to embrace a new season (week four)

autumn has laid her heavy down upon our little hill in the foothills of the pyrenees. the skies are thick with the threat of rain and the wind is bitter. it feels like the seasons changed overnight, after the lovely indian summer we had. and with the need to wear the long johns, i realized how long it has been since i last wrote.

two weeks without internet access flew by, the days were fruitful, literally. in the height of the harvest there was a rhythm to the days, the beat fast enough to keep up with plants doing what they were made to do: produce. beginning at about 7:30 with a quick tea and toast (and sweet, sweet fig jam: picked, marinated, and canned since i last wrote) the day commences. my first job is to water the cucumber and cherry tomato greenhouses, which includes about ten minutes of using the hose to play 'water fetch' with the dogs, rica and ginko.

then its on to harvest the ever-growing courgettes (zucchinis), literally a machine turning light and water into kilos and kilos and kilos of fruit, the biggest (heaviest) harvest in the field. my favorite part of this job is the occassional chance to watch a big french bumble bee bathe himself in the yellow pollen of courgette flowers. 'oolala' he says as stumbles down the petals.

then it was eggplants, cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, and beets. the eggplants and cucumber plants were pulled yesterday, so now we are on to green peppers and green beans, both of which are doubled over with fruit.

sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night worried that the next time i harvest the peppers will not be soon enough; those cute, knee-high plants whose branches bend in half with weight of one ripe and ready pepper. (my secret favorite crop)

with a break for tea (and cookies) at 11:30 and lunch about 1:00, there is no going hungry. the day ends around 5:00 and i usually take a long walk with rica to pick wild blackberries and watch the sunset in the meadow behind the chestnut trees. dinner is hearty and long with its usual three courses. after another round of tea it is quite close to bedtime and there is nothing more satisfying after a hard day than heading upstairs, with a full belly, to peel out of your feild clothes and into bed.
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this weekend is the 11th annual organic fair in brive (the nearby town), which has required much preparation over the last few weeks. i have taken on the role of marketing coordinator: flyering and sign making. i am particularly excited about this event, however any opportunity to spend time in brive is joy. brive happens to be (in my humble opinion) the curled moustache capital of the world. old men cruising around the farmers' market with moustaches all shapes and sizes (a lyndon wonderland, 'oolala').

however as they say 'be careful what you wish for', despite being surrounded by men with moustaches that curl at the ends, the first thing i have truly and deeply missed here are hugs. no one in france hugs. not mothers, nor lovers, nor friends. and i must say it has me longing for embrace so much that rica and ginko are now a bit skiddish around me, weary that i will try to hug them again.

come here puppies...

with that, i send you all my biggest and warmest hugs.

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.