Embracing Winter Living on our French Estate

February in Occitanie is usually crisp and cold, a time for crackling fires, steaming mugs of coffee, and the slow, steady rhythm of winter life on an old estate in the heart of southwest France. But this year, the rain has other plans.

Beth’s latest piece takes us through winter chores, house leaks, and dogs indifferent to mud. Amid weather battles and spring pruning, she shows that soggy winters have their own magic.

Cold Comforts

“Brrrr… is it chilly where you are? After watching news footage of punishing snowstorms in the US and floods in Spain, we’re counting our blessings. So far, we’ve been lucky. A brief cold snap took us down to –8°C for a few days and, oddly enough, I didn’t mind it at all.

Hard frosts can be helpful. We have several aviaries housing a variety of birds, including our much-loved chooks, who sadly can’t free-range thanks to the local raptor population. Buzzards and kites may be magnificent, but they’re also fond of chicken dinners. Frost helps zap the bugs lurking in muddy winter ground, at least for a while — which is very handy.

Cold weather also keeps plants behaving themselves. Woody perennials harden off, sap slows, and energy is stored for spring. Bud too early and you’ll hear the collective wails of our fruit-farming neighbours. Early blossom caught by a late frost can be disastrous.

Ice Saints and Weather Lore

The French, masters of excellent idioms and expressions, have folklore for everything. The Saints de glace — the Ice Saints — warn against trusting spring too soon. Until Saint Servais has passed in mid-May, frost is always a possibility. Our fruit farmers are firm believers, and with decades of experience behind them, I respect their hunches.

The Mud Season

In rural southwest France, cold fronts often give way to rain. Days of it. Our clay soil absorbs moisture at a glacial pace, turning forest paths into quagmires and gentle streams into rapids. Even our Aussie Shepherds give those a wide berth — though they’ll happily plunge into gunky puddles, ending walks plastered in mud. It’s weather like this that nudges us towards jobs closer to home.

Log Pride

Firewood is one of them. Like most locals, we love our log fire, and we also sell wood from felled trees. Over time, we’ve learned that firewood comes with surprising levels of pride. Logs must be properly seasoned — sec but not dusty — and stored just so. And let’s be honest, nobody likes watching a damp log sulk on the grate.

Pruning Time Approaches

February is when fruit trees start receiving long, thoughtful looks. On dog walks through neighbouring apple orchards, I often spot pruners sucking their teeth, debating conditions and moon phases. My own tasks are less technical: turning potager beds, laying weed sheets, cleaning tools, and checking cuttings taken back in November.

Old Houses, New Leaks

Our home sits on the footprint of a medieval fortified structure and is several centuries old. We adore its character, but old buildings come with challenges — damp being a favourite. Heavy rains test our Roman roof tiles and gutters, and the occasional sneaky leak appears. These are patched up for now and added to the ever-growing summer list.

Each window has shutters, which we check and repair before spring. These jobs are best left until late afternoon, as despite our bat boxes, pipistrelles prefer the cosy gaps behind elderly shutters. They’re delightful to watch, but messy to live with. Afternoon repairs allow any sleepy bats to relocate before nightfall, avoiding a full-scale nature rescue.

Wildlife Indoors

February countryside living can be lively. Field mice occasionally pop up via mysterious plumbing routes, squeak a brisk “Bonjour!” and vanish behind cupboards. Stink bugs gather in clans on windowsills, emitting a truly impressive pong if threatened. And the ceiling cavity often echoes with loirs sounding like tap-dancers. Housework this month always involves wildlife management.

Soup Season (Mostly)

The kitchen is calmer. I give the freezer a pre-spring clear-out, uncovering unlabelled mysteries that become treats for Nap, our rescue pot-bellied pig. He’s far less fussy than we are.

The pantry is still full of the potager’s final offerings, which make me ridiculously proud. Mind you, my bumper crop of squash and sweet potatoes has become an endless menu of soups and purées — sustaining yet sensible. But by late February, even Jack is craving a crisp green salad.

A Moment of Spring

Then come the perfect days. Long rambles through the forest, winter sun filtering through bare trees. We might spot deer, boar, or an elusive fox — and our dogs, regardless of temperature, will always end up wallowing in our favourite baby waterfall.

Some mornings begin with hats and gloves and end in rolled-up sleeves. Tea in hand, I admire bulbs planted last autumn now bursting into cheerful yellow clusters. Hedgerow birds provide a raucous breakfast chorus. Spring is edging closer. February may seem quiet, but here, there’s always something happening — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A heartfelt thank you to Beth for bringing the charm, chaos, and honest beauty of life on her French estate to our pages. If you love her stories about animals, wilderness, and rural quirks, you’ll enjoy her latest book, “Beyond the Forest Fringe”, the newest in the Fat Dogs and French Estates series. 

Beth goes deeper into the woodlands and wildlife around her home, sharing humorous, touching, and bittersweet tales. It’s clear where she finds her inspiration, and we’re lucky she shares it with us!