New Faces

Ann and I have been making new friends, most of them male and over the age of fifty, but all of them kind and with some crazy quirk or interesting past. There's Christian, the clock-maker in town who races horses and drives like such a maniac that by the time we reached Montpelier my heart was faint and my stomach was in my throat. There's Khaim, a musicologist of sorts who also happens to be rated the world's best maker of Indian wooden flutes. He let me practice in his tiny studio and then had Ann and I over for tea until our bus arrived. There's also the kindly old man whose name I cant remember, who drove us from Montpelier to Ganges (two small towns near here). He spoke to me about his family and the dialects of different French provinces as we listened to the French equivalent of NPR.

The most fun, by far, are the new friends we made in the a nearby college town, Montpelier. We were wandering the city on Saturday afternoon, geting to know the area and looking for something to do that night, when we heard a band practicing through a nearby open window. They had an accordian, violin, guitar, stand-up bass, and drums, and they were roughly our age. I walked up to the window and, standing on tip-toes, asked if they were practicing for a show that night. They were! One of them went to the trouble of drawing us a map and Ann and I found our way to the club after a long dinner of divine French cuisine. The show was a blast; their music is some sort of French folk and they put on a great show - both because of their musical talent and onstage antics. Afterwards they invited us to "make a party" (the direct translation of a French phrase meaning "have a party") with them at their friend's house, and make a party we did. At four in the morning we found our way back to the hotel (excorted by two of our new friends) after three hours of music and dancing and playing games.

Snapshots

Today I arm-wrestled a massive Cosmos. It was an epic battle of woman vs. plant, to be recorded in the annals of French farming and celebrated in song for generations to come. My intent was not to kill the cosmos but rather the weeds sprouting up around its tentacle-like arms. On my hands and knees, with the massive flower-bush hanging over my back and tickling my ears, with the air full of scent of earth and sweat, I battled the weeds. I emerged triumphant and covered in dirt and bits of leaf, laughing hysterically.

Picture this: Ann and I cut the lavender back on a hill above the house. We sit there in the dry, crusted dirt, working our scissors and talking about whatever comes to mind - at this moment we're talking about the most romantic situations we've ever been in. Below us the terrain falls away into a forrested valley and then rises into a row of hills dotted with ancient stone homes and open fields. The sky is a deep blue with scatterred clouds and the fresh fall wind blows dried leaves across our faces. I'm wearing what I've been wearing every day these last two weeks: an old white T-shirt, red pull-over sweatshirt, purple-checked scarf and worn gret courds. My nose is running like a leaky faucet because I've managed (believe it or not) to catch a nasty cold even with this fresh air and healthy diet. My hands, gripping the scissors, are scratched and blistered and caked with dirt, the nails worn down below the rough tips. I clip the dried lavender where the stalk meets the stubby leaves, and throw the flowers into a wooden box that's filling quickly with perfumed herbs. I feel happy, relaxed, and hungry.

Such is our life these days. We work for 3-5 hours each day doing odd jobs - raking, sanding, painting; weeding; picking chestnuts or berries - and then we have the late afternoons to explore or nap our read outloud to each other. The evenings we spend with the family, for the most part, coooking with Bernard and speaking faulty french, playing games with Christophe, tidying the kitchen.

We have internet for about one hour a week, so for those of you that wrote me I may not get a chance to reply today. But thank you for e-mails and please keep them coming!