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.