Where to next?

Well that's it for helpx in France.

An incredible experience, but I'm ready to go and say nom nom nom homemade pasta nom nom nom.

Right. But before working on a farm outside Orvieto, Italy, we'll take a little vaca (life is hard) in Bordeaux and Florence for a week or so starting tomorrow. New York stud Sean Murphy will be joining us in Bordeaux and, as we somehow survived Machu Picchu together this time last year, I think we'll be just fine in wine country.

More updates and pictures to come shortly!

La fête du Moulin

Yesterday we celebrated Father's Day in the US and national windmill day here in France!  Jane (our fellow helpx friend from New Zealand) Andrew, and I took off on our bikes after breakfast, pedaling toward the tiny town of Coulx.  Here's what we found:

View from our bathroom

Larissa harvesting the cherry tree

Update from Peyrenegre

So far, c'est bon. The work is light, the food is fresh, and the accommodation is less trailer and more bedroom with a bathroom and walk-in closet.

It's almost too comfortable, as I feel slightly uncomfortable walking around in my 1,5 euro work pants (we lucked out at a second hand market in Agen). The pair -- meant to be used, abused, and trashed at Kate Hill's -- have now become, despite the failed effort to remove grass and dirt stains, my go-to pants simply due to the addictive semi-elastic waistband (this trip, after all, is part food adventure). Either way, the pants will work just fine for our current job: scrape, sand, prime, and paint 13ft barn doors.

About the hosts, Kevin and Enid Wilson, both generous and active ex-pats from England. Kevin, a retired marketing professor, is about the friendliest old grump I've met. Harrumphing about, cane in hand, he offers many complements ("well done, kids") and coffee breaks over which he'll lecture us about the Vikings until Enid, a structured, sweet, retired primary school headmistress, walks in and tells him to stop.

That's about it for now. We've just really been able to connect to the internet, so more posts and Larissa's photos will come soon.

Where to next?

Towards Bordeaux! Our third help exchange is at Peyrenegre, a large farmhouse adjoined by two holiday cottages. We'll work around the farm/garden, paint some, and help prep dinner. The other helpx'ers (2 from England, 1 from New Zealand) are in their 50s and 60s, so that should be interesting..

For for info: Peyrenegre

Oh no, not again . . .

Refreshed

This one time, in Southern France, at a culinary retreat that prides itself on fresh, thoughtfully prepared cooking, I threw up at the dinner table.


It was about 8PM, but it felt like 2AM. I was so dirty from the long day's sweat-rest-cool pattern of farm work that I somehow felt, though didn't smell, clean; I skipped a shower in favor of helping with dinner because, as I assured myself, everyone smelled like compost (right? Larissa, you smell like compost too, right?), and because, dammit, I came to a French farm to learn about food, not about cleanliness.

Makin' roses

How to regenerate rose cuttings (see Picasa album for photos):

You will need: jar of fresh water, cutting utensil, hormone for plant cuttings (powder found in garden store), pot with soil, plastic bag that will fit tightly over pot, location receiving semi sun

1. Select your favorite type of rose from yours, a friends, unsuspecting neighbor's, or other garden.
2. Find a rose past its prime.

Erika's photo website

Erika is a photographer who works full time here, documenting rural life as well as getting her hands dirty living it.  Here's a link to her beautiful pictures:

http://erikahildegard.blogspot.com/  (If you get a message saying the link doesn't work, click on "Eyes of the world" in the message or copy and paste the URL)

There are a few shots of the duckling event (my hand is the one with the silver ring on it!) and some before and after shots of the garden.

An update from Camont blogs

Below is a new post from Kate Hill, the founder and overseer at the Kitchen at Camont. It's a nice read and entices one to try and experience this life. But the post romanticizes, as I've also been guilty of in the past (Ah, yes, free range this, local that! Bring it all to me here in the east village), life on a small-scale farm.

It's kind of hard work. The sun is relentless, the lambs poop everywhere, the ant hills and bee nests are everywhere else, the mosquitos get you while you're busy dodging lamb droppings and brushing ants and spiders off your legs, until, finally, you're clear for a few minutes to begin that five hours of digging alongside a smelly, though free-range (!), chicken that you don't shoo away since it's eating the ants and spiders.

www.kitchen-at-camont.com/2010/06/03/life-and-death-in-gascony-an-artisan-life/

All that said, it's still beautiful here. And rewarding. Mostly around eatin' time (fresh, fresh eggs are ridiculous, as are fava beans picked at 6pm and pureed and dipped in by 6:10) and when, beer in hand, we look out and see, smell and touch the day's work. It's still too early to compare this to the feeling at 4pm when the market closes, so I'll take the advice of a viticulturalist who, as we drank reds from Saint Mont and Cahors and Buzet, explained how most wines in this region are not necessarily better or worse, just different.

Ubuntu for all

Freedom from crashing, viruses, and costly software packages, if I could just figure out how to use it . . .

I've switched from Windows to Ubuntu to operate my netbook.  A bit about ubuntu:

Progress at Camont

It's only been 4 days but we've accomplished a lot here at Camont!  The garden was completely overgrown.  Weeds had to be dug out, high grass whacked, dirt rotorvated and aerated (hard work!), seeds sewn and transplanted, and tons of water added to the baked earth.  I have so much respect for small-scale farmers whose livelihoods depend on such tough work, day after day.

The making of a CEO

I start the day by sweating in a sun-drenched, poorly ventilated trailer. Sliding out of bed and into yesterday's clothes, I realize, with the kind assistance of that poor ventilation, that I've missed yesterday's shower. Larissa, who somehow remains put together and not smelling like, say, a foot, starts to stir so I reach for the door and begin wafting in that pure Southern France farm air. (You know, that same air that makes you quit your job on Wall St. to live in a trailer on a farm?) She rolls over, props up on her elbow, and throws a sleepy, squinting smile at my effort. I consider this a success and then consider chasing down the rooster to punch in the face, but I've yet to have my coffee.

After breakfast, I work in the field. I dig up roots, turn the soil for new plants, and, when no one is around, talk to the free-range chickens and ducks. Shouting "foie gras" to a confused duck, complete with a Bruce Lee accent and Karate Kid pose, really is as fun as it sounds.

More on this later, but my netbook's battery is flashing and there's no outlet in the trailer.

Getting to the title... check out the article below. I got excited when I read it. It was sent to me by Ben Cole -- a friend, mentor, and the best and most influential professor I had at NYU.

The article, clearly showing how I'm en route to success.

A warm welcome at Camont

After a warm 'nice to meet you', Kate Hill - our gracious host - exclaimed that there were ducklings in the oven that we must come see! Oh, the joys of French cooking.  Turns out the ducklings were in the oven to keep warm while they hatched.  Long story short, Kate aided two through the shells, then we marched to the little duck pond, a mini parade towards the Arc with two newborn ducks followed by two nosy lambs.  This is life at Camont.  

As of this morning, all the ducklings survived the oven, this time . . .