Writing in Other People's Houses

"I only knew that the house and grounds felt enchanted. The garden was ablaze with old roses. My many guests and I climbed nearby Templar ruins, stuffed ourselves with cabecou and cherries as fat as Ping-Pong balls and drank vats of plonk while waiting for the nightly parade of sheep in front of the house. The sheepdog yelped and nipped. The shepherd followed his flock -- in his car. Then we watched the bats circle in the endless twilight and agreed that there was nothing more relaxing than sitting in someone else's garden, unfettered by the obligation to deadhead the roses.

In the afternoons I sent my guests off on expeditions to the pilgrimage site at Rocamadour so I could pretend to work. Merwin's book collection was so enticing that I spent hours on the terrace reading. After I devoured three volumes of E. Beresford Chancellor's ''Lives of the Rakes,'' a key element of my plot suddenly fell into place. Thus the delightful Merwin house shaped not only my summer but also the entire structure of my novel."

Karen Moline
NYT Travel Style Magazine 3.20.05

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