hens

Hello, is that Monica?

| Mairead

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(The neighbours walking their dog last night)

We’ve moved again and now we’re about 30 minutes inland, in a campsite near the town of Lourical. The sun is shining and we are parked between two orange trees. I can hear hens and I believe there’s a pig somewhere around. This is a very interesting site. We found it by accident but it seems like a place we would pick to stay if we’d known!

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(Sunset over the Atlantic later last night)

Anyways it’s run by a Dutch couple and they have young helpers. During busy season there’s a very pretty restaurant (with good reviews) but it looks like we are the only ones here so we may be unlucky with that. One thing we are very lucky with is the train station. There’s one in a nearby town and we will be able to park in the supermarket and take the train to Porto (Yay Porto) when Denis gets word from Monica.

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(The restaurant at our new campsite)

Still no word from Monica… 😦

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(They have a (tiny) farmers market in the garden)

Real time drama: Denis maybe you need to ring Monica? Denis considers his options and rings Monica. I can’t hear the other side of the conversation but Denis doesn’t look happy, overjoyed or ready to dash off to Porto. He looks… confused. I think there might be a problem with the fixing…. Ok, Denis has just got off the phone with Monica. Monica was just about to ring Denis. There is a problem. The part cannot be shipped and there is an email on it’s way from the manufacturer to explain. I suppose we won’t be rushing back to Porto (missing Porto already) …and that grand idea with the supermarket car park and the train… poof!

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(A hen jumped out of this hay stack – she was hiding her eggs. Hens not in full agreement with the farmers market?)

So here we are in a beautiful tree, animal, egg filled garden campsite enjoying the sun. Now what?

Step 9. Gratitude… for the old, slow computer that is working.

Heavy Rain brings Cheerful Scones

| Mairead

1610a

(22 raindrops (or thereabouts) in a row… )

It was a very dark morning full of heavy rain when I woke up. So I lay there listening to the sound of water hitting the window, the roof and the cat. It was surprisingly pleasant (well not the cat bit but he stopped being unpleasant when I let him in.) My memory might be faulty but I think we haven’t had very many heavy rain storms this year. I was enjoyed this one.

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(This flowering shrub has been cheering me all through the summer, looks like it’s happy continuing into the autumn)

It got me thinking about all the things I connect with heavy rain (I mean the nice things I connect with heavy rain.) Being in bed, nice and warm. Staying home, warm and dry. Darkness in the daytime reminding me of the tunnel of trees. Scones and butter. Raindrop sounds. Comfortable shoes. Scones. It was the scones that finally got me out of bed but I completely forgot about them.

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(Pretty edges on the leaves)

By lunchtime it was still dark and raining and I was starting to feel tired and I don’t mind telling you, a bit grumpy. I was talking to myself in a less than kind or helpful way. Like I thought that would encourage me… I worked on my art journal and even began the process of painting one of my tea towels (it takes a few days.) But yet I continued to feel a bit heavy and very slow and not very accepting of this state.

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(More raindrops)

Then I remembered the scones and I was all excited again. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of eating the last egg in the fridge at the time… Still… it is possible to make scones without eggs, which reminds me of the other nice thing about heavy rain – hens.

Heavy rain produces worms and sometimes scones, Mairead.

The Tunnel I love

| Mairead

2509b

(Leaves and seed. I pick something up every time I go walking)

I went on my walk this morning (of course I did!) a bit earlier than usual because it’s not so pleasant to walk in the heat. Anyway, there’s a stretch of the road which I call the tunnel (or tunnel as I like to say in French) and I absolutely love it. It’s dark and incredibly quiet in there. You can just about make out the light from the sky in the distance. This morning I had to stop and get a good feel of its magic.

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(Duck. From the riverside in Vouvant)

I never bring the camera out on my walk, much too much distraction, but two nights ago I had my phone and I took a picture. It might not be very clear but I wanted to give you a visual sense of my tunnel.

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(My tunnel, sigh)

So… I’m standing in my tunnel this morning and the phrase the darkest hour is just before the dawn comes to mind. And it got me thinking… my tunnel is such a comforting place to be, I wonder how it would work if the next time I’m feeling down, I imagine myself in my tunnel. A place to be held safely in the dark until it’s time to venture out into the sun. I’m definitely going to try it. (By the way, in case I forget and you notice I’m needing my tunnel, could you remind me please?)

2509a

(Love this quote from Maya Angelou, it’s now in one of the journals I’ve been creating here)

With only a week left (I think I’ll keep saying that every day from now on….) I’ve been thinking of all the things I want to do before we leave and on the very top of the list is… getting a video of the hens running to me (their surrogate mother…) So far we have a startled looking hen standing very still so hopefully they’re not camera-shy. If we do manage to capture momentum I’ll find a way to share it with you.

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(Very cute sign in Vouvant)

From the sunny swing, Mairead.

Apple Tart Omelette

| Mairead

1709a

(Mmmm Bread and Butter Pudding Version 1.0)

Another wet day today which is making me kinda sleepy. I might have a little snooze after I finish this. Well, I finally made my version of a bread and butter pudding. Lets call it version 1.0. I have a feeling there might need to be more versions… It didn’t turn out all that well. But it did have some positive attributes. It smelled lovely, the apples and cinnamon, I think. It looked pretty good too. But the taste…. it tasted a bit like apple tart omelette. If you, like me, have never tasted apple tart omelette and wondered… wonder no more, it’s not great.

1709b

(More pictures of the beautiful forest walk around Mervant Lake)

You might remember I had a plan to feed it to the hens if it didn’t work, but then I worried about the ethics of feeding hens their own eggs? Well, I went back to the hen forum (still no sign of Liam) and feeding them cooked eggs is not a problem. (The eggs in this case are definitely cooked, in fact you could call them over-cooked.) The only problem it seems is letting the hens realise how delicious their eggs are in case they eat them before you have a chance to get them in the fridge.

1709c

(Our picnic spot…. water and peach spot really)

Right so, what to do for next time… the omelette taste wasn’t so good so maybe I’ll leave the egg out… and the bread was a bit chewy so maybe I’ll leave the bread out, if there’s no bread then I’ll probably leave the butter out. And I found something that looks very like flour in the bottom of the cupboard so maybe I’ll put that in. Of course that kind of defeats the purpose of using up stale bread and finding a home for free eggs… but I do like the apples…

1709d

(Can you see the person in the red sweater sitting on the rock way, way up there?)

Watch this space for Bread and Butter Pudding Version 1.2, without the bread and the butter, probably should call it Just Pudding, Mairead.

Rain or Shine, some more hen pictures

| Mairead

1509e

(We went for a ramble around the lake at Mervant this morning)

It’s Sunday afternoon, I’ve just brought the hens their afternoon treat – porridge. They love it! Being from France they possibly haven’t tasted it  (you can only buy it here in the English section at the supermarket) but they get very excited when they realise that’s what I’ve brought. Their excitement is followed by very noisy pecking in the feeding dish. This weekend they’ve had a lot of excitement food-wise.

1509a

(Some swallows gathering on the wire outside our house)

It rained heavily all day yesterday (Saturday) which was fine as I had planned a day of answering long unanswered emails, so I sat most of the day on the sofa in front of the windows to the garden. After a while I kinda forgot where I was. You miss a lot of reality when you’re on the computer. So it was lunchtime before I realised the hens were probably drenched, I went to investigate. I had let them out of the house earlier in the morning when the rain was only starting and was surprised that they seemed very eager to be outside.

1509b

(Can you see the rain?)

Now when I reached their enclosure I couldn’t believe the state of them. They were indeed drenched, they looked like they’d been for a swim, feathers plastered against their heads, beaks to the ground. I remember the bird ‘flu crisis we had in Ireland a few years ago, so I knew birds could get the ‘flu, is this how it started?

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(The poor chicken… notice the muddy beak?)

I went straight back to the house (the one we’re in not the hens) and had Denis check if his brother Liam (he and Kate live with the hens I was hen-sitting last summer) was online to get advice. He wasn’t. So instead we searched for a hen forum (where hen owners gather on the internet to chat… really…)

1509d

(Soaking)

We found one in America. There was lots of chat about hens in the rain but the main message –  they’re fine. They love the rain. Why? Because it provides the other thing they love – worms. It has been a very dry summer here in the Vendee and so the ground is very hard, making it difficult for worms to get to the surface or hens to get through to them. Not yesterday. Soft earth. Lots of worm potential. Happy hens.

So how do birds get the ‘flu? Mairead.

Free Food! Free Food! Free Food!

| Mairead

1209a

(The sky last night and that’s a small plane up there)

I want to walk every day after breakfast while I’m here, just for twenty minutes, a budding exercise routine. So this morning I got up a bit earlier than usual (to let the girls out) and went out the back gate and down another lane. It’s a farm lane I’m guessing, because it’s not paved but perfect for walking. Unusual for my experience of France the lane is bounded by ditches and sometimes hedges of trees. They are old trees, like oak and horse-chestnut. Beyond these are crops still growing, like sunflower or wheat. There are also newly cut fields and there’s one ploughed field.

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(Droopy headed sunflowers as far as the eye can see)

On my way back I decided to pick up some cooking apples. Now, I’m talking literally “pick up” – from the ground. Before Mara left she showed me an apple tree in the next field, it didn’t seem to belong to anyone, she said, no one was picking up the windfalls. So we did and this morning I did. I felt very oddly excited by the fact that I would not have to exchange some coins for this bounty. And I wasn’t just taking them because they were lying around I have a plan.

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(Little blue butterfly)

Each day I’ve been making little treats for the hens with the bits and pieces of leftover food from our table. This always includes some bread because the bread seems to go stale very quickly. But hard stale bread seemed a poor gift so I was softening it with some warm milk. It gets lovely and mushy… and that’s when I remembered Bread and Butter Pudding. I used to love that as a child and I often have fond memories of it, I even asked my mother for the recipe once but never made it – there’s milk in it, I don’t like milk! Despite that I still like the idea of it and I love the memory of it, warm and comforting, mmmmm.

1209d

(The apple shop)

So, I’m going to make a different version of Bread and Butter Pudding. I’m usually not good at making up recipes – I worry that it’ll be awful and after all the hard work I’ll have to throw it out. No problem here – the hens eat everything, even stuff that seems really yuck. And I’d be throwing out the bread anyway (to the hens!) and the apples were free and… and it might be a good time to let go of worrying about getting something wrong! So my version will have stale bread, cooking apples, rice milk and cinnamon. Oh and eggs, of course eggs, the other thing we can just “pick up” here. Oh and blackberries, yum.

1209e

(Soon to be Bread and Apple Pudding)

There’s one small problem, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to start, we’ve eaten all the bread. Hang on, there’s another problem… I don’t know if it’s ethically sound to offer cooked eggs to hens?

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(Oh and free drying too)

From a cloudy with sunny spells back garden in France, Mairead.

Wake up and smell the eggs!

| Mairead

1109e

(Two of the girls… saying something in French)

A wonderful thing happened! Our host went away this morning for a long weekend and left me in charge of the hens! Well, Denis too but I don’t intend to allow him any access. The recommendation must have come through from Kate because it’s quite a specialised job and my experience in the area will definitely have helped me get a foothold into hen-sitting in France.

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(Great profile)

So this morning when I heard Mara’s car pull away I rambled up the garden to the hens, just so they’d know there was someone responsible in charge. I had also prepared a bread and warm milk treat, so they’d know it was me and not Denis whom they could trust. The hen-house was open when I arrived but two of the three girls were still inside, and as soon as they saw me they came outside to see what I’d brought. While they were munching (or is it sucking?) I went to see if they had left anything for me. They had indeed left something but not eggs. Part of my role includes cleaning up their bedding area, that’s were they leave the eggs and also the droppings. There was plenty of droppings but no eggs, possibly Mara collected them before she left.

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(Front door)

By the way Mara explained something I’d rather not have known…. so if you’re squeamish about where your eggs come from, look away now. She says the eggs and the droppings exit the hen from the same slot…… I don’t believe her, I much prefer the egg magically appears story.

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(Back door)

Anyway, after the clean up job I went off for a walk and when I came back I set up my work area in the garden on the trestle table. I was hardly five minutes into my routine when I heard one of the hens squawking loudly. I hadn’t heard that before and thought maybe it was stuck in the fence, so I went up to investigate. She seemed fine but how would I know? The only contact person I have in the area is a handyman Mara introduced me to in case anything stopped working in our cottage. She said he’s very knowledgable. About hens? Could my short hen-sitting career in France be coming to an end?

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(Checking out some insects)

Just in case he didn’t know much about hens I chatted away confidently to the noisy one and the others gathered around also. Then I wandered around to see if there were any predators lurking. No, nothing. Then I went to look in the house and guess what I found? You’ll never guess – two eggs! Aren’t hens great?

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(The two eggs!)

So intelligent, Mairead.

It’s Saturday in the countryside and I’m feeling lucky.

| Mairead

We finally arrived. The boat stopped and we were amazingly lucky to be in the line that moved out first. Not that it really matters who gets off first but it feels like being allowed out to play from school, so we were very excited. This is the time when it’s easy to forget that you have to drive on the other side of the road… And I forgot! Luckily I wasn’t driving 🙂 It was 11.15am by then and we decided it might be nice to travel on the small roads and give the motorways a miss until later. Within an hour we were sitting at a picnic spot beside a stream eating egg salad and apples and feeling very, very lucky.

Sep07

(The bridge over the Loire)

We did get back on the big roads just before Nantes in order to cross the river Loire and we arrived at out destination in the Vendee at 6.30pm. Just ten minutes away from our home for a month a black cat ran across the road in front of the car. We didn’t hit it. Lucky for us and the cat.

Sep0713

(The door into the garden)

We found our accommodation on Airbnb again and it’s very pretty with a flower garden mixed in with a vegetable garden, some fruit trees and hens! You may remember my love affair with Liam and Kate’s hens in Ireland. I’m trying to find a way to tell our host about my previous experience in this area… maybe I’ll ask Kate for a written reference? Although, there seem  to be even bigger predicators here – wild boar – I’m not sure if they eat hens or if I’d be willing to get in their way…..

Sep0713a

(A busy bee)

We went to the supermarket (Super U) earlier and now I’m sitting typing in the garden surrounded by rose bushes, hydrangeas and lettuces. I’m under the shade of a big tree and I can hear a bird chirping and some bees buzzing. Tomorrow morning I’ll sit here with coffee and a croissant. I am completely lucky.

Sep0713b

(The French girls)

Thing is…. as we’re out in the country there’s no boulangaire (I think that’s the spelling for a bakery) so I bought the croissants in the Super U and tomorrow I’ll reheat them in the little oven. That means… It’s possible to be this lucky anywhere. So if you are reading this on Sunday morning you can join me for coffee and croissants or tea and toast or whatever you have in the cupboard.

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(The neighbours – a field of sunflowers ready for harvest)

Together we can notice how lucky we are, Mairead.

Turn off your DLPFC!

| Mairead

27 1a

(Mixed media in progress…)

I’ve been reading and listening to Jonah Lehrer’s book Imagine How Creativity Works. I listened to it last summer with the hens in the forest. They weren’t hugely impressed with Jonah but I really like him so I bought his book too. Anyway, the bit I was re-listening to this weekend was about the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex (DLPFC). Rather than try, I’ll let Jonah explain it….

“While the DLPFC has many talents, it’s most closely associated with impulse control. This is the bit of neural matter that keeps each of us from making embarrassing confessions, or grabbing food, or stealing from a store.”

27 1e

(after I heard him say this I highlighted it)

Sounds good, right? Well yes and no…. Most of the time it’s a good idea not to be too impulsive. But what if you’re learning to draw or paint or what if you just want to create a beautiful get well card? What if you want to write something interesting or design something that pleases you? Well, at times like that impulse control is your biggest critic and your biggest enemy. In all fairness it’s trying to protect you from something embarrassing – a silly drawing, an aspiration to write a book, a childish necklace – very scary possibilities.

27 1c

(….playing with disposable….)

Turns out the DLPFC is the last brain area to fully develop, that explains why small children have no problem throwing a tantrum in a crowded shop. It also explains why they love their art! No impulse control… no critic. The good news is Jonah tells us about a study where just asking the adult subjects to think of themselves as seven-year olds (and spend a little time writing as their seven-year old self) caused them then to score higher on creativity tasks.

I’m off to play…. Mairead.

P.S. it’s Sunday afternoon as I write ✓