deviantART: Popular France Village Country Life

The Silence of the Village

Tue, 02 Sep 2008 16:41:12 PDT

© Ben Heine || Facebook || Twitter || www.benheine.com
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I captured this peaceful scenery in Saint Léon. It's a very quite
and beautiful place in the South West of France. A must see if
you ever travel in this region...
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For more information about my artwork: info@benheine.com
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The Deserted Village

A poem by Oliver Goldsmith

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, where every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er your green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made;
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree:
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down!
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong look of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:
These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms -But all these charms are fled.

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain:
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But choked with sedges works its weedy way.
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall;
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away, thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When every rood of ground maintained its man;
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life required, but gave no more:
His best companions, innocence and health;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain;
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlet's rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose,
And every want to opulence allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that asked but little room,
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene,
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green;
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs -and God has given my share -
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt and all I saw;
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations passed,
Here to return -and die at home at last.

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How happy he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state
To spurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels round befriending Virtue's friend;
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay,
While Resignation gently slopes the way;
All, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His Heaven commences ere the world be past!

Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below;
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watchdog's voice that bayed the whisp'ring wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
All but yon widowed, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forced in age for bread
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
She only left of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the pensive plain.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place;
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain;
The long remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service passed, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;
Even children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school;
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned;
Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declared how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around,
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew.

But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the signpost caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired,
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place:
The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay, -
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chilled the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay;
While broken teacups, wisely kept for show,
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row.

Vain transitory splendours! Could not all
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall!
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear;
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined:
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed,
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain;
And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth
Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth;
His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies:
While thus the land adorned for pleasure, all
In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.

As some fair female unadorned and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes;
But when those charms are passed, for charms are frail,
When time advances and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed,
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed;
But verging to decline, its splendours rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise;
While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms -a garden, and a grave.

Where then, ah! where, shall poverty reside,
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed,
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And even the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped -what waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share;
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know
Extorted from his fellow creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train;
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy!
Are these thy serious thoughts? -Ah, turn thine eyes
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.
She once, perhaps, in a village plenty blessed,
Has wept at tales of innocence distressed;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;
Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head,
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!

Ah, no! -To distant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far different there from all that charmed before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore;
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray
And fiercely shed intolerable day;
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men more murderous still than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love.

Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed that parting day
That called them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, every pleasure passed,
Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked their last,
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main;
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep,
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep.
The good old sire, the first prepared to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe;
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for a father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the silent manliness of grief.

O luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse thy pleasures only to destroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own;
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe;
Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound,
Down, down they sink, and spread the ruin round.

Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land:
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes placed above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell, and oh! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth; with thy persuasive strain
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him that states of native strength possessed,
Though very poor, may still be very blessed;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

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--> The poem appeared on [link]

Rochebaudin - Drome - France

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 05:57:23 PST

This is a photo i take the 25 january 2009 in a beautiful morning at "Rochebaudin", a little village in a region called "La drôme" in France...
Hope you like

Village

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 14:33:14 PDT

Village… Chartreuse… nom???

Mamiya M645 1000s + 80mm + HP5

The Village

Fri, 21 Jan 2011 02:34:52 PST

Village de Pierre-Percée
(Photo prise depuis les hauteurs du Château du même nom)

Meurthe-et-Moselle, France
2008

Un village de Languedoc

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 12:09:24 PDT

Languedoc, France

My Village

Sun, 24 Oct 2010 17:08:06 PDT

༃ Watch me:[link] ༀ Flickr me:[link] ⺞ Facebook me: [link] ༆

Model: Saint Haon Le Vieux

Now We Are Free

Mon, 20 Apr 2009 09:21:14 PDT

Talmont, France

I cant make up my mind about it.......... and I thought I would give you a break from yellow fields and blue skies.

Into The Void

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 08:16:23 PST

Mum with the two dogs on a very misty morning.

Village

Sun, 06 May 2012 09:23:21 PDT

South West France village

one way to the world

Wed, 13 Jul 2011 09:21:04 PDT

this was taken in a small village in the southeast of France, called La Vachette. I used to drive through it every time I went to go snowboarding or see my friends or take the children somewhere while staying in a neighbouring place. I had to keep straight on whereas the road that goes to the left eventually leads to Italy.

film, mid-april

My Life Without Me

Thu, 13 Jan 2011 12:36:15 PST

_{My parents little village, they live in the other half though

The title is in relation to it being a bit of my life, but I'm not in it

Old photo, which I thought I had on here.

I love visiting this place}

Boots

Mon, 08 Mar 2010 23:24:37 PST

France, in a small village of Languedoc region

From "My favorite stairs" series: [link]

Featured:
[link]
[link]

Little Village

Fri, 11 Nov 2011 12:44:23 PST

Hehehe I wanted to call it 'the shire' but it doesn't look like it at all so I decided against it.
It's just a tiny little village in the Ardens

choco village

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 22:25:39 PST

choco80 + colorpack 88

winter in france

Olargues, a village in France

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 15:14:01 PDT

the beautiful and idyllic village Olargues in the region of Languedoc, a part of Parc Naturel Regional du Haut Languedoc, a part of the southern France. The picture is taken by the very good restaurant "Fleurs d'Olargues", located on the river Jaurès.

Villefranche sur mer

Tue, 19 Jul 2011 11:39:40 PDT

Villenfranche-sur-Mer (França). Poble preciós de la costa mediterrània francesa.

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Villefranche-sur-Mer (Francia). Pueblo precioso de la costa mediterránea francesa

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Villefranche-sur-Mer (France). This is a wonderful village situated in the coast of the Mediterranean Sea.

val de ruil - one

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 20:43:10 PDT

Val de Ruil, about an hour northwest of Paris, where we stayed in a small cottage by the riverbank.

eze-village

Tue, 23 Mar 2010 15:45:17 PDT

france

Towards The Tower

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 00:50:52 PST

Village de Mirmande - France - Décembre 2007

Canfranc

Thu, 16 Sep 2010 15:01:12 PDT

Verano @ Canfranc, Pirineos, Agosto 2010

Saint Paul de Vence II

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 11:53:24 PST

France
Featured by:

Mountain village Saorge

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 04:08:52 PDT

Taken in Saorge (in the upstate of Menton, region of Alpes-Maritimes, France)

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Saorge is a nice little mountain village at the Italian-French border above the canyon of the river Roya. The houses are nestled up against the cliffy hills in the typical cascades which can be seen in so many villages in this region. The romantic small alleys with lots of stairs just seem like a labyrinth.

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This picture is part of a series of pictures taken in the Italien Riviera and in the Provence in France: From Italian Riviera to Provence

Looking down

Thu, 04 Sep 2008 16:24:43 PDT

He loves staring down at other cats! This is his village...

Hameau de La Leque (Gard) - France

photo © "Bloody Bat Yamiko" Alexandra de Millo
If you want to use it for manipulation or anything, please, ask me before!

Lavoir

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 05:37:40 PDT

Lavoir de Aulon, petit village de France

Hidden Village

Sun, 04 May 2008 00:12:18 PDT

I took this while vacationing in the south of France in a village called Tourettes-Sur-Loup.

Settling in

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 08:51:57 PDT

The beautiful small town of New Glarus in southern Wisconsin on a September evening. Boys practicing football, parents making dinner kids playing in the yards. I can breathe here.

Gordes

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 03:41:16 PST

2007 - Gordes, Provence, France
Typical village on top of a mount

agfa isolette 2 field 2

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 06:41:40 PST

expired film
france

calm night

Thu, 24 Nov 2011 01:02:06 PST

peaceful village, moustiere, south france

France a la fin du XIX Siecle1

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 13:07:25 PDT

Cascade de cersay, near the village of Cauterets in the south of France near Lourdes.

February 2011 - XII

Sat, 19 Feb 2011 06:02:50 PST

2008, Gray ( France )

You like my work ? please Fav me, watch me, and join me on FACEBOOK

French Village Street

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 05:08:47 PDT

French Village Street

Medieval Village

Sun, 14 Jan 2007 06:58:00 PST

A nice small village at the far end of a small road in the south of France.

Branch Road

Sun, 19 Jun 2011 18:59:55 PDT

13/03/2011 - Bauduen, France

Little village

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 07:59:26 PST

It's Gordes, a village in south France. Very cute !

Beget II

Thu, 01 Nov 2012 02:35:29 PDT

Beget is a medieval village that is preserved as Rupit, but with the difference that access is very complicated, because it has a very narrow road that barely allows two-way traffic, with the aggravating circumstance that surrounds the mountains down to the village. The village is near the border with France, in the Pyrenees, belongs to the region of "La Garrotxa", Girona.

Village II

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 09:54:48 PDT

Village lugubre

Sun, 24 Jan 2010 10:35:36 PST

Village de St Justin, Landes, France, une nuit de décembre. Assez sinistre ....

der untergang

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 03:11:35 PST

höhö

polaroid 230 + 669 film
france 2008

Mountain village idyll

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 13:52:31 PDT

Taken in Saorge (in the upstate of Menton, region of Alpes-Maritimes, France)

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An idyllic scene as it can only be found in rural areas. The village Saorge is a nice little mountain village at the Italian-French border above the canyon of the river Roya.

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This picture is part of a series of pictures taken in the Italien Riviera and in the Provence in France: From Italian Riviera to Provence

the village 3

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 06:21:32 PDT

c'est la campagne

agfa isolette 2

Fields

Fri, 28 Oct 2011 11:56:08 PDT

fields at german-france border

French Village in the Mountains

Mon, 10 Sep 2012 11:30:04 PDT

This is in France in the mountains we stayed in in Neice. Beautiful view.
By the way, for more awesome pics, look in my scraps. I forgot my camera charger so I had to use my cellphone.

agfa isolette 2 village

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 06:28:02 PST

expired film
france

Here lies...

Sat, 19 Jun 2004 15:37:37 PDT

Here lies a man who gave his whole life to his earth, who offered each drop of his sweat to his vine, all his nicest dreams to his wine, all his colourful hopes to his rose bush... Now his tomb is covered by the roses and the divine flowers seem to climb the old cypress as to try to reach the sky.
But the man has already reached it... or something close.

Canon EOS 300D, 6:30 pm, between Montpellier and my village...
We can find a lot of tombs like this, hidden among the trees in the vineyards, in the south of France, close to the farms or the chateaux ; it was, for the ancient wine growers, as to be one with the earth, as to return to the earth, as to become earth again. And wine and blood were one.

Eternity

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 11:37:49 PDT

South of the France (Alpes)

Green Mountain Village

Mon, 16 May 2011 11:59:02 PDT

A photo I took in the South of France of a mountain village while on a tour of small towns and villages in the South of France.

If you ever get the chance, go to the South of France, it's really pretty and picturesque. However, be warned: it can get quite hot there, and the people of the South of France don't really air condition their places very well, so bring lots of water and a fan wherever you go.

draussen

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 09:12:00 PST

polaroid 230 + 669 film
france

Conques 2

Mon, 10 Jan 2011 08:09:26 PST

Small village in France

Chastleton House

Sat, 25 Jun 2011 19:08:40 PDT

Chastleton House, Oxfordshire, England.

Chastleton House can be found in Chastleton, near Moreton-in-Marsh, close to the Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire border . The house stands next to the 12th-century village church and is owned by the National Trust who re-opened the property in 1997 after six years of conservation work . The house was built by Walter Jones, a prosperous wool merchant, as an impressive statement of wealth and power, between 1607 and 1612.

The unique thing about the house is that it remained relatively unchanged , in the same family, for 400 years until the Trust took it over. This means that there is a real feel of stepping back in time and the house has been kept 'as found' rather than restoring it to its former glory.

Croquet: One of Chastleton's claims to fame is that while sport historians trace croquet to mediaeval France, the National Trust's archives suggest the games codified rules were devised here at this Jacobean merchants mansion.

HDR processing; Finished in Photoshop.

See Also:

Chastleton House and Church [link]
Chastleton Church [link]

queen's village

Fri, 30 Mar 2007 15:17:24 PDT

Marie-Antoinette's village in Versailles (France) at sunset

Le village cache

Sun, 24 Apr 2011 05:17:22 PDT

Petit village caché par des fleurs!

C'est Eze

Sun, 24 Jul 2005 15:56:38 PDT

It's your classic village in Southern France....

House

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 01:15:00 PST

(Bourgogne, France)

Kucuk Ev

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 15:06:50 PST

agfa isolette 2 haeuser

Sat, 02 Feb 2008 06:42:21 PST

expired since 1998 ca.
france

fishermen's village

Thu, 09 Sep 2010 04:55:31 PDT

Location: Callelongue, France.
(I'm starting to upload the series from France.<3)

Sky over village

Sat, 28 Jul 2012 06:04:44 PDT

In France

Grande Rue

Mon, 20 Sep 2010 12:28:22 PDT

This shot was taken in the charming little community of Ducey, close to the Bay of Mont Saint-Michel, Lower Normandy, France, where forest, countryside and marsh meet. It is a very peaceful but colourful village and an ideal location to while away a few hours in the unspoilt French countryside. Fishermen would love this place and it is well known locally for its salmon and trout fishing in the river and surrounding lakes.

Shot location: [link]

Sunset in Southern France

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 00:19:25 PST

Sunset in Les Baux de Provence, a very pretty village