Yes, It Does Rain in the South of France

 

In our non-France existence, we live on a beautiful island outside Seattle.  We know all the jokes about how much it rains there.  It rains a lot.  But, more accurately, it rains much of the time.  Yes, we have many words for the nuances of rainfall and the appearance of the sun.  But, more than the precipitation itself, as the years wear on, the least welcome aspect of life in the Pacific Northwest, weather-wise, is the greyness.  

The Dordogne, the Périgord, is not, generally, grey.  It's sunny when it's sunny - which is a lot by my PNW standards - and not usually overcast.

And, when it rains...wow.  It RAINS.  The rains remind me of summers in New Mexico where I grew up.  They bring even more drama to an already fairly drama-saturated landscape.  They bring lightning and ferocious thunder, rivers down the streets, neighbors scrambling to save their welcome mats and flower pots.  They bring next days of rainbows and street closures and crews working to remove debris and restore road edges washed away in the midnight before.

It's fitting that in the land of the most medieval castles anywhere on the globe, the weather is almost Wagnerian.  One can imagine Poseidon striding across the valley, trident in hand, unleashing his anger against the latest insult flung foolishly in his direction.

Curiously, my limited experience with these dramatic events is that deep night is their preferred stage - Camelot-like.  Both times I filmed these downpours, I alone was awake in the house.  More unbelievably, both times my housemates slept through the whole thing.  Two-foot thick medieval walls!