Monday, August 3, 2009
Joan has a few errands to run in Mamers, 7 kilometers away, and we will get groceries at the Super U.
In the town parking lot, the weekly market is in full swing when we arrive. Colorful vegetables and fruits, cheeses and meats, bread and pastries are on display as well as rack after rack of men‘s, women‘s, and children‘s clothing. . Many of the clothing vendors are Pakistani, Joan explains. They travel from town to town for each’s market day.
At the supermarket we have lunch in the café, and Bernie and I purchase what we think we’ll need for the next few days: milk, cheese, meat, and a frozen lasagna casserole for a quick meal.
We also check for cars to rent. Bill had asked about their car rentals before we arrived and their prices were very good. Alas! All their cars are out. It’s August, when the French go on vacation. Our little 399-Euros-a-month rental is probably sitting at a campsite along the Mediterranean. Oh, well, ca va, as the French say.
Joan and Bill are distressed by this news, but we figure they have enough to do to get ready to leave Wednesday morning and we tell them well figure something out.
Back at the house just long enough to put groceries away, then we’re off to Cheri ad Keith’s. In their former life in the UK they owned a pub. They came here because of Keith’s health (we assume he has lung cancer based on the conversation) and Sheri intended to continue working. Each time she came here she hated to go back, though. So they sold the pub, settled here permanently, and have no regrets. They love the way of life here.
They decided on this house, another old farmhouse, because it’s located on land with a large pond, in a beautiful setting. They’re still modernizing the house and have run into delays.
We are offered tea, and I decline, thinking I‘m being polite. I can tell, though, when Joan accepts with hearty thanks, that I have made a misstep.
In a few minutes Sheri carries in a tray with tea, wine, and chocolate-covered biscuits (read cookies). As I munch away at the biscuits and sip tea, I make a mental note not to turn down refreshments again.
Amid the blizzard of conversation (giving lie to the idea that the English are reserved) Keith and Sheri invite us to a quiz. As a pub owner, Keith held quizzes once a month in the bar. Here in France he offered to hold one for some of their friends. It was a hit, and this next quiz will be his twelfth for the group.
As we depart, Keith and Sheri offer any assistance we might need., and tell us they’ll ring us about the quiz.
At our next stop, at Sheena’s, I say I’d love tea when it’s offered, and this time, too, the lovely little plate of cookies comes with it.
We sit outside and survey Sheena’s farm. She’s also from the UK. When she inherited some money from her grandmother a few years earlier, she bought this old dairy farm in France. On the day of our visit, she and a friend who is helping her get the place in shape, had removed roof tiles over a second story chicken coop to get at some rotten timbers. She plans to replace timber and tiles (saved in a pile in the yard) and put chickens up there again.
Sheena’s putting all her energy and money into repairs to the exterior, she says. “My living quarters have not improved.” Since the inheritance was enough only to buy the house, she needed to qualify to work in France and get a job to complete work on the farm.
In France, in order to get work, you must speak French. Sheena took classes, became qualified and now teaches English in Le Mans.
Work on the farm takes longer, though, because Sheena is away at work all day. But she has sheep in a pen in the back, and a large garden, though it doesn’t take up much of the available space - she has quite a lot of land.
Some of the outbuildings are of wattle-and-daub construction, quite old. Boards are simply slices of trees nailed to the side of the buildings.
Sheena’s enthusiasm for the huge task ahead of her hasn’t waned. We don’t envy her the work or the length of time it will take to complete it.
We leave amid more offers of help should we need it.
Back at Joan and Bill’s we eat scrambled eggs and toast. I wonder if I’ll be able to fall asleep after all that tea.. No need to worry - I’m asleep within five minutes. When I open my eyes next morning, it’s ten o’clock. Jet lag finally caught up with us.
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