In the process of archiving photos from more recent travels, I’ve been revisiting old photos and am struck by the strength of the memories these images conjure and how precious it is to access these past moments. These images taken during a summer stint house sitting and tending the garden in Sacy Le Petit feel particularly special. For a third summer, I traveled north from Paris to the countryside and fell into the familiar rhythms of opening and closing the shutters at the beginning and end of each day, felling stinging nettle with a sickle, and cycling to the nearby farm for fresh milk- routines unburdened by time, despite the hourly toll from the village clocktower.
Visiting a place, there’s always the quiet wondering “Will I ever come back here? Or is this the last time I’ll be in this place?” It’s a question that’s crossed my mind each time I’ve come to Sacy, the days passing with the lingering thought of whether they will be the last, a premise that feels bittersweet for a place that has grown close to my heart. With this question in mind and faced with time alone in the old chateau bordered by stone walls at the edge of the village, I attempted to capture the place: the way summer light travels across the house- around corners and through dusty panes of glass- and how peeling window frames provided glimpses of the surrounding garden, letting in the sounds of pigeons taking flight. I wanted to preserve it all, to hold onto those long days of hands working in the earth, fading into golden evenings, relishing the candy sweetness of garden strawberries and sipping bottled beer from the cellar.
Sacy is seeped in stories- many from its long history as a farmhouse and family estate and now a few from my brief time there. Looking back on these images, I’m glad I ignored the silliness I felt at taking seemingly mundane or uninteresting photos of walls or doorways. These captured corners of the house and garden beds immediately transport me back to those places and times, where I can imagine the creaking of the stairs and the glow of the sun off the goldenrod walls of Hermine’s office. I don’t know if I will return to Sacy, but I’m grateful to be able to return to the memory of past days in the countryside.