French Neighbors

We went for a walk after dinner on Friday to enjoy the lingering warm light and to take our next door neighbors, Nadine and Jean-Luc (parents of Alex and Tomas, fishermen extraordinaire), some of the extra eggs that the hens have given us this week. You always read that French people don't invite people to their homes but perhaps out in the country it's different; Nadine and Jean-Luc asked us in and gave us an aperitif, a choice of whiskey or port and for Reed, some water with grenadine syrup. Nadine also opened a bag of potato chips for us to nibble on. We struggled through conversation about the difficulties of cleaning a huge house (Isabella and Doug's is quite large and Nadine and Jean-Luc's is small), places where we might want to go while we're in the area, our preference in common of living in the country despite it being sort of boring for the older children, taking care of animals, where we'll be going next in France, etc. Reed got frustrated with not understanding anything although he liked the potato chips - and finally we managed to convey that we needed to continue our walk and said a bientot, see you soon!

We said hello to the friendly horses in the next pasture up, and went as far as Bois de Gand's mairie - funny to have a tiny little hamlet in the country with just a few houses have its own town hall and city council, for about 60 residents - and then turned back, to be met at the corner by the woman who owns the old house there and uses it as a country getaway, despite living in a very small town just 8 kilometres away called Desnes. Walt had talked to her the night before on his walk without me, as well as another neighbor, Maurice. She explained that she had gathered bouquets of muguet to put on her mother's grave. Nadine had bouquets of muguet all over the house, so I was able to recognize it as lily of the valley, apparently growing all over in the woods this time of year. This lady - we still don't know her name - invited us in as well but we begged off for another time since we had to get back to take care of the horses as the sun went down. She is staying out here in the country indefinitely and we have two more weeks so we all agreed another time would be fine. She's a character, I think, telling us outright that my French is better than my husband's. I was gratified to hear that but sort of annoyed too - Walt studies hard and I don't and he doesn't need that kind of discouragement. But secretly it gives me hope. So far the only person who has spoken English with us here is the vet, and I'm glad he could.

Walt and Reed got the garden planted yesterday and then we all rigged up the watering hoses. Now I just need to fill it in with some fresh herb starts, especially basil. I found the yeast at the store in Sellieres this morning and some good mozzarella so we'll have pizza for dinner tonight. Reed suffered through a couple of stir fries this week so I thought we all deserved one of our favorite meals. Although Reed also seems to love our clean out the fridge lunches, where we have bread, cheese, tortilla chips, salsa, guacamole, leftover canned fruit, cold pasta with fresh dressing, leftover salad mixed with cooked potatoes and given a new vinaigrette dressing, bits of leftover sausage, pickles, and so on.

Sunshine in the Jura

All of us have enjoyed a full day of sun today after frequent spring rains have puddled on top of the very clay-ey soil here in the Jura, making the trip out to clean out the chicken house and gather the 4 eggs each day (someone is still slacking off!) into a mucky adventure. Fortunately the grass still grows, and the pastures are lush and green, dotted with tiny yellow and white flowers. I've taken to going for a late afternoon walk down the country roads where I never see any cars, and it's quite different than going for a walk on the grid of roads between the corn and soybean fields of my native Iowa. The roads here go off in all kinds of crazy directions, taking curves for no apparent reason, and you don't quite realize how barren acres and acres of unplanted corn field looks in the springtime, compared to a verdant hayfield or a cow pasture, edged by forest. The birds are singing, the green lizards dart into the ditches off the warm road surface, the farm dogs are baying. So some things are the same everywhere, it seems.

There is a tiny wooden cabin not too far away, obviously someone's weekend getaway, which is next door to an ancient and rundown stone farmhouse/barn, which looks unoccupied, but is someone's home, as evidenced by the two dogs that run out to chase me away, the new regulation mailbox, and the male voice from inside that shouts at the dogs. There's no door, and a tattered curtain hangs in the doorway, but my desire not to pry has so far outweighed my desire to try to see inside as I walk by. I finally got a chance to say Bonjour monsieur to the old man who lives with his wife not too far away in another very old but somewhat maintained rendered stone house, who has a collection of watch dogs, a bunch of chickens, and a lovely little garden that he tends carefully. He didn't respond, but he at least called off the little dog, which was progress, I think. All the other times I've walked by the dogs have just barked to their heart's content until their job was done and I was away. The trick with the farm dogs I think is to not look at them, not change your pace, and keep moving. So far it's worked. I like to think to myself, if I lived here these would be my neighbors. If I lived here I would take them chocolate chip cookies, always a good way into the French heart.