Finding Home in Brittany
At the end of the first pandemic confinement, I found her: a charming storybook stone cottage with dormers, a stone barn, and three acres of gardens, pasture, and forest. There was a maximum 100-kilometer travel perimeter in place, and I had been house hunting online from a house I'd rented near Dinan in Brittany, France.
My husband and I had initially set our sights on Bourgogne, and I'd started our search there. However, after experiencing the extremes of the icy, frigid winters and triple-digit heatwave summers in Bourgogne, my heart longed to be near the ocean again. I moved from Beaune to a tiny hamlet in the countryside of Bretagne, where I lived in a stunning home built in 1728 and owned by the same family for four generations. There, with my son, we passed most of the Covid confinements while I baked bread, cooked homemade meals, built a new vegetable garden, and tended to the chickens.
IN FULL BLOOM
When you are actively searching for a home in France, it's a full-time job. There is no central listing service in this country, so finding the right property at the right price is like looking for a needle in a haystack. I created a master list of websites, agencies, and resources that I would check twice, sometimes thrice daily. The real estate market during Covid was booming; ex-pats and immigrants in the area were nervous about their futures and wanted to return to their home countries to be near family. City dwellers were desperate to leave the confines of their tiny apartments for the freedom of the French countryside. Properties were selling quickly.
When I first saw her storybook facade, with the big purple wisteria flowers and green vines reaching across the Breton stonework, I immediately called the real estate agent and booked an appointment.
Generally speaking, when you work with a real estate agent, they do not give you the property's address. Instead, you meet at the nearest village church and follow the agent to the house in your car. As we drove along the rural back roads of the Côtes d'Armor and down into a valley with sweeping territorial views, we came around a bend in the rue. A small river with giant oaks curved gracefully at the bottom of the property, and a colossal hedgerow full of rose hips over twelve feet tall lined the right side of the pasture.
Mes voisins
Enlightened Elegance
Madame at the end of the rue also has a lovely potager and a small dog. She loves to fuss over Rose and Pearl and share her juicy, ripe tomatoes with me.
Philippe and Catherine own a house and lake cabin up the road, and he makes the best moules marinière—succulent fresh Bouchot mussels plucked from the nearby Bay of Saint-Brieuc, cooked in a homemade broth. A la Française, we slurp down shot glasses of the delicious soup at the end of the meal while Philippe's father serenades us with old-timey songs.
And then there is my darling Denis. A retired Breton farmer, his heart is as big as his giant blue tractor. During the week, he works tirelessly to help others around the immediate area. The chores and tasks required to maintain these centuries-old homes are never-ending, and the farming community here supports each other like family. When it's time to harvest, it does not matter—everyone pitches in. And on the weekend, Denis offers his BBQ catering services and provides giant pig roasts to locals for anniversaries, weddings, and birthday celebrations. He'll often save a plate for me and swing by on his tractor that he uses like a car, honks his horn two times, and places the container on the top of my gate for me to collect.
That same Spring, I also had the opportunity to discover my new gardens.
As each week passed, I'd find a fresh flower, bulb, or plant had arrived to share with me its bounty, a glorious colorful show. I found old rose bushes hidden under overgrown grasses and weeds and started to reclaim garden beds that had been neglected.
Tulips and daffodils raised their heads, and the old lilac tree on the corner of the property turned a brilliant purple. Brilliant blue Breton hydrangeas welcomed guests to the courtyard as the glycine unfurled her first few tendrils: the beginning of a season-long battle to keep her out of my gutters and eaves.
As nature gave its gifts, I turned my sights to an ignored part of the property, full of potential, wild birds, and with perfect sun exposure. I thought of turning an upper terraced area into an extensive rose garden and began to draw up plans and research the roses I wanted to plant. That’s when I found Sue, a David Austin rose grower, right here in Bretagne, less than an hour from my house. I will share her story with you later on in the book.
Fast forward a couple of years, and I now have over ninety roses planted at the house, and I cannot wait to add more to the collection. If you'd like to follow along the growing season with me, I often share rose updates on my Instagram and YouTube channels.
THIS IS MY PROMISE
Researching and writing this book has been an incredible journey for me; I fell down an Alice in Wonderland-like rabbit hole and never found my way back out. I could spend years discovering the stories, history, and magic of roses in France.
I want to collect Ducher roses, explore the entire Rose Route by car, find more ancient varietals to add to my collection, and add rose hip oil to my everyday healthcare practices.
And while I know that some of you might be experts on this subject, please understand that the Paris Quarterly is simply my experiences and perspective as an American living and working in this country. I don't attempt to write on this topic as a professional, but I hope to inspire you, perhaps share something new, and give you a lovely book to pass the time with on a sunny Spring afternoon.
Thanks for your support,
Bisous from France
Where to Eat
Where to Go
DINARD
SAINT MALO
DINAN
PAMPOIL
