to sense and make sense (week one)

i have been at chaumeil (the farm) for a little more than a week, already with dirt encrusted around my finger nails. an intermittent internet connection has only just allowed me to post. however, i have needed this week to get through the greatest culture shock of my life.

after what felt like a fortnight of travel both through space and time, i arrived at an organic vegetable farm on top of a hill in the french countryside, circa the 17th century. since my arrival i have been only able to process bits and pieces of it all, for to take it all in at once would overload my senses...

a pink lilac bush sits outside the barn door.

harvesting figs. the sweetness of a juicy fig running down my hand. wasps swarming around my head. i unfazed by their looming threat, lick my fingers.



the late afternoon sun casts a golden light over the meadows, where the queen anne's lace stand tall and proud to praise the last of the day's light.

the chickens have been hiding their eggs.

freshly baked bleu cheese, pumpkin, and beet pie.

the little lady who sells strawberries near our stand at the farmer's market wears a red shirt and headband, dressed up like her fruits.

soft, velvety leaves of aubergines (eggplants).

long evening walks to pick wild blackberries, while the sun sets over the endless and rolling blue hills.

the low and marvelous tone of an accordion, my hands pulling and squeezing.

sifting through the upturned soil in search of pommes de terre (apples of the earth: potatoes).

as the list goes on, i am still unable to compose my thoughts into a proper entry. the longer i wait the more breathtaking moments occur and may never be able to keep up. so from here on out i may only have moments for you. sweet and little. bite size.

because i am full, bloated, and stunned with them all. dizzy and floating. drunk.