she told me that veterans still often return to visit the area. I was moved, too by the photos of town after town where homes and churches were reduced to rubble.

My greatest wish had been to visit one or more military cemeteries. In fact, I’d seen a documentary about German cemeteries still carefully tended by the French. So it was a huge disappointment to arrive at the American cemetery near Omaha Beach literally as the entrance gates swung shut, 15 minutes before the posted closing time. Almost crying, I was tempted to try to wiggle through the ornate gate that barred the way, but didn’t.

P1010634

Today, Omaha Beach looks much like any other beach, even down to the running children and lipstick-pink umbrellas. This sculpture, called Les Braves, was commissioned for the 60th anniversary of the D-Day landings. What happened there may seem invisible, but after a visit to France, I know that it is not forgotten.

Someday I will come back, to walk among the headstones of the fallen soldiers and pay my respects. After finding our hotel in Saint-Malo, one of an excellent chain called Ibis Style, we enjoyed our best dinner yet at a harborside restaurant called Le Spinnaker.

P1010645

First impressions of rural Normandy

P1010511 - Monet's house

Normandy’s countryside made for a picturesque day of driving, the most we would have this week. Quilted fields of yellow-flowering rapeseed and white-flowering orchards bordered pastures where cows of all colors grazed by half-timbered barns.

The sun was warming the air beneath deep cobalt skies as we arrived in Giverny. Here was where Monet had lived for exactly the second half of his life, from 1883 until his death in 1926. At 80 rue de Claude Monet, we found ample free parking in a spacious lot just across the street from his house. The ticket was a bargain at 9.5 euros.

P1010480 - poppies.JPG

The large rectangular flower garden behind Monet’s house was a riot of brilliant hues. Having just left the dull brown landscape of wintery Maine, I drank in the color. Bright green grass, tulips, azaleas, poppies, and pansies lined the walkways, while vines climbed trellises, arches, and ancient stone walls.

P1010478 - me at Giverny

What I’d been dreaming of seeing, though, was Monet’s water garden, which has been recreated in its original design. A passageway took us under another road and toward the Etang des Nympheas, the lovely French translation of “water lily pond.” And there it was, with the curving bridge and the rowboat and mysterious carp hovering near thick lily pads not yet in flower.

P1010490 - Monet's boat

There were plenty of paths to wander. All of the bridges had been painted rather a shinier, brighter green than I would have chosen, but the other touches blended easily into the garden’s natural design. Bamboo railings were lashed together with dark brown twine and rustic wooden borders lined the tiny, fast-moving stream.

This was a garden of textures, merging with colors, creating the living painting that Monet had intended. People strolled, their voices hushed, as if around the next bend they might come upon Monet intent upon his work.

P1010534 - Monet's kitchen

Inside, the house overflowed with art, as Japanese engravings mingled with the paintings of Monet’s contemporaries and his own. The yellow dining room and blue kitchen made me feel right at home; they were my favorite rooms.

P1010544 - cliffs at Etratat

Our next stop, a detour to Etratat, on Normandy’s north coast, was well worth it. White cliffs bracket the beach on either end like encircling arms and tower high above mere humans. The sea in places has carved out arches and tiny caves. Mom and Dad sat on a bench looking out over the English Channel, perhaps remembering early days on a beach on the other side of the Atlantic.

P1010555 - Mom and Dad at Etratat

We ended our day with dinner in the scenic town of Honfleur, where tall narrow houses, some 2 windows wide and 7 stories tall, marched along the far side of the harbor. We will have one more day in Normandy, then head to Brittany.

P1010567 - Honfleur