When is it officially spring in France?

According to my neighbour Jean-Claude, you when it’s officially spring in France when it’s warm enough to play pétanque on the village pitch without wearing thermal underwear.

For me it’s when the daffodils show their faces and their trumpet-like yellow flowers dot the landscape, hot on the heels of pure white snowdrops, shortly to be followed by wild primroses. The woods in the Seven Valleys where I live are chock-a-block with wildflowers, blanketed with delicate bluebells in early spring and followed by a carpet of wild garlic, allegedly planted by Roman soldiers wanting to spice up their daily rations when they were based in nearby Boulogne-sur-Mer, preparing to invade Britain.

Spring is also when Bread Man (he’s not made of bread, he delivers bread, croissants and cakes in his little van to the hamlets and villages in my part of France), makes delicious strawberry tarts with the first fruit of the season, grown at a farm nearby.

At this time of the year in the countryside you can’t help but feel the miracle of spring as the snow melts, the icy mornings fade into distant memory, the hillsides emerge from a blanket of freezing fog, and the bare branches of trees become covered with leaves and warbling birds.

My neighbours throw open shutters that are no longer needed to keep out the bitter north wind that blows through the valleys, howling as it carries off whisps of smoke from chimneys and casting fallen leaves into a ballet of foliage, its glacial gales replaced by a gentler breeze that dances along the tops of the hedges.

We swap seeds and tips for growing vegetables. Roses turn from bud to bloom, cherry trees blossom, chickens start laying eggs more regularly as the sun makes itself more amenable. And the local flea markets begin, bringing a chance to catch up with friends and neighbours as well as to treasure hunt.

And the pétanque pitch becomes a place to meet, where competition and camaraderie combine, and contestants and spectators arrive with bottles of wine and picnics for sharing.

A poet once said that springtime is the bringer of light, but it’s also the bringer of fellowship in my little village.

Janine Marsh is the Editor of The Good Life France.