Summer’s heat arrived before the courtyard was even ready to receive it.
After months of restoration work, the space finally exists: a place designed for al fresco entertaining under umbrellas and stars. The timing could not have been worse. The extreme heat sweeping across France this summer has made the newly finished outdoor space almost unusable. Most meals happen indoors now, near fans, sustained by salads and cold soups rather than anything requiring time at the stove.
This is the paradox of summer 2026 in the French countryside. The season that once meant social gatherings, village festivals, and outdoor celebrations has become something else entirely. What began as successive heat waves has evolved into what feels like a continuous heat flood, erasing the seasonal traditions that have long defined rural French life.
The Fête de la Musique, celebrated annually on the longest day of the year, was cancelled in many regions. On 21 June the streets are usually alive with people and music, from Paris to the smallest hamlets, but this year an eerie silence reigned in deserted village streets across the country. Numerous summer festivals of rock, jazz, blues, and street theatre suffered the same fate. Even the Fête Nationale this week was subdued. Stalls selling beer and wine on village squares were banned, with authorities citing the need to keep emergency services available for heat-stroke victims and possible fires rather than managing alcohol-related incidents.
The heat has drained social energy from entire communities. For someone who usually emerges from a solitary winter to entertain visitors from far and wide, to participate in village festivals and evening food markets, the extreme weather has made outings feel less tempting than staying inside with a fan. Daily life in rural France has contracted under the weight of the temperature.
Yet a few friends did gather to celebrate the finished courtyard. The gathering became what the French call a crémaillière, a word that literally refers to the rack from which a pot of food was hung over a kitchen fire. The term reflects how the French regard food as the most important part of any party.
Most guests were South Africans, a pattern that seems to happen wherever the host lives in France, drawn together by the connection of shared outsider status. Marietha, from a neighbouring Périgord village, arrived with an enormous plate of assorted cheeses, including a creamy Camembert cut in half horizontally and stuffed with finely grated biltong and macadamia nuts. A surprising combination of French, South African, and Australian flavours. Jaco and Petrie, who own a wine farm close to Bergerac, brought a home-baked bread pudding served with warm custard and vanilla ice cream, along with many bottles from their Château Lestevenie range, made by their South African winemaker.
Other guests brought quiches, honey, jam, and even a large wooden totem sculpture created by a sculptor living on the same street. The sculpture, named Energy and made in 2023 before the courtyard existed, now fits beautifully in a niche in one of the stone walls. By evening’s end, the gathering had become multilingual and multinational, with Spanish speakers from Uruguay and Venezuela joining English, Afrikaans, and French speakers. The beginning of a few beautiful friendships was taking shape.
The weather offered a brief respite. A suggestion of a breeze, enough to light candles outside without them being blown out.
Meanwhile, between organising the gathering and wilting in the relentless heat, there was urgent writing to complete. An essay for a decor magazine, progress on a novel-in-progress, and final proofs for a young adult novel to be published in September. This last task was the most difficult. After 40 years as a published author, the process of letting go of a manuscript still brings stress, though no longer the skin rashes or panic attacks that used to accompany it. Yoga and breathing exercises have replaced too much coffee and cigarettes. The text of the youth novel, Twee halwes maak ‘n hele, won a competition run by a major publisher, yet the weight of releasing something worked on for almost two years remained heavy.
That weight was finally rolled off a few days ago. The heat, however, continues to bear down. Another unfinished manuscript waits, one that will hopefully be completed in winter. Summer has never been a favourite writing time, and the hotter the summer, the harder the writing becomes.