7/3 - Berlin, Germany - Back to civilization
Have emerged from the sticks. Survived large spiders, manual labor, and milking goats. K and I are in Berlin now, where we hope to stay for a while. This city is astounding.
My plan is to work backwards, recount my farming experiences over the last few weeks until I'm no longer in the hole.
Rudimentary logic tells me that this doesn't add up at all.
In the mean time, please enjoy my back catalog of A/V entertainment.
5/31 - Prayssac, France - Spelunking
Life in Prayssac is tranquil. Work the garden. Tend the llamas. At the end of the day I like to hop on the bike and take a dive down a cave.
5/26 - France - Drive to Prayssac
Drive from Anlhiac to Sarlat and stop
Off for coffee,
Talk about serial killers,
Then back in the car winding down
South.
The sky is gray, rainy.
The fields are empty.
Climb up Domme just in time for the
Church bells
Then down the other side
to a town
I can’t remember.
Have a lovely lunch of eggs, cheese
More coffee.
Stroll thru the medieval garden there beside the church.
I go to pull up some weeds
And am yelled at by the gardner
Bon jour bon jour
I use spray for the garden
You pull and spread seeds
Just look, only look
No touching just look
I spray all the garden.
Then arrive in Prayssac. La Bouyssette. Our new home for the next two weeks.
Off for coffee,
Talk about serial killers,
Then back in the car winding down
South.
The sky is gray, rainy.
The fields are empty.
Climb up Domme just in time for the
Church bells
Then down the other side
to a town
I can’t remember.
Have a lovely lunch of eggs, cheese
More coffee.
Stroll thru the medieval garden there beside the church.
I go to pull up some weeds
And am yelled at by the gardner
Bon jour bon jour
I use spray for the garden
You pull and spread seeds
Just look, only look
No touching just look
I spray all the garden.
About 20 km north of Prayssac we stop in the little village of Les Arques where French sculptor Osip Zadkine worked. Interesting fellow. Had a Futurist-Cubist vibe going. There’s a museum where his studio used to be, his sculptures scattered through the square, in the church, beneath the alter in the crypt.
Then arrive in Prayssac. La Bouyssette. Our new home for the next two weeks.
5/25 - Anlhiac France - One last run
On the eve of our departure one last run through Anlhiac. All day the skies have been dark. Strong winds. Rumbles of thunder. Start running in the evening and near the road to Genis, rain finally hits us. We duck beneath an awning and watch it wash across the countryside.
5/22 - Anlhiac, France - Ronnie Caryl
In the evening we travel to Genis to see Ronnie Caryl perform at St. Christophe’s bar. Ronnie Caryl is a guitar player and used to work with Phil Collins. To repeat, Phil Collins had a guitar player and I saw him play in Southern France. No, I am not making this up.
We pull in and the square is full of cars, the bar full of life – Folks young and old smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, holding plastic cups of beer while children race through the crowd. We meet a young French woman also working as a farmer. She says the work makes her tired but then she knows she’s alive.
Near midnight, Ronnie takes the stage with his band right behind him. He is large and they all have ponytails. Something like Jerry Garcia with a lizard for a keyboard player. After fumbling through a few verses of “Mustang Sally” everyone takes solos.
How strange: to be in a French town full of French people, watching them dance to shaky covers of American music played by a bar band. I suppose it was refreshing to be in front of live musicians again. But it was also surreal and a little upsetting. Iowa’s open mic night as an American export, following me to France like the monster follows Frankenstein. Ronnie plays well into the night, far later than I care to remember. For the record, there was no “In the Air Tonight.” Though quite a funky version of “I Can’t Dance.”
We pull in and the square is full of cars, the bar full of life – Folks young and old smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, holding plastic cups of beer while children race through the crowd. We meet a young French woman also working as a farmer. She says the work makes her tired but then she knows she’s alive.
Near midnight, Ronnie takes the stage with his band right behind him. He is large and they all have ponytails. Something like Jerry Garcia with a lizard for a keyboard player. After fumbling through a few verses of “Mustang Sally” everyone takes solos.
How strange: to be in a French town full of French people, watching them dance to shaky covers of American music played by a bar band. I suppose it was refreshing to be in front of live musicians again. But it was also surreal and a little upsetting. Iowa’s open mic night as an American export, following me to France like the monster follows Frankenstein. Ronnie plays well into the night, far later than I care to remember. For the record, there was no “In the Air Tonight.” Though quite a funky version of “I Can’t Dance.”
5/21 - Anlhiac France - Digging up an overgrown garden
Visit with S. and her husband, S., an American couple living outside Exideuiel. Locals say that gypsies once lived in their home, used the first floor as a dog kennel, let their children play on the roof. We work the overgrown garden and limbs of plastic dolls come up in the dirt. As I’m digging, Katie shears a bay leaf hedge and the air smells like crème.
When the work is finished, we head inside to share a delicious meal, discuss American writers and the dangers of French real estate. I’ve forgotten how valuable it is to sit down with others at the dinner table. Such a satisfying form of communication.
When the work is finished, we head inside to share a delicious meal, discuss American writers and the dangers of French real estate. I’ve forgotten how valuable it is to sit down with others at the dinner table. Such a satisfying form of communication.
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