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.

Chateau Chalon

View from Voiteur up to Chateau Chalon
Budding out vineyards on way to Chateau Chalon
Street in Chateau Chalon
Lobelia in Chateau Chalon
Views from Chateau Chalon

I've made some feeble attempts to deflect jealousy by hinting at the hard work we do, complaining about cleaning out stables, hand-feeding giant schnauzers, mowing acres of lawn, turning cheese for hours on end, etc. but I can't keep up the charade - life is good on sabbatical. (Although we DO think constantly of Walt's brother Dave and his wife Linda in the hospital. I really miss her emails and hope her therapy goes well so she can write me again.) Our hosts here in the Jura stocked the cupboards and freezers well so we're dining on osso buco, sirloin steak, potatoes, leeks, and homemade spaetzle, brioche, Lindt chocolates, comte' cheese, and various kinds of homemade jams, homemade creme de cassis with champagne, etc. etc. Yesterday at a small grocery store we bought a charentais melon, a little round one, the kind I'd heard about in France but never had. We sliced it open for dessert at lunch today and I almost got knocked over by the aroma. Then I leaned over to lick the juice off the cutting board that had leaked out when I cut it open. That melon alone is enough of a reason to move to France, it was that good.

Weather dawned gorgeously sunny on Saturday, so after we dealt with veterinary/equine related issues with colt Alesha (I talked on the phone to the neighbor AND the vet's receptionist, in French! sort of...), ate lunch, showered, and dressed, we headed out in the car towards the SE, where I'd read something about some nice places called Chateau Chalon and Baume-les-Messieurs. We started on the motorway and as soon as possible turned off into a village to find the country road alternative. We got turned around in the village and as we headed back the other way an older gentleman flagged us down and asked where we wanted to go. We told him the name of the place and he started to point towards the motorway and I said, "Petite chemins!" (small roads) and he grinned broadly and pointed up the hill, showing off some English for us as he told us how many left and rights we needed to take. I tell you, I have yet to meet an unhelpful French person. We headed off into the hills and were rewarded immediately with long distance views and the discovery of a little village called Brery where I could happily live, at least on sunny days, and then we got closer to Chateau Chalon.

Well. You know you're in a nice place when other French people are visiting for the weekend. I've posted some photos of our afternoon above. Chateau Chalon was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. We didn't have any money so we didn't stop for any Cote de Jura wine tastings while we were there, but in a few places as we strolled by we could smell it, and that was enough.