On la fete du premier mai (1 May, Labour Day), we bought sprigs of muguet (lily-of-the-valley) and cards, in which we introduced ourselves and, armed with these tokens of friendship and neighbourliness, we went around knocking on the doors of our immediate neighbours in La Fromagerie. The gesture was very well received; most of our neighbours are elderly and all were chuffed to bits by our adoption of this old tradition of giving muguet.
Mme l'Echelle insisted on our coming in to have coffee in her hot, smoky kitchen. Her son, Jean-Marie, got out the china cups from the top cupboard and put biscuits on a plate, and we all sat and sipped on strong, sweet coffee and battled to understand each other's French. Then J-M took us across the road and gave us a guided tour of the fields around the barn. He seemed to know every tree, every plant, and it became clear that he was fond and proud of the place. He showed us the apple, pear, cherry and fig trees, as well as the walnut tree and grapevine, and he pointed out the rows of strawberries already showing tiny little fruits. He showed us how to prune the vine and the apple trees. And he suggested that the meadow could do with a trim!
Later that afternoon we were working hard on the ivy around the dependance; really working up a sweat, when the silence of the afternoon was disturbed by the voices of a bunch of people walking up the road. Several couples and a child working off their feast day lunch, we assumed. They stopped to talk to the neighbours and then, one by one, they came round the dependance to say hello. Turns out that one was Ivan, J-M's brother, and the second son of Mr and Mme l'Echelle, who, with his wife Edith and daughter Oceane, live in the next hamlet. They were all incredibly friendly and curious about our plans. I think they think that we're mad. Who in their right mind would spend money on a barn? Better to tear it down and build a new house!
Ivan insisted that we join them for dinner, to celebrate with them the holiday. So, after having cleaned up a little in the icy cold water of the puit nearby, we drove up the hill to the next hamlet.
That evening deserves its own post.
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