For Whom the Cock Crows

My collection of feces is growing.

I went to the market today to pick up the chickens and the gorgeous gray cock. I put them in the rabbit cages for now, until my husband arrives and can erect a dog-boar-fox-cat-proof fence for them. I’ll post photos of the flock when I have time to take them out of their cages. I’m too busy today.

At 12:30 I’m meeting my American friends, fellow French property owners, for lunch at a restaurant that has been run by the same family for over a hundred years. It’s a favorite of workmen. There isn’t a menu. They just serve you a five course meal and a few bottles of vin de compagne. The ancient matriarch of the family shuffles around waiting on tables. She always makes you feel special by expressing her delight to see you.

This evening, it’s our commune’s all-night-accordion-accompanied village fete where we will celebrate the great joy we feel for having all been thrown together on this little piece of heaven while demonstrating our acceptance of the peculiarities of one another.

I saw our mayor in the market this morning and he said he was looking forward to joining us tonight.

I just picked the apples off of our tree for the two tarts I’m going to make for my dessert assignment tonight. I bought fresh eggs at the market because I didn’t think that the three new hens could lay six eggs by this afternoon.

Besides being a major manure producer, our tiny farm can now provide us with:
wood, lamb, wool, chicken, eggs, walnuts, peaches, figs, raspberries, blackberries, apples, basil, and tomatoes. Oh, and lots of rock for masonry work. Next year we’ll work on getting the garden going. We're on our way to being self-sufficient.

At the market today, I saw the coolest man, fresh from central casting. He wouldn’t need a costume designer or make-up artist if he were to be cast in a movie about France from 1900-1960. He was standing in the market observing the activities while smoking a hand-rolled cigarette – he probably grew the tobacco himself -- he wore a beret, a plaid shirt, a knitted vest, a wool blazer, and brown pants. He had that dignified paysan look. One used to see it in the U.S. too, but now it’s just jeans and baseball caps. I really, really wanted to ask him if I could take his photograph, because in a few years, his “type” won’t exist anymore. But I didn’t know if he would be flattered or angered if I did. So I didn’t ask. I’m always thrilled when I get a glimpse of my “romantic” France.

Walked by a realtor’s office window and glanced at the properties. If anyone’s interested, there’s a beautiful 18th Century chateau for sale, for 6,000,000 Euros. I doubt if it’s located in our area, because the chateaux here are quite simple . . . but still elegant. This one looks like it has to be from up north where the chateaux are frillier.