When I planned this trip, I could never have imagined all the extraordinary and dreamy things that we would get to experience. Here are just a few:
Our neighbors had invited us into their living room to use their WIFI (wee-fee, she calls it). They were in the next room, huddled over the radio they had placed on the kitchen table listening to a message from their president. They were hopeful about the changes he was going to make for France and her people. We felt privileged to get to witness that.
Before we left, Monique asked us if we knew about the special local church, Redon Espic, hidden so deep in the woods that it was one of the few churches to survive the revolution. She gave us vague directions through the woods, but told us that it would be well worth our efforts.
Then she told us (in broken English with her lovely French accent) of the legend of Jeanne Grave. In the early 1800's, at the age of just 14, Jeanne was shepherding her fold in a nearby field, when an apparition of the Virgin Mary appeared to her and told her to ask her parents to build a place of prayer by a nearby stream, close to Redon Espic Church. Her parents believed Jeanne and built the place called L'Oratoire. To this day, it is a special place of reflection and prayer to the local people.
She described to us the marble plaques hanging inside that are engraved in gold lettering with a single word, "Merci". She went on to explain that people write their prayers on tiny pieces of paper and hide them in the cracks of the stones. When their prayers are answered, they remove the paper and have plaques made in commemoration. Some of them include the date of the answered prayer. Isn't this the most beautiful thing?
The next day, Kurt and I decided we would try to find the church by walking through the woods in the general direction that she pointed. The paths were not clearly defined and sometimes we would come to a fork and have to decide which path to choose but that made the hunt that much more magical. After walking through the forest for about a mile, we came to a clearing beside a road but there was no church in sight. We assumed we must have chosen the wrong direction at the forks. Little did we know that in getting lost, we would find so much more.
Meeting Thierry
While we were standing there discussing what to do next, it just so happened, (or did it?) that the Mayor, whom we'd met on our first day, happened by. Of course, he pulled off the road to help us. We explained how we came to be standing there and he motioned for the car behind him to stop. In that car was Thierry, the president of the organization responsible for the restoration of the church. When the Mayor told him that we were looking for the church, he left his car on the side of the road and said, "Allez", (follow me).
He took us on a private tour and told us everything he knew about the church. He took the time to show us every detail, including the fact that the entire church was once painted red and white "like a formula car". He told us about the annual pilgrimage from the church down to L'Oratoire. I wish we'd been there to witness that. We felt honored to be the beneficiaries of his knowledge and hospitality.
L'Oratoire
After the tour, he asked us to hop into his car and he drove us down to L'Oratoire. In the middle of a weekday, there were several people there praying. The place was so still and quiet.
Then he asked us if we would like to go to his estate. His land, his home and the many buildings sprawled across the hilltop overlooking St. Cyprien. As we walked around listening to his stories, I noticed the prettiest fluffy chickens walking along with us. He showed us the building where he hosts cooking classes. We toured his many rose covered buildings, including the gites that he and his wife rent out. Then he took us into his underground wine cave and showed us his collection of wine.
All around the estate, there were fountains and rain barrels. He called it a paradise and we agreed. He, then, took us into his home. The French live moderatly but beautifully. Before we left, he gave us a jar of his homemade vanilla fig jelly. then kindly drove us home. What a wonderful unexpected morning!
Kurt and I enjoyed driving our little European car along the country roads while listening to classical music. We felt like we were driving fast but got honked at a lot. Whenever we would pass a cemetery, we would pull over and walk through them, looking for ancestors with the name Reneau. French cemeteries are lovely. Families are sometimes all buried in the same tomb.
Later in the day, while Kurt used the weefee, I helped Monique plant in her garden.
Kurt and I would return to Redon Espic, usually on Sundays. It became one of my favorite places on Earth. We always had the church to ourselves which created an intimacy and reverence that can not be described with words.
It was impossible to reconcile how I could love it there so much, yet truly ache for home.
Comments