Marguerite
To my little grandmother Marguerite,
My grandmother Marguerite often talked to me about her life in the countryside, a simple but demanding everyday life. From a young age, she had to carry out many agricultural tasks, which, over time, left marks on her body and caused her a lot of pain as she grew older.
Very attached to her faith, she attended Mass every Sunday and respected the traditions of her time. She loved to tell me about the old customs, the ones that once marked the daily life of families.
Today, I can also count on my mother to pass down these memories and continue this heritage.
My boutique bears the sweet name of Marguerite, in tribute to my grandmother. Marguerite!
A woman with a big heart, along with my grandfather, my parents, and the whole family…
We were lucky to grow up together in a small village in the west of France, just 50 km from the sea.
A peaceful place, now well known for its spectacular Puy du Fou, where the lives of our ancestors are told with flair.
When I was little, I would walk to my grandparents’ house, proud as a peacock, passing between the two churches where we would pray on Sundays and celebrate our communions. And sometimes, I would stay overnight. Ah, those nights at their place! Impossible to forget the thick feather duvet that Grandma tucked over me. I felt like I was being flattened like a crêpe! But under the bed, there was a hidden treasure: bundles of dried linden flowers with soothing scents, aromatic plants to heal all our little ailments, old yellowed magazines, children's books with dog-eared pages, a broken violin that hadn’t played in ages… So many stories to imagine!
In Grandma’s room, it was another world entirely. Her drawers overflowed with sparkling jewelry, and her wardrobe was filled with beautiful clothes and elegant hats. I could spend hours dreaming in front of these treasures. And then, there was that morning coffee aroma… A true madeleine de Proust! As I savored the smell, I could hear my grandfather shaving, focused in front of his old barber’s mirror. And of course, the comtoise clock, tireless, never falling ill, never stopping its reassuring tick-tock.
Wednesdays were for outings! Everyone piled into the Aronde, heading off to visit family and friends of my grandfather. My great-aunt sewed wedding dresses, while her husband crafted men’s suits. I loved stepping into their shop, with its little bell at the door and the mysterious needle bracelet she wore on her wrist. Sometimes, we visited more luxurious homes, where everything seemed so refined. It’s thanks to my grandmother that I learned to love all of this, to appreciate beauty in the smallest details, to savor memories like a sweet treat.
Simply put, it was happiness.
