May
05
I will be posting from barns, meadows and surely surly cafés in Southwestern France. Disenchantment with the small city of my Alma mater and discouragement from the current economic situation has sent me packing once again. This time I have a partner, Matthew, and we have joined an international group for young people learning about serfdom and voluntary servitude first hand -- in short, WWOOF. In all actuality, it is an incredible organization where people looking to reconnect with the earth and other cultures can contact farms who need some extra help in exchange for food and board. If any of this sounds interesting to you, read on.***
It's 7:40 in the evening here in Anlhiac, and dinner's late by ten minutes. I'm at the kitchen table reading today's Herald Tribune (a struggle between Donald Trump and a Scottish land-owner, more protests in French prisons and universities) when Matt calls me over to stir the polenta. I make my way to the stove, hobbling as the rugged stone floor kneads my weary feet. As I stir the cornmeal in the classic volcanic orange, cast-iron Le Creuset casserole dish, he slices carrots that were organically grown and harvested less than one-hundred meters away. Out of the window I can see the neighboring farm's cattle graze on the hillside meadow, led by a large bull the size of the devil's kitchen table and who occasionally bellows something out of Jurassic Park. This particular breed of cattle is named Limousin, after the region where they originated -- and where I am currently living. They are perhaps one of the most famous breeds raised for beef (and, here and in Italy, their veal) and their chestnut coloring makes them easy to spot among the lush countryside. They are found lurking behind bends in walking paths, and after being warned my first day that they could be a bit aggressive, I learned to watch for the first defensive move: a turn sideways, showing their great size, is guaranteed to intimidate.
What took me out of Ann Arbor's safety net and transplanted me on this small, rural estate? When I met Matt just over a year ago, he told me about WWOOF. He was interested in organic farming and had learned about the organization from a stall at the Kerrytown Farmer's Market. He didn't know where to go next, but was a little anxious to leave Michigan. I was less than enthusiastic about sticking around, and with all of the current economic turmoil, I figured I could get away with postponing (still) important decisions -- mainly, sorting out a satisfactory, introductory career. With the management job I held this winter, I was able to pay off most of my debt and save something sufficient to make this trip happen. Sometime in the middle of winter, between working late nights and groaning about having found no resolution to the endless exploration of graduate schools, scholarships and potential careers, we decided to WWOOF.
His original destination was Italy. When we decided to be partners in a cross-Atlantic journey, a compromise was made. I speak French and German. Neither of us speak Italian. We planned two-and-a-half months on farms in southern France and possibly three months in Berlin. Now we are in the very first leg, but I feel great progress has already been made.
I seasoned my new crepes pan and whipped up a batch for my dinner, in honor of your location, which looks very lovely in the satelite photo.