Dear Dad,

 

Today is the 5th anniverary of your passing, and I thought I'd let you know what I'm up to.  

I write this letter from a (slightly rundown) house in a small village in France's Perigord.  I'd fallen in love with idea of a house in the Perigord Noir some years ago and when you passed, and then Mom, and then my job disappeared - all against the backdrop of a global pandemic - I decided to honor your legacy by following my dream of a life that included, at least part of the time, France.

I landed in a small medieval bastide village in the Dordogne, with a view of the local Chateau, the 11th and 12th Century stone houses, and the cows grazing in the valley below.  My neighbors hail from the UK, the Netherlands, Australia, Portugal, my own state in the US, and - shockingly - even France.  

The village is being re-discovered, and scaffolding and tradesfolk are on seemingly every street.  New shops are opening, we have a boulangerie once again, and the Saturday market now boasts up to 40 vendors in the summer.

When I am feeling stir crazy (not often), I hit the road in my little French car and wind my way up through golden villages and down into verdant valleys, past medieval castles, the region's name-sake river, and mile upon mile of the most productive farmland imaginable.

Nearby, in almost every direction, are the literal beginnings of civilization,  Cave dwellings and art and museums that crack open every assumption about what it means to be human.  Some of them are extremely sophisticated, others are there just to walk up to and take in.

The house has a grotto with a hundreds-year-old fountain, fed by underground springs, that we only just now got working.  Today I added donated goldfish to it.  They seem happy in their home and they bring me delight and should keep the mosquitos that vex my neighbors/friends at bay.

My weeks usually include sharing food with friends either here or in their homes, puttering in the garden or grotto, buying baguettes that I can never finish before they turn into weapons, and watching the unending vehicle ballet on the busy street below my balcony.

It is a quiet, but surprisingly full, life.  The pleasures are small.  The friendships are new and evolving.  The constant learning - about history, language, customs, even gossip - enriching and enjoyable.  And the ancient and ever-present beauty - breathtaking and comforting.  It is astonishing to live in a space that has been inhabited for hundreds of years.

You were a world traveler all your life.  You never tired of exploring and experiencing new places.  I thought you might be pleased to know that in my own, different, way, I followed in your footsteps.  Thank you.

Miss you, cher Papa,

Deirdre