Jun
10
Matt and I found the privacy we were hoping for at our next farm. Again, we were staying in the gîte, but this time it was a separate house from our host's. We had our own bathroom, bedroom, kitchen and even a TV. (We satisfied our nostalgia for American culture with tapes of old Simpsons episodes and a viewing of Jaws.) The property was big, but enclosed by trees. We could hear the neighbor's dog bark from farther away, but not much else. On hot, sunny days (of which there were many), we could swim (European style -- topless) in the bio-pool. A bio-pool does not contain any chlorine, but is heated by the sun and salted to keep down the growth of algae.Diny and Ben are Dutch and retired to France after careers in pedagogy and engineering, respectively. They treated us with respect, generosity and curiosity -- we were their first WWOOFers. They kept two llamas (Louis and Victor), two donkeys (Eeyore and Maya), five sheep and a few chickens. Diny had a large vegetable garden and some fruit trees, though still not anything we would call a traditional farm. She sells her produce to guests renting the gîte and to a couple of neighbors, but generally keeps it to feed Ben, herself and company they have. Once again, we ate very well! We ate mainly vegetarian meals, but there were a few treats for us omnivores. I especially loved Diny's chicken curry (and took the recipe) and another dish with red currants and duck, along with some sort of savory sauce. One evening, Ben and Diny were going to a dinner for a cultural group they belonged to and invited us along. We ate a proper, multiple course French dinner at the Hostellerie de Goujounac. The restaurant is owned by a Dutch couple, but they prepare French food -- and do it very well.
Many of the neighbors in the area make foie gras and paté, so I had some of that, too. Plenty of Gouda, and strawberries! Diny's garden produced so many strawberries we couldn't pick and eat them all. Much of our garden work involved harvesting, which in an obvious way is more rewarding than planting. We plucked and shucked broad beans (known in the States as fava beans. We love these!), and spent several hot hours picking currants, strawberries and raspberries so Diny could make jam. Jam-making is something everyone seems to do here, and it is a surprisingly easy process. I certainly plan to bring my knowledge back home. Fig jam and chutney, oh, oh.
Diny taught us how to care of growing tomato plants, like how we are supposed to remove the thieves growing between the branches every few days. Diny had the benefit of using organic manure to fertilize her garden and her soil was practically ideal. It didn't have as much clay as in the Dordogne and very few slugs.
For the animals, we built an electric fence around one of the meadows on the property and moved the llamas and donkeys. Our last day it rained, so we cleaned the sheep stables. The job was exactly as one might imagine: pitchforks, a tractor, a stall of straw and manure. Not so bad, really -- if you don't mind getting a little dirty.
One of our other tasks was to split the firewood. Preparing the firewood is a two-year process. First it is collected from a tree that has fallen in the surrounding wood. Then it is stored to dry out. Then split. Then stored again. Then cut to the proper length. Then placed near the house to be used when necessary. Of course, we were only on the farm for a couple of weeks, so we only had to worry about taking the trunks and quartering them. Ben keeps a hydraulic-powered machine in the garage that wedges into the wood and forces it to split, but sometimes Matt had to hatchet the thick or flexible pieces that resisted the machine. His persistence is something to admire -- except when it involves fatigue and axes. Then I had to step in and tell him to give it up. After all, we aren't exactly insured.
In our free time we took walks and rode bikes to the neighboring city of Puy l'Eveque (dating back to the middle ages). One day we went with Diny to the market in Prayssac -- a pretty market full of vegetables, fruit, honey, meat and cheese in a busy town. Highly recommended. Another day we took a walk with the llamas to one of their neighbors, Madeline, a 94-year-old French woman. The house she is living in is 400 years old and was owned for several generations by the family of her husband, who had died at least a couple of decades ago. Now she never leaves the house, but is more than happy to accept visitors. Even for ones who show up unexpectedly, she will pull out a box of cookies (madelines) and pour peach-flavored syrup and water cocktails. She spoke no English, but I could understand her French almost perfectly -- even though most of the conversation revolved around village gossip. It was inspiring to see a woman so full of life at that age. She has the most amazing memory, reciting dates and antecdotes with no trouble at all. She even remembers where she was and what she was doing the day of the Normandy invasion.
On Sundays we all took the car for touring the Lot valley. I never realized until this trip that south of Paris, France is very rural and very hilly. Actually, the Lot valley seemed to be a hybrid of upstate New York (the mountainous terrain), northern Michigan (the sounds of birds, crickets and lawnmowers, lots of evergreens), and Malta (the villages with ridiculously steep, narrow roads that are only accessible on foot). There are several famous grottos, some with paintings and others with spectacular rock formations. It seems that any worthy town has a grotto or medieval ruin to offer its tourists. My favorite trip was to the grotto in Padirac (le Gouffre de Padirac -- l'incroyable aventure souterraine).
First we took an elevator (and then climbed down stairs) down over 100 meters. Once underground, a boat that could only hold eight people at a time took us on a trip 500 meters long, floating on a subterranean river and twisting through the vaulted passageway of the grotto. It was cold underground -- the air stays at a temperature of 13 degrees Celsius, the river only 12. In some parts, the river is as deep as six meters. After the boat ride, we disembarked and continued with a guide walking us through the grotto. In one "room," a giant stalactite drops down 60 meters into the middle of the lake. In another, a stalactite 75-meters-long hangs from the wall. The vault is 94 meters high, which means that only 9 meters of earth separates the grotto from the earth's crust. As for the stalagmites, this huge vault means a long fall for water droplets. Instead of slowing forming upward, these strike the floor and spread to create formations that look like shells, or piles of plates -- or as I observed, brain coral, cauliflower and mushrooms. The lack of lighting made it difficult to take pictures. It is impossible to think of E.A. Martel, the man who discovered the grotto in 1889, exploring its depths without adequate light, steps or ladders.
We headed ground-level for a roadside picnic. We also drove by the medieval town of Rocamadour, which is built into the cliff and is known for its church. I didn't get to see it, but Rocamadour's plaza houses a fragment of a sword rumored to be that by Roland. Of the Song of Roland. You know.
On our second Sunday, we headed to a small church with relatively well-preserved 15th-century frescoes. The left wall illustrated the seven sins, the right wall depicted angels passing on souls to St. Peter at the gates of heaven. Check them out in my photos on Flickr! We also visited the bastide of Monpazier (a perfectly quadrilateral village founded in the 13th century), and the Château de Biron (a beautiful hilltop castle, seized by the Cathars in 1211 -- according to Wikipedia).
Sometime in there (June 6) was Matt's birthday. It rained intermittently. The cabin fever raged. Where are we going to stay in Berlin? After Berlin? Diny prepared a special almond and raspberry cake for Matt and we closed the evening with a round of Yahtzee.
Halfway through our stay, I began to feel that we were at summer camp. We would work outdoors and call it fun, beat off the sun and bugs with bandanas, made sure to eat two big Brownie bites of everything and we would look forward to the occasional swim and venture into town.
Thank you,my dear. I see why you found this experience so rewarding.
What a wonderful "summer camp."
Hi Sweetie-pie,
I have really enjoyed your "adventures"and I am glad you have started your blog again.
Love and miss you.