Visiting my childhood…
This is Bubry, France. It’s the reason why I made Apple Pie.
Last month, my mother and I went to visit my grandmother (who now lives in a retirement home) as well as Bubry, the town where my Mamy lived most of her life and where I did a lot of my growing up.
This is Madonna. You know you’re getting old when the donkey you knew as a kid is looking grey.
This is Madonna’s owner: Émile Bernard. When I was little I thought he was the Émile Bernard, Impressionist painter.
Lots of people in Bubry—especially the older generation of women—think I’m monstrously tall and a freak of nature, but it was Émile’s wife who actually said to me quite plainly that my height “isn’t right for a woman!”
This is my Maman and an old friend of the family, Jeannette, with Daisy the muppet dog. The first thing that Jeannette said to me when she saw me was: “you’re so tall.” The second thing was: “it suits you.” That made me happy!
In this photo they’re laughing so hard because Jeannette was telling me not to waste film on a couple of “old biddies.” Needless to say, my mother was not thrilled to be included in that statement…!
Daisy with Jean, Jeannette’s husband. I think she wants some pastry.
It’s true: we ate a lot of pastries while we were there. This is my all-time favorite kind, with lots of chocolate and meringue.
Apple cake made by our cousin Louisette.
Lots of apples in the region. In the Morbihan, the part of Brittany where Bubry is located, it’s said that babies are weaned on hard cider.
While we were there, everything was in this strange state of half-decay. Brittany had a rotten summer, so many things bloomed late and then died a slow death all autumn. It was lovely.
Some plants weren’t certain whether it was winter or spring.
And then there were the ones who were dead certain just what they were supposed to be doing and when!
It’s usually very wet in Brittany—like the Pacific Northwest on steroids.
But we had mostly sunshine while we were there. That’s totally unheard of in December!
I…
...have…
...a thing…
...for HYDRANGEAS! I’ve always loved the clusters of flowers and the way that their colors depend on the soil that they grow from.
A hydrangea plant that thinks it’s spring.
Lots of poppies blooming too.
We took many walks while we were there.
Often, they led us to the cemetery.
I grew up visiting the graves of my family.
This is the cemetery within the cemetery, where dead offerings go to rot.
Strange berry things discovered on a walk.
I wish my hair would do this.
Even the ferns there are un-Oregon-like.
Bugs hiding.
Vines creeping.
Plants twirling.
Cow hair blowing in the breeze.
Blood sausage. My grandmother loves this with stewed apples.
The butcher at the supermarket. Bubry has an Intermarché and that’s probably what keeps the village alive.
Still, Bubry is proud of its open-air market, which it has held every second and fourth Wednesday for the last 400 years!
Wires aren’t buried in Bubry. It was funny to see because I live in a newer neighborhood in Portland where everything is underground, and I didn’t miss the wires until I saw the ones in Bubry.
A view of the village, entering on the cemetery road.
A rundown house waiting for an English person to come over and renovate it.
This one too.
And this one.
There’s a special kind of moldy mildew that grows all over everything in Brittany.
It’s this color and patterning that most remind me of my childhood.
Just outside my mother’s house in Bubry. Her place is on the commercial square (as opposed to the church square), but it’s behind a row of storefronts.
You have to come through a tunnel amongst the storefronts to get to the house.
I don’t know where this leads but it’s right near the tunnel.
Part of the “yard” is shared(ish) with a cousin’s yard.
This is looking out through the tunnel towards the street.
Every day that we were in Brittany, we visited my Mamy. Here, my mother was doing her mother’s nails.
Family.
That’s my Mamy’s look. She didn’t make it much while we were there. She has less and less moments of clarity.
Visiting a cousin who lives at the coast.
A square cloud.
The Fort Bloqué. You can walk to it when the tide is out. My Maman and I did that once, years ago, and got caught by the incoming tide. Needless to say, it was a wet ride home!
Even the seaweed is different in Brittany.
My old school in Bubry, where I did the last month of every school year growing up.
I always loved the school’s mural. I used to love school there too!
An old school friend, Floriane, with her cat, Chat-Chat (that translates to “Cat-Cat”).
Floriane is a grade school teacher now.
The dreaded red pen!
photo by Floriane’s sister
I hadn’t seen Floriane in fourteen years. I sure hope that doesn’t happen again!
The funny thing about visiting your childhood…
...is that there’s nothing like it to make you realize you’re all grown up.
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CATEGORIES: - Philosophy - On photography -
(5) Comments / Commentaires: Visiting my childhood…
Hi Gwenn
You don,t know me but i live in Bubry since 2005
I am dutch and so we are special in Bubry.
When I was searching on Google images I found the photo of Emile Bernard.
Because I know him I was very surprised to find him on internet.
I was surprised to find your story and I recognized a lot of your photos.
Even I know the school, because I have my yoga overthere.
Thank you for your reportage.
Anke Gerritzen
Les Horizons
Bubry
Gwenn,
The pictures of your trip to France are wonderful. I love the village pictures, and your sweet family. I especially love the unusual close-ups of plants. Beautiful!
-Madeline Bishop
Hi Gwenn,
I found your blog as I was surfing the Internet (looking for something interesting about Bubry…)
My name is Mannaïg, we don’t know each other but maybe you remember my mother. Her name is Marie-France Le Stunff, she was a teacher at the school “La Feuillaison” (CE1-CE2).
I told her that I found your blog (which is very good by the way). She was pleasantly surprised and she immediately remembered you and your family. She remember you as a nice blond little girl with your brother and your mother preparing such lovely snacks (“goûters”) for your birthdays at school!
She still has the greeting cards you sent every year with pictures of you and your brother !!
I hope you have still a few memories about those years being in “La Feuillaison”!
I’ll show her your paintings, she’ll be very happy!
Mannaïg.
Hello Mannaïg! Your English is amazing! And, yes, I definitely remember your mother and fondly too—school in Bubry was far more fun than school in the US.
I just got back from another visit to Bubry and it will probably be my last one for a while. My mother sold her house there, and we were there to clean it out and hand it over to the new owners. It’s strange to no longer have a home in dear old Bubry…
Patricia Giraud...
hi Gwenn - No, we don’t know each other. I am a frequent visitor to your blog. I just wanted to thank you for the lovely tour today. I was fortunate to live in France when I was 11-13 years old. My family spent quite a few wonderful vacations in Britanny. Your photographs brought back some lovely memories. Merci beaucoup.
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