Covid 19 Confinement

As I’ve been getting stronger I’ve started to gradually do more. Yet, like many people we have the prospect of wondering how this pandemic will be affecting us as a family. My husband works with the cruise industry, obviously it’s been very affected by the current situation. So as he works each evening to prepare for the lifting of restrictions, and we hope and pray for our financial future, I’ve been looking at how I can help.

To me one of the good things about being a stay at home mum is that when we face financial difficulty their may be ways in which I can help. When both spouses are working and your expenditure matches that two fold income, there may not be a similar resource to draw from. So I’ve recently been completing a course online to teach English as a foreign language, and possibly French too. I’m a former teacher anyway, so this may be a way to provide an additional income source whilst staying at home God willing.

In France itself we had the exciting prospect of some the restrictions of the confinement (as it’s called here) lifted. There was news that the maternal children would be going back on 11th May. I was incredibly relieved. I’ve been teaching my youngest daughter to read here at home and she’s doing wonderfully. As I’ve said before her speech has been really impacted upon by the move and other issues, so reading has developed this significantly.

However I’m teaching her in English, as we don’t have a lot of French children’s books for her age group. We’ve bought them for her, but she’s ripped and scribbled on them. There’s nothing more frustrating is there? This phase stopped a lot earlier with my eldest daughter because she was reading from the age of three onwards, but our youngest’ speech proved a negative factor here too.

So, no books and my poor pronunciation meant I’ve concentrated on English. That and zero contact with the outside world has meant I’ve been very worried about her losing what little French she has. These are extraordinary times, but the consequences are significant for those kiddos struggling at school.

Yesterday we left the house and suddenly we were chatting with two neighbours. I’ve got to say no one seemed to consider social distancing, 😬. One of our neighbours said the mid May date wasn’t a definite, in fact she wasn’t confident of it at all. So I’ll have to phone on Monday and make sure, my other neighbour suggested speaking with the Maire as they would be the person to make the decision.*

Our neighbours had experienced the police stopping them, which we’ve fortunately avoided. One was spoken to about going for a loaf of bread 😬 and she’d heard from a friend that she’d been reprimanded going for baby nappies as these “weren’t essential” – 😬 😱. I can’t thing of a lot more things that are essential than nappies from the grocery store.

Whilst I’ve been ill my husband started to take the girls out on long walks. For the first time I went with them on Friday, and I joined them Saturday too. I thought I’d share some photos of the local scenery.

God bless you all; I hope you and your family are well.

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• It’s been confirmed that the village school with be reopening on 11th. Whopee!

Children Living With A Second Language

I’ve spoken before about my youngest daughter’s difficulty with speaking which is a result of her need to be fed intravenously when she was born. As a result her mouth muscles were very delayed in strengthening. That and the fact we moved a lot when we first arrived in France meant she had some delay in developing speech; each time we moved she would take time to assess her surroundings, observe and learn new things about the environment.

However, now she is starting to develop her language rapidly. She is enjoying being able to speak so much and swaps merrily between the two; sometimes she chatters on in French and we don’t understand what she’s saying!

It’s wonderful to be able to engage with her more. Simple things like having conversations about what she’s done that day in school, who her friends are – those little, truly important things. It gives her such joy to be able to communicate and be understood. She hardly ever resorts to her little signs to get her message across now, reaching for words instead.

I would place my daughter at about two and half years in her capacity for language. As she has just turned five this appears incredibly worrying. However she’s super quick to catch onto things in the house, so I’ve always known it’s not an issue of intelligence. Yet, even if it was she’s my heart. Both of them are.

In school it’s affected her ability to learn as language is reciprocal; we learn through engaging, clarifying, reflecting back. She has been limited in her ability to do these things. It has led to frustrated and distracted behaviour in class; she’s not a naughty girl, but she hasn’t integrated as well because of these difficulties. I’ve spoken before about how I feel at times about living in France. It’s as if I live in a glass box, with the language being a barrier between myself and fully accessing all the things around me. Well, this has been her glass box too.

Yet it’s important when you’re travelling this type of road to regularly take stock and check just how far you’ve come, as the path ahead can still appear so long and overwhelming.

Last year at the start of term, when she was just about to turn four, the teacher and I were excited when she would say one word in French, English – whatever – in class. Already at the start of this year the teacher noted to me how every day there was a new word, and now new sentences and expressions. She’s developing her ability to use her language to question, describe, and explain her own world. Her behaviour has significantly changed too. All within half a term!

It’s been a long and at times worrying journey, but we’re finally drawing in line with the other pupils in the school.

If you’re in a bilingual environment already you will have no doubt heard that your child will have a speech delay in comparison to their peers. They are, after all, learning two languages. But, as in all things child development wise, they may not stick to the timeline professionals set for them.

It is important too to consider the extent of what they know. That two and a half years I spoke abut earlier; well that’s two and a half years in both French and English. In the practices of both cultures.

I tell you all this because if you have bi-lingual children (or simply children raised in a bi lingual environment), or if you are considering a move here to France it is important to consider the ramifications there may well be have in terms of language on your family and not feel overwhelmed when problems may occur.

For those of you considering moving to France I’d like to tell you that there has also been significant support from within the school and wider services. She has a teaching assistant in class. Her and another little French boy just did a short course of specialist help for two half hours a week after school. She has attended the local CAMSP organisation – basically the learning support department for the area here. All this has been free.

The support is phenomenal within the school environemnt. She was kept behind a year, which I think is a good thing, but they’ve arranged that she still spends time with the class she would have moved ahead with in library visits.

We now say we have one English daughter who is fluent in French and one French daughter who speaks English. She has all the expressions of a French child and just chooses whatever language that fits her communicative mood at that time.

This reflects how the two girls have experienced learning the language so differently due to their ages when arriving here. The eldest, who arrived when she was four, nearly five, had to learn a second language. The youngest, one going on two, experienced a dual language work as a norm.

Our eldest daughter is finely confident and enjoying the language. A while ago she told me she spoke better French than me, she was very proud. She will still ask me for french words, but her pride in her language has grown enormously.

Just recently we had a little bit of a conversation that wasn’t entirely pleasant though. She’d started correcting my pronunciation, which I was fine with. Then in a shop one day the assistant spoke to me, the kind of conversations I’ve had thousands of times by now and which I’m more than capable of. To my surprise my eldest responded for me!

The assistant spoke again, my daughter responded again!

I gave a look. You know, that look.

I let it go, but the next day when I was walking her to school we spoke about it and I explained that I knew her french was better than mine now, and it would continue to improve and far outstrip my own. However mummy needs to be able to talk for herself so that she continues to learn french and also (stricter tone) it’s very rude to respond on behalf of other people as if they can’t do it themselves.

I thought she understood, but then her friend came to play. Perhaps she was over excited, but she kept speaking for me, explaining the most basic of French phrases all through the day and night (sleepover). I’d already explained in more and more firm tones that this was not polite behaviour and she should stop.

Then I heard her correct her French friends pronunciation of a French word!

The gloves came off. I had to explain that there were such people who are known as know it alls and she was becoming one of them.

As I said, having to learn a second language has affected the girls in different ways. The youngest is aware of a different language, but it’s just life to her. My oldest, she was acutely aware and embarrassed by the fact that she had to learn a second language – she evidently felt isolated and at a disadvantage in comparison to her peers. She’s the type who hates to be wrong! For her it wasn’t so much the fact that she had to learn another language, but that she felt so vulnerable learning another one in front of her peers.

We regularly have conversations about this. I explain to there that her friends, though all knowing in terms of French to her, have to ask their parents for the meaning of words in French just as she does in English. This thought had never crossed her mind.

This year she has a student teacher. She came home happy she has English homework and announced to me in a stage whisper; “I know all these numbers. I can count way past 100. But I’m going to do them anyway.” The stage whisper turned into one of glee “My new teacher doesn’t know I’m English”

I’ve never seen her so happy.

Armistice in France

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We attended our second Armistice service here in France today. The school’s head teacher told me it would be taking place and so we made every effort to get there – even hubby the would be heathen came to mass with us.

As we arrived I recognized several people from the village and we stood on the verge of the church grounds as the brass band started to play and those who serve and have served walked behind. I became quite emotional; even though this is my adopted home I was affected by the poignancy.

It is a strange feeling. Again, the glass box scenario where we are a part of the event, yet our otherness is apparent if only to us. Indeed as the service continued many more people I recognized went out of their way to acknowledge us. It was so kind to welcome us into such a special event.

Those who are currently serving include the fire and police. Yet what caught my eye were the older men wearing their meddles.

France had such a different experience in relation to the world wars than we did. It was their earth the blood seeped into. I know too that they feel the scars of the second war in a different, painful way.

So often British people that have never served or suffered in this way take cheap shots. It makes me so angry. There were so many people in this land who continued to struggle even when their government had surrendered and carved areas of power out for themselves. This is a special kind of heroism; when those in authority have resigned their duty to you, but you continue to live in line with your conscience.

I find the strength of that conviction to goodness astonishing.

As the band came into the church service flags were held aloft and brought my attention to the stained glass window of Christ comforting the grieving of the Great War.

My attention was caught by the blue flower badges worn by those attending. Cornflowers that grew alongside the poppies in those fields.

With the mass over we waited as everyone left to walk to the cemetery. We weren’t with the main group of children, although a man had invited us to join them in the church. We saw one of my daughter’s teachers there, shepherding them to offer their bouquets at the feet of the memorial.

As we stood it started to rain and a kindly older woman offered us an umbrella so I could keep the rain from Ruby. She moved closer to her friend and I was again grateful for the grace shown to us.

La Marseillaise was played and our benefactor joined in, one of the few who knew all the words. We didn’t know any, something I plan to rectify for next year.

As we walked away I thought of the services I had seen in England. Her majesty had shed tears this year. It’s funny but the longer I’m away from home the more I appreciate that phenomenal woman and her life of dedication. I have no doubt that as her generation pass we will gradually lose the values they espouse. Perhaps this is why I became emotional when I heard the band today.

They have become a generation much maligned. Yet we have much to learn from them. Perhaps we should whilst we still have the chance.

Bye Bye Birdie

I hardly knew how attached I’d become to my little birds prior to bringing them home, or what a challenge they’d be. We’ve sadly had two more losses; a death and one being moved to a better home.

On Tuesday morning I’d walked to school with my girls and come home with the intention of going to the market. On my way to the car I passed the chicken coop and went to let the feathered girls out. As I opened the door I saw it. One of my little ducks was lying on the ground, deflated as if all the air had left his little body. Which of course it had.

There was no mistaking what had happened. He was lying in the middle of the room, so there was no chance that it had been caused by something outside of the coop. As I looked closer I saw he had marks all over his body. He’d been pecked to death.

The goose and remaining duck were running round the coop chirping and, to me, seemed to be distressed.

I called over my husband and thankfully he took charge of the little body. We had a disagreement about what we should do. I wanted to get another bird about the same size and not let their girls know. He wanted to wait and see how the others fared.

As I approached the market I’d made a plan of how to protect the other two birds. I would keep them in a cage each night to protect them. I’d done this when I first introduced each chicken, but the size of the gosling and duckling obviously meant they were open to increased danger.

As I arrived at the market I immediately saw a stand with poultry for sale with ducks the same size and breed as the one we’d lost. I spoke to the man and explained the situation and he seemed surprised that the little one had died. He confirmed what I’d read, that ducks and chickens can live together. He added perhaps mine were a little young and when I told him what my intention was he agreed this was a reasonable course of action.

I made sure to ask him for a female duck this time.

With a new duck in a box I travelled home to put her in the coop. She wouldn’t go in the cage we had and seemed a little distressed. So I gave the chickens a time out for their bad behaviour and locked them in their coop. The gosling and the ducklings were left to room outside in the enclosure.

It became clear as I looked at them all together that the bird that I had already had was a male as the marks around his eye were a lot stronger and you could hardly see hers, which a distinguisher between the sexes in Mallard ducks.

I set off to my parents to borrow their dog crate, which I planned to house them all in that night.

In the evening the ducks went into the large dog crate and the gosling went into the smaller cage I already had, which was way to small for more than one of them now. They’re getting a lot bigger.

The second night the ducks happily went into the large dog crate and the gosling insisted on going with them. They were a firm team the three of them.

We had our French friends over for a barbecue and I showed them the coop with the birds. Being a former townie my knowledge is severely lacking, yet it seems the provincial French have a wealth of knowledge. Our friend Lennie looked concerned. « You know the goose is going to get a lot bigger? »

The thing is that, even though us city folks have seen farm animals we probably haven’t seen them up close since we were children. I take the girls to a petting zoo, but there are no geese there. So I was surprised as Lennie continued that the goose would need a lot more space just to stretch its wings. Annalise, his wife, said « you think they’ll grow how big, like this? » and indicated hip height. « Or even bigger » said Lennie, to my ears, ominously.

We talked about the possibility of the goose going in the wider garden, but as Lennie pointed out his, ahem, waste would be very large and messy. Also geese are known to be territorial and are happy to attack those who think are a danger. This was getting better and better 😧.

It was obvious that we couldn’t keep him. What were we to do? Of course the French being the French responded that we could eat him! 😵I replied that we got all our meat from the supermarket and I couldn’t nurture, then kill and eat him. I was about to add that I wouldn’t have blood on my hands, but it was time to offer the beef burgers and chicken skewers 😉😁.

Lennie suggested maybe a fiend of his could take him, making sure I understood that he wouldn’t be eaten. I was happy with that.

The next morning I got up and let the feathered girls out and immediately noticed that, despite being in the cage, the gosling had marks all down her neck. Any reservations I had flew out the window and I decided on additional steps to protect the ducks. I bought a large dog crate with a metal door on it. Everything was rearranged and that night the three of them slept there safely until I could make arrangements for our gosling. My heart was already breaking from the thought of separating these three amigos.

As Lennie had found it difficult to speak with his friend I spoke with a woman at the school. She’s a teaching assistant there and I remembered that someone had told me that she owned the beautiful duck pond I’d fallen in love with when I first saw our village. I explained the situation to her and she was so kind, suggesting I bring the gosling to her and then the girls could still come and see her.

On Friday night I put her in a pet carrier. My heart is still breaking just thinking of it, but I knew we couldn’t keep the little darling. I drove her to the pond, only a short distance away, and we took her into the pond area.

When I let her out of her cage she wouldn’t leave me. She just stayed nearby, chirping. She could see and here the other foul, but just stayed.

I walked away, trying to give her an opportunity to meet the others, but wherever I walked to she followed. Some large geese came over, three of them. These are really big creatures! No wonder fairy tales have geese laying golden eggs, they must be significantly bigger than chicken ones!

The little one igñored them and just came to where I was stood, further round the pond. I videoed her a little, so I’d having something to show my girls, and moved on. Again she followed. This time the large geese, who had immediately recognised her as one of their own, chased me off. Honking and flapping their wings – they were quite a site!

I came home, amazed at how much I missed her.

We’ve gone a few times to walk down and make sure she’s ok. Each time she’s come over to the fence to say hello. It’s amazing that she seems to have attached to us after such a short period.

The ducks are doing well in the carrier. More on them later.

Death Comes To La Sacre Coeur

Last Wednesday I took my little ones to the market. They sell calves, veggies for your potagere and poultry for your backyard and table. There were lots of discussion; would this one just be good for laying or can you eat it as well? For a city dweller’s ears it was a revelation. The girls, of course, thought it was all wonderful and were especially keen to go and look at the various types of chickens and ducks on display.

I was tempted but by the time I came back to give in to the temptation he’d sold out of the ducks that I’d wanted. He told me he’d be at another maket Saturday with more. Perhaps I’d had a lucky escape?

Nah! As Saturday morning rolled around I had the girls in the car and off we went to hunt some ducks down – metaphorically speaking of course. I asked the man for the ducks that were ‘collar vert’ which are Mallard ducks. In they went into a box and we set off for home.

On the way we stopped at my parents place to show them our ducks. They duly ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’, the ducks went back in the box and home we went again. Here are our ducks after we’d put them in the enclosure with the chickens. The chickens seemed quite scared of them at first; running away, clucking loudly and simply refusing to come in at night. This was the case even though the little ducks were in a cat box that I’d put them in to make sure they were safe from the larger birds over night.

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I contacted my hubby in America. It’s safe to say he wasn’t too happy about the additional birds in our coop. I swore to him -these would definitely be the last ones.

We set up a paddling pool and put rocks on one side so they could climb in and out themselves. They made a lovely little cheeping sound whenever you were nearby and followed you around like you’re their mum. Adorable.

On Friday a French friend Sophie came around. She told me ‘that’s not a duck it’s a bird’. I told her that I’d specifically asked for a Mallard, collar vert, and that’s what he gave me. She kind of agreed. Kind of.

That night the ducks didn’t want to go in the coop and evaded me for a good twenty minutes as I chased them round the coop. In the end I thought to myself that they’d evidently been accepted by the chickens so they be ok and find somewhere to nest.

On Saturday morning the girls had to go grocery shopping and we were going to let the girls out on our way. I looked inside and saw one of our ducklings next to the other one; the latter was lying with its feet showing behind the dog kennel that I thought would be their duck hose, in between it and the wall. It was lifeless – my heart broke as it’s pair chirped next to it, staying with him as if for company.

I moved my way inside, ushering my daughters to get back and not come in. I hoped it would move as I got closer. Had it been pecked by the chickens? Was I completely wrong about their acceptance? I expected to find a battered and scarred duckling.

As I looked closer there were no markings. Silly of me, but I wondered if I picked it up if it would move like Apple the hen did after Bertie grabbed her. She didn’t of course.

I searched again for signs of beak marks, wondering if she’d just got trapped between the wall and the kennel. But I couldn’t see how that would kill the little thing.

That’s when I noticed the true extent of how horrible it was. Her head was missing.

She’d obviously popped it out of some hole in the coop and it had been bitten of by a predator.

It’s bizarre. When I was younger my first career was as a police officer. I’ve dealt with numerous dead bodies in various states of decay and coped. Yet this little duck really upset me. Later on as I was driving round trying to sort things out I found myself having to pull over to the side of the road to be physically sick! I don’t know what my girls thought.

Panicking and disconcerted by the memory of the solitary duck next to its dead friend I decided that I had to get another one. I went to the same market and found the same stall open and asked the man for another duck, pointing to similar birds I’d bought before. The man said « they’re not ducks, they’re birds » using the same word, oiseau, Sophie had used.

My mind raced. What did he mean they weren’t ducks? I’d asked him for collar vert canards last time and he’d given me ones just like them.

He was looking at me strangely and I said again « collar vert mallards » and he said « oui » and pointed at a completely different set of birds. I started to panic even more and he was looking at me like I was a little insane so I just asked for two. He was still looking at me strangely (unsurprising really) as he told me I’d need to keep them inside for another fortnight and mentioned a heat lamp. I was asking him if I could just keep them inside and he said yes…..but I’m really not so sure. As the encounter went on it was evident that I didn’t understand what was happening as I struggled with the language and shock (it was shortly after this I was sick), but there I had two little duck in a box in the car, with my girls in the back seat and I was driving to pick up provisions for the new little lives I had suddenly acquired.

After a trip to the garden centre I had a wire cage with plastic trays, straw, appropriate feed and new chicken wire.

As I arrived home my mind was still racing. What is the animal I have? What is a bird with webbed feet but isn’t a duck”? I racked my brains, called my mum who hadn’t a clue and was increasingly confused. Eventually an Internet search of « baby bird with webbed feet, not duck » brought up this image….

Yep. I had a goose, or a gosling to be exact. And on the same page….

Yep. I had Mallard ducklings too. That couldn’t be let out. They went in the cage.

I managed to speak with my hubby about it all and I think my still evident distress helped him be sympathetic to the two new little birds under our roof.

So for the rest of the day I hammered chicken wire all around the base of the coop with four layers going on the inside too. I think they’re safe.

I was bringing the gosling in with the ducks with the cage’s metal divider between them, as I didn’t want the little thing to be lonely.

Ducks poop a lot! I have to clean them out about twice a day and they want lots of water. So yesterday I let them out in the chicken coop as it was lovely and warm out. I gave them a little bowl of water which one immediately jumped in and splashed around.

It was so sweet; the little gosling ran straight over and was so excited when he saw them. The three were inseparable all day. Last night for the first time I took the grill out and they all snuggled up together.

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If I’m worried that they may not be warm enough at night I turn the kitchen heater on.

So. Four chickens, two ducklings and one gosling. It’s crazy town.

La Vide Grenier and Feeling at Home in France

Here in our little village the sun is out, the blossom is on the trees and it appears as if people are coming out from their hibernation. At our regular market here on a Tuesday people linger longer to chat, or sit outside the two little bars to share a drink, walks to school are enjoyed in the sunshine. Heaven.

Our youngest daughter is finally speaking consistently. She’s faced an uphill battle that I’ve spoken of before; a life endangering struggle when she was born meant she was fed intravenously, leaving her mouth muscles severely weakened. Added to that our move to France and moves within as well as other changes have also impacted upon her. Her use of English has developed significantly, which is a relief. She speaks a few french words, but understands everything.

I write all this just to let anyone who’s thinking of moving to France, or who’s already moved with young children and is experiencing this, to anticipate that there may be difficulties with very young children and language; but that things do work themselves out.

My own use of French is finally getting better. Twice recently people have commented how much my language has improved. I find myself expressing even my thoughts in English now with the french equivilant. Instead of saying ‘I’m happy about that’ I’ll say ‘I’m content with that’. I’ll automatically say ‘voila’ instead of there you go. The lines between the two worlds are a little more blurry.

Having said that it’s still as if we live in a glass box; you are there but the language and culture barrier limits your capacity to fully engage with what’s going on around you.

Yet I am deepening relationships, meeting people for coffee and having some English people over for dinner. Gradually I’m using ‘tu’ and not ‘vous’ – which is surprisingly hard. We don’t learn french from our parents of course, so swapping to the informal means becoming used to the different tense usage. Sometimes I swap between the two with people and when I realise worry that they’ll think I’m suddenly expressing annoyance. After all it was Josephine’s change to vous that enraged Bonaparte!

It was a battle to join the health system due to difficulties we’ve experienced caused by our accountant. However, when I expressed this to the directrice at the girls school she put me in contact with the mother of some of the pupils who worked in that department. Something which had taken me months of worry and heartache was suddenly resolved. I can not express to you have grateful I am for that.

There have been times, as I’ve spoken of, that this glass box has left me feeling a little isolated and lonely. When you’re an immigrant to a country where you must speak another language it’s hard. Not only have you got to think of how you express something, you have the difficulty of not being certain that the way you are saying it is the correct way in terms of social norms. We’re not aware just how much cultural and social knowledge we accumulate until we step outside.

This Spring showed me just how much has changed. Each year our little village has a vide grenier, a sort of car boot sale. Last year it was on Easter Sunday but, this year’s moon cycle being different, the same early April date didn’t clash with the feast.

A year ago the weather was grey at that time and we knew, well, no one really. The girls had only just started to their school as it was shortly after we’d moved here. The main street had lots of places to buy cooked food and eat outside. As I was alone with the girls I bought us lunch and we had it inside. I expected an early end to the fair, but my eldest kept coming into our bedroom at 9 and 10 o’clock as there was an open air bar and people were enjoying themselves. She found it exhilarating!

This year we were more prepared and, even though my husband was away again, my parents came over the night before to take part. The sun was shining, the village was full of stalls and activities (we only saw a fraction of what was on offer) and there was a party atmosphere throughout.

What really struck me though was how many people we now knew. Every few feet we would stop to greet and exchange kisses with someone, happily chat and move on until another friendly face meant we stopped again.

Our school runs are the same; stop, kiss, chat, stop, kiss, chat….

Deus gratias.

La Potagère and Chicken Madness

The potagère project has been a far bigger task than I first thought; that added to some disasters we’ve had along the way has resulted in my lack of blogging.

Let me see, first there was Apple’s injury. In my last post I explained how the concrete post crumbled when I shut les poules inside, leading to a week of desperately fixing things to try and make a safe place for the girls.

Well, I made it fox safe. However, I failed to make it Lilly safe. I didn’t even think of the need for Lilly safe to be honest. So, when I was in the kitchen doing the dishes and the girls where outside playing I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

The hubby and I had put up a fenced area for the feathered girls to peck around in and we were due to sort out a gate for them. We were alternating between the hens and the dog being outside. We’d just done a changeover and Bertie our Tebitan Spaniel was out having fun.

Suddenly I heard this mad clucking and I knew something was wrong. I raced outside to see Lilly with the chicken shed door open and Bertie excited over something. Embarrassingly I was screaming, using language like a sailor to be quite frank, as I tried to get them both away.

Lilly was saying “Arrête” over and over again to Bertie, but evidently not fully understanding what was happening. On the floor was Apple. I got Lilly out of the way and grabbed Bertie, calling for Toby to come and get him. As I carried him off Apple seemed to be lifeless on the ground.

I went back to pick her up and I was dreading what I’d find. Picking her up she came back to life, but the poor little thing had great globs of blood dripping from her head.

I got her in the kitchen and cleaned her wounds. I didn’t know what to do from there, so I put her back in the chicken shed and made her comfortable, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

I kept checking on her that night and then the next day I got up early so if it was bad news I could find out before my little ones did. But there was Apple, in a corner and alive at least. She’s now been given antibiotics and can definitely see from one eye, but the other is recovering so we wait and see.

Hubby and I have now put up two fences – one as a barrier to the potagère and one as a pen surrounding the chicken shed so my feathered girls can have some time outside in safety. Both gates have locks so Lilly can’t open them.

I’ve also been planting in the Potagère and I’ll share more about that later. Just one point – who knew growing some veg was this complicated!

One more thing. I think I’m going a bit mad. I’ve bought another chicken. A little grey Bantam who is so pretty I couldn’t resist. I’ve called her Lady Jane Grey, she’s gorgeous. I’m gradually introducing her to Popcorn and Apple; I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake!

Autumn in the Village

I’m super busy with kitchen, the children and -you know – life, so I haven’t been posting a lot. I just rushed back today from a hectic morning and the beauty of the Autumn colours calmed and uplifted me, so I thought I’d share….

Living In Community Means Responsibility…

….and as an immigrant I know this from my hosts.

On Tuesday my husband and I left the house early to go to the market before I went ahead to pick our youngest girl from school for lunch. My eldest refuses to come home for this meal as she likes to ‘dine with friends’. In all honesty the menu they have at the school is far superior than that at home. Only when you’re living in France can you expect to get an answer to “What Did you have for lunch…” that begins with “Well for l’entré we had….for the main plait… and for déssert [proper inflection] we had….”.

I digress. We are fortunate that we have one, as well as local shops. Many of the villages nearer to the towns don’t as their proximity to large shops makes them obsolete with selection and prices. Yet these markets give us an opportunity to meet the others in our village, as well as buy from chains leading back to our local farmers.

Unfortunately this time I didn’t have my camera, and I’m rather shy about taking it out and snapping away so publicly anyway. I’ve included here some photos of the local market at the next town. Regularly visiting ours is a fruit and veg stand, with in season produce, a small delicatsen, some clothes, a fishmonger, a wine cellar. This in addition to the local butchers, hairdressers, ironmongers, pharmacy and boulangerie.

I must confess I am no longer used to prices of produce that hasn’t been hammered down by the enormous buying power of a supermarket chain. It shocks me that having bought an entire cod fillet we paid 20€. I bought a kilo of mince from the butchers and à tartine of pâte croûte and together they cost 14€. Needless to say the supermarket is cheaper and for someone who has virtually no physical taste (I thought it was diabolical, for instance, when they reduced the salt in Pot Noodles – If You add it back in it just doesn’t taste the same) this isn’t a selling point for me either.

Yet the importance of people and valuing what they produce is important and does convince me. Never more so than having read this astonishing article here. Unfortunately I have neither the cooking or home economic skills at present to commit successfully shopping at these places all the time. I say this because the expense means going without – perhaps we can’t have meat every day of the week, but it will be of a superior quality. In order not to have meat every day of the week and not just substitute fish I have to learn to cook meals with little or no meat, with leftovers; in other words the things our grandmothers did when produce was local and their shopping was too.

I want to do this, I feel compelled to as giving value to the food, denying the self in the process, means valuing the person doesn’t it?

Today I walked out of my front door and was met with the scene that made me fall in love with this village. The sweep of the road here is so beautiful – and our house is on the corner leading into this sweep. I remember driving through this village for the first time and being astounded at it’s beauty, constructed 100s of years ago, and lovingly developed since then.

As I walked round the area, its duck pond so beautiful which is actually owned by a naighbour, the clear waters of the river, I am aware that generations of these villages have contributed to this and I am inheriting it by grace.

I walk to the school and my presence is walmly greeted by others. They smile and are patient with my still struggling French. I am grateful for their patience and consideration.

When I return home a neighbour drops by. We walk through my garden and she gives me advice on plants and how to tend them as she knows I’m not a country woman. Again I am grateful for her time.

These people already practise the responsibility of small community. It strikes me that they are La France Periphique, those who are mocked and derided for their concerns about immigration, globalisation and the impact it has on their lives.  Yet I can tell you that I have not experienced any derision, only kindness from them. Even when I’ve discussed political issues with them and they have been vocal in their concerns in their grace they have always made it clear that it not born of hatred for the stranger, but a wish to have someone discuss and address their concerns without deriding them.

They are people I admire and I went to learn from. From their self sacrifice, their solidarity and, yes, the knowledge of this earth we share. I pray that I can be worthy of their inheritance.