Jenny's jugs

For the past several days I have been staying with family in the southwest of France deep in the country about halfway between Bordeaux and Toulouse. These family members, who I had never met before being picked up at the train station, are situated on a very distant branch of the family tree.

We share a great-granddad. Or actually that's not right. Graham, the father of the family here, is my maternal grandmother's first cousin. My great-granddad was his grandfather. Graham is my mother's age, and his cousin, my grandma, is 91. Graham's kids, Flossie, Ned, Guy and Toby are all a little younger than I am, but they are a step up in terms of generations. So I am actually the baby of the family, I have learned.

Though we are practically strangers, far genetically removed from each other, I have been warmly welcomed in this household. The family lives in a lovely old converted farmhouse surrounded by fields and forest. No other houses are anywhere in sight.

The house itself is a happy clutter. Since the family moved in here about a decade ago, they have started a series of building projects that never seemed to be finished. There are unpainted walls and unfinished rooms. But the house is lived in and full of life and light.

The heart of the household is the kitchen. Fresh tomatoes from the garden sit in a bowl on the table. Three old dogs lie on the floor next to overflowing laundry baskets. The kitchen smells of warm food, of mussels and garlic, or roasting duck, or whatever other delicious meal Jenny, the mother of the family, is preparing.

The thing that stands out most vividly in the kitchen is Jenny's choice of decor. From the ceiling hangs dozens of yellow jugs. The cabinet is also filled with them, and so are several pieces of furniture in the other rooms. Jenny loves her yellow jugs. (I asked the boys Toby and Guy if it would be too forward of me to tell their mother that I too liked her jugs).

Jenny, this little, blonde Scot with her eccentric taste, is so funny. When I asked her, jokingly/obviously if yellow was her favorite color, she said "Oh God, I can't stand it anymore."

"My favorite color is gray."