On Friday night, we took the train to visit members of my family who remain in our ancestral village. I revisited what I regard as my sacred places, where I spent so much time observing every minute detail of this landscape as a child, probably out of boredom some times, but that I grew to cherish.
I used to spend endless summers and other school holidays there at my grand-parents' farm while my parents were minding their business in Paris
This village has never known any tourist passing by, does not have a bakery or any other shop and no advertisement board. For this reason only, I would classify it as an oddity in 2013 Middle of Europe.
The graveyard is full of people bearing the same last name than me, and many farms belong to more or less distant relatives.
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My Village in East of France (View from my grand mother's house window) |
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Farm-house gate |
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Champagne chilling out outside near the old well |
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| Paté en croute (home grown pork and home made pastry) usually kept in a very large freezer |
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When I was little, my grand-mother used to kill a rabbit for lunch as soon as she saw us arrive in the car. It was quite shocking for a 6 years old who grew up in Paris. Later on, she grew chicken and this is a 4.5 kg half chook out of 130ish grown by my cousin. She sells them only by word of mouth. |
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Children making puzzles |
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Cheese matchsticks for aperitif |
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Gewurtztraminer |
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Endless walks in the fresh air |
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Rich earth, freshly sowed, two month too late because of two unusual rainfalls |
The village was coming together on Sunday morning and this was the only time of the week when you would dress up and meet people other than your direct family members. People would sing altogether, children had to stay still and it seemed to last forever. Sometimes, the priest would make us reflect, but mostly it made you develop critical thinking as a child; you knew you could not take all the imagery literally.
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Timeless Roman church always open
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| The fountain |
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The local source - hideaway for teenagers and first romances |
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Village from afield
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| Now is time to clean my boots to take the train back to Paris (grand mother's home fountain) |
"Mud and cow manure are not dirty", my grand dad would say, "what is dirty are car fumes" he would say when I was 10 years old and when it was not fashionable to say such things.
On the way back to Paris, we visited another village, my mother's village and in the house where my mother was born, my uncle gave us access to this photo.
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That is me on the left hand side learning to walk next to my cousin Laurent in a pedal car. |
