Château Gardens, Church of Miracles and Covid Reflections

After a week of sub-zero temperatures, the weather flip-flopped with a sneak preview of spring.  A rare treat in February for Paris!

My first thoughts were a walk in nature. With a 6pm curfew, wherever we went, it had to be close to Paris, so as not to be stuck in the habitual bumper-to-bumper late Sunday return traffic that moves at the pace of snails.

The weather fairies gifted us with a sunny almost balmy weekend, that usually only happens in late March, but February?  A great respite from winter Covid blues.

Nothing like wandering around the manicured gardens of a chateau, where you will find moats, fountains, statues, and wonderful green vistas.

Visits inside chateaux are not possible thanks to Covid, but I relish the gardens more.  After a while, however beautiful chateaux interiors are, they often start to look alike with period furniture,  ornate wall trimmings, grand staircases, and a rich array of canvases perfectly curated in every room.

I keep thinking that one day I am going to run out of discovering a new chateau.   Yet in over 20 years here, it hasn’t occurred!

 

 

 

 

 

Ile de France(the surrounding countryside that encircles Paris) is as studded with an abundance of chateaux as raisins in raisin buns.

Chateau Champs Sur Marne is a rather modest chateau in so far as chateaux go, but not the gardens. An added plus was an intriguing church of miracles nearby, that sounded perfect to visit during Covid times.

The chateau sits on a promontory overlooking an intricately carved formal French garden below that reminds me of Versailles.

I find it absolutely amazing when you think of all the wealth it took to construct them, and seemingly much more today to restore and maintain them in their former beauty!

Some are owned by the state and some have been handed down to family heirs.  Whereas visits inside the chateaux are paying, the majority of the luscious parks that surround them aren’t.

Given that winter, might not be the best time to see the gardens, there is a certain quiet elegance that pervades the weather-beaten grounds, now reduced to stark minimalism.

Bare tree limbs stretch out naked against the winter sky and the withered foliage of plants looked as scraggly as my uncut hair.

Walking around the grounds of these old chateaux awakens some melancholic reflections inside of me.  I can’t be sure why, but I think it is the sadness for all the disappeared souls that once walked the very same grounds under my feet.

It’s been a rough winter emotionally, straining every seam of perseverance not only in me but in all of us, whether acknowledged or not.

Vapor trails drawn against the azure sky remind me of Covid crosses we have all carried; some more heavy and grievous than others.

Certainly, these departed ones had rough times in their lives as well.  Wars and plagues decimated their families.   They lived through much worse than we are currently experiencing.

All they could do was hide or run away if they had the means to do so to avoid death and disfigurement.  Families routinely grieved the deaths of young children cruelly stolen from life by bacterias and viruses that people had no awareness of and few ways of prevention.

The trees of the chateau were already neatly pruned making them look like the electrified extensions of fork prongs pointing towards the sky in defiance.

It brought to mind our poor neurons and all the stressful synapses carried out each moment during this crisis just to keep us alive!

I have been feeling alternating moods of quiet defiance and then meek acceptance to the wiles Covid has besotted our planet.   Denial, however, was never a problem with me!

Denial of the continued lurking danger will get you nowhere fighting this sneaky virus, that can’t wait to make you another victim.

The Orangerie, where citrus and other delicate plants are sheltered inside to await more forgiving weather reminded me of recent confinements.

Humans too, needed to be harbored inside to protect us from the ravages of Covid!

 

 

Peeking through the windows I saw healthy green trees and plants waiting for spring again like we are for post-Covid times.

At least my ongoing simmering melancholy has waned somewhat after having gotten my second vaccine.  Grateful and smiling I am, like this triumphed statue!

The grey days of winter seemed to fade away awhile while pondering springtime to come.  Uncertainty abounds for sure.  Yet there is hope!

I find the stored up energy of the impending spring swelling from within gives off a tangible sense of excitement like awaiting the birth of a child.

I welcome the bouncy green grass that seemingly floats on the spongy moist soil underneath cushions my steps like walking on a water bed.

Spring green baby leaves will suddenly emerge on those stiff bare branches. Flowers will return to fill those sadly sparse empty beds.

Water will once again start to sprout from the mouths of angels and mythic Greek gods in fountains flinging cool mists across my face.

Life throws obstacles and hardships our way indiscriminately.  None of us knows exactly what will come down the pipe.

Neither did those who have gone before us.  Such is our plight in life.  Resiliency and perseverance we are called to develop in order to survive.

Making pleasing art from fallen trees and dead tree trunks reminds me that life has to be constantly reframed and reinterpreted.

 

 

Creating beauty from lifeless forms is akin to us eeking out whatever good we can from our own misery and losses.

 

 

 

 

 

Learn to seek joy now each day, not waiting for spring.   Springtime is a given, living is not.  Be grateful for all the good that has come your way; even the small things you tend to overlook.

Give thanks for surviving and offer comfort to those left behind in grief.  Forgive all who have hurt and betrayed you.

Before leaving the area, I wanted to visit an ancient church in nearby Lagney Sur Marne where several miracles occurred.

Abbatiale  Notre Dame des Ardents is no ordinary country church by any means!   It was built in the 900’s, before Notre Dame de Paris on the site of a monastery founded by an Irish monk.

It is an incredible jewel of gothic architecture that drew two popes in the 12 century to visit on pilgrimage!

One plaque in the church pays homage to Saint Jeanne d’Arc for her intense prayers credited to having revived a deceased child, after three days!

The other mentioned the popes’ visit who came to honor the Blessed Virgin for saving the population from a pandemic of ergotism.

Ergotism or Saint Anthony’s fire was caused by eating rye grain, the most readily available at that time, that was contaminated by a deadly fungus.

It was responsible for decimating villages throughout Europe for many years during medieval times.

Whereas back then, they weren’t sure of the cause, we at least know about the causal agent of Covid.  Another reason to give thanks for modern science and the new vaccines brought forth to protect us!

By the way, the deadly fungus called Claviceps Purpurea, a powerful vasoconstrictor that caused gangrene in limbs was later discovered to have medicinal use to save lives!

An extract of the fungus, called ergotamine can be used to stop hemorrhaging in postpartum women, start uterine contractions and treat migraines!

May our scientists develop something of good from the horrendous coronavirus as they did with that fungus!

Who knows, maybe even a vaccine for some common colds caused in part by coronaviruses?

 

The stained glass windows were gorgeous; as bright and vivid a those of Chartres.  The gothic arches were some of the highest my eye has seen!

We felt drawn to light a candle for all those lost to Covid and to those in grief left behind.

Must have had a run on candles Sunday, as there wasn’t one candle left in the whole church for us to light!   The first time in not finding a candle to light!!

Silent prayers in our hearts though can be hidden candles seen only by God. 

Despite being back on the road an hour before curfew, traffic slowed to snail pace as we crept close to Paris.

Thirty minutes past six we pulled into our place, taking an hour and a half for ordinarily a thirty-minute drive!

Home sweet home!