Fete Paysanne in the Jura

The weather has been blissfully warm and sunny for five days in a row and we've started taking our meals al fresco on the terrace. It's what we've been dreaming about since, oh, last November and it's incredible what fresh air does for the appetite and for my motivation to cook. I'm learning the art of fixing really good meals with a combination of fresh things from the farmers market, canned pre-prepared things, and stuff out of the freezer. Today's lunch, for intance, was a fresh lettuce salad with grated carrot with the dressing Isabella taught me (2 parts olive oil, 1 part balsamic vinegar, 1 big tablespoon Dijon mustard, and 1 part creme fraiche), bread from the boulangerie that I got on Saturday, herbed pork sausages from the freezer that I browned with some diced onion and then simmered all morning with half a can of canned lentils, water, and a sprinkling of dried veggie/herb mix, the cheese platter with a varied selection (Comte', two kinds we don't remember the names of, a fresh goat cheese that is gaining more character each day, and a Bresse bleu), and for dessert, some lemon cake that I baked from a Dr. Oetker's mix that Isabella had in the cupboard. We've adopted the farm and French custom of eating a bigger meal at lunch than at dinner; it seems to work nicely for our work schedule and also for digestion!

Yesterday we drove eastward, further up into the hilly country of the Jura, where the brown and white cows wear bells and clang harmoniously as they graze. The confederation paysanne fete was at a dairy farm just outside of Mignovillard, a very small town between here and Geneva. The architecture of the houses became more Swiss-like, with chalets and steep roofs with little pointy things on the roofs to break up the snow above doorways. The pastures were blazing green and many of them filled with dandelions, so big and beautiful it was almost as if they were cultivated on purpose. Certainly they're not in any danger of eradication; I wonder if the cows like to eat them? The pastures are edged with low gravelly lengths of what looks like collapsed walls but what are just ancient rock piles from cleaning out of the pastures, with trees and shrubs growing out of them.

The fete paysanne was fun and a challenge for our language skills, but we did the best we could, checking out the solar cooking demonstration, watching the horse spectac (a little show with 8 huge horses and their riders) and buying some gingerbread made with honey, some basil starts for the garden, and tickets for the repas paysanne - peasant meal. 10 Euros per adult and 6 for children got us a borscht-like soup, some boiled potatoes that had been cooked in a huge cast iron pot over a fire, tender roast beef, applesauce, a slice of bread and a large hunk of Comte' cheese, and some brioche and coffee for dessert. Thankfully there was plenty of shade and lots of tables set up in a tent (pictured above) and also in the cow barn, where some of the calves watched the crowds dine. We drank the water provided but others bought bottles of wine or fresh cider from some of the vendors present; the chatter was deafening, even when after we finished we headed up into a shady pasture for a rest, at least 300 yards away. Walt and I discussed whether or not the distant French chatter would sound the same if it was in English or any other language. I think it would sound the same, Walt thinks it would be different. Anyone done studies on this?

On the way home we stopped for an afternoon stroll in historic Nozeroy (pictured above), site of the ruins of a chateau built by some Prince and his ancestors whose last name was Chalon (as in Chateau Chalon, where we went last week) who used to rule this part of the world back in the 1400s and 1500s. These historically important villages are always up on top of hills, the better to see their enemies coming, and so the views are breathtaking (pictured above), especially now that the fields are so green and the trees are leafing out. I can see why people would put up with snowy winters here, if spring is this glorious all the time.

We've definitely got an owl and chicks living under the eaves, above the living room ceiling. We hear them in the evening and see the mama owl heading out on her hunting trips. And this morning, bits of moss and some sticks had fallen through the ceiling onto the stairs from an invisible crack between the ceiling boards. Walt and I sat outside as the sun set around 9:30 pm and watched the bats swoop silently around the yard eating bugs. I saw the owl for the first time too, just a light shadow that came out from under the overhang and was gone in a moment. Her wings don't make a sound. The chicks make plenty of noise in the evenings, though. They squeak and squabble and someone makes an eerie, long drawn out moaning cry that sounds almost alien.

Bletterans and Bellevesvre

After our morning chores we ventured out in the little diesel car to the nearby town of Bletterans and quite quickly located the market by driving down the main street, and following the crowds of people with empty baskets over their arms headed down the alley, only slightly put off by the American music blaring from some speakers mounted on the Cafe de Paris. I wondered if Americans are associated with shopping, so therefore, American music on market day?? The market winds its way through several streets and alleys and some of it is in a covered building, with no rhyme or reason to the placement of the various wares that I could see. We found local lettuce and spinach, and some farm-made organic goat cheese - buying the freshest ones, just out of the mold with the little mold marks still on it - and some fish. We also bought a slab of gingerbread, what I'm assuming is pain d'epices, or spice bread, moist and heavy and dark, filled with flecks of orange and chocolate; they also had plain, and fig, and nut varieties as well. I bought Reed a crepe filled with delicious regionally made strawberry jam (confiture); he enjoyed it but got cranky when he spilled a big glob of jam on the knee of his jeans. There is a fete paysanne in a week and a half at a farm not too far away from here that we'll go to - nothing like a bunch of local farmers throwing a party for a fun day. The post office was right next to the market so I was also able to mail some postcards that I wrote last week, too.

After our successful market trip - made so much easier by being able to speak just a little French instead of none - we headed down the road to Bellevesvre, where the mill is that makes the horses' munchies, and got a couple bags of the one we're almost out of. We tore the label off the bag this morning to make buying a new one easy, and indeed it was a piece of cake, everyone very helpful and nice.

The weather here is rather gray this week, with no end in sight. I wonder if it's because we're just to the west of the Alps.

The animals are settling down and we're getting used to our chores here. I got Hamish the dog that must be hand-fed to eat out of his bowl at lunchtime today. And the chicken who hadn't been pulling her weight laid us a tiny offering this morning, obviously doing her best to thank us for the raisins she's been getting from Reed's leftover breakfast muesli, and the spinach stems we've been tossing out there from our salads. Nice to know such treats are noticed by the small brained but big hearted chickens.