Russ, you've just restated my basic personal problem with doing landscape. As much as I would like to do it if for no other reason than it's there, generally free and would occupy my mind, when I get there...
Looking at my tiny library of photography-related books I do find several devoted to landscape, from French villages to English landscapes, and I see the purchase of each and every one of them as an attempted break away from what I used to do to earn the family crust, not that there was anything wrong with what I did other than that it came to an end.
Sitting in the shade on the terrace after lunch - a sort of risotto with peas, sultanas and a touch of curry powder, mustard, thyme and marjoram, sweet pepper, virgin olive oil, tomato frito and the single permitted glass of Rioja, swilled down afterwards with a glass of agua con gas from the mountains, I finished the French Village book with Charlie Waite's photographs that I had begun prior to the culinary chores, the latter section of the book accompanied by too much black coffee with a soupçon of cognac to help with the water.
I remember well buying it in Waterstone's bookshop in Glasgow, my refuge when my wife wanted to go to Marks and Sparks and buy underwear for us for the next hundred years - ironically, as it turned out. As I went through it the first time, waiting for the days to roll past and ferry-time to happen, I imagined our return drive south through France would take in some of that stuff... somehow, reality always determined otherwise and we headed pretty well due south with few deviations or meanders along beckoning river banks. Now, in the current heatwave, I can only feel sorrow for Mr Waite in his efforts. Don't misunderstand - his shots are great, as ever, but it's the thought of all that travelling, going from pillar to post in order to fulfill the commitment, facing oh hell, I've run into the dreaded disappearing writing again...
Rob C