Reflections

As I made my way home by train, plane, automobile, train and automobile again across the French countryside, to Paris then New York and on into the upstate region I could not help but think about some of the many ideas, challenges, opportunities and experiences that my work has brought to me. Some of these thoughts are germane only to me while others might be of interest to many people. Certainly the more you, my clients and friends, are involved in Montlaur the more it will affect you. Someone asked me recently what the effect of this place was on people who visit. My reply, right off the top of my head was that people come to inhabit Montlaur for day and Montlaur will inhabit them for a lifetime. Such is the quality of the place, such is the nature of the experience, it is one of those things that for the right people it becomes a passion, as rich as any that might be engaged in, as rewarding as any that might be experienced. And I offer it up as one that can be made to be yours, that you can always have a part of and be a part of. There is no other vacation experience like this …indeed it is not a vacation at all…it is life.

Montlaur needs its friends and its companions. It needs attention and love and affection. For too long it has languished in the realm of fairy tale castles. It needs to become real again and that is the honour and responsibility that everyone who joins me will share in. And there will be wine along the way.

“A Little Languedoc” Gift Pack

We’ve created the first sample box to share with the world some of the joys of the area. We have a 20 cl bottle of olive oil from “Olivette des Amours” a little producer in Montaud, 125 grams of honey from the bees of Corinne and Christian as well as a generous helping of local wild herbs (rosemary, thyme and laurel or bay leaf) hand picked and packaged. We are experimenting with packaging but you can order yours through me. The price is $30 plus $19.99 for shipping. Checks can be mailed to me and I will process orders as they arrive.

In the future we will look into offering larger sample quantities of these things up to perhaps 3 liters packs of olive oil and 250 or 500 grams of honey as well as different local varieties of all of these things…the rosemary honey in particular is very good. We will also be looking into other local products to offer. It makes a very distinctive gift and of course will encourage even more people to be a part of this unique experience.

Please consider taking advantage of your connection to the south of France to get this gift pack. Christian will perhaps take some pictures and post them so everyone can see the items and the package.

Shutting down...

For those that plan to visit someday this will be an invaluable guide to help set up your visit as well as close out. If I've missed anything it is my fault. I'd welcome feedback from people who visit and find things slightly different than I outline so that i can make adjustments accordingly.

April 22nd, 2009

For this blog I am going to focus on the shut down procedures so that anyone who wishes to spend some time at La Ferme du Vieux Chateau can do so without worrying too much about the dos and don’ts of the place. The key rule is of of course to leave the place as you found it. Think of it as National Park, what you bring in you must take out and what you mess up you should clan up.

For those who might want to stay here you can contact me directly for further details and a schedule of costs associated with staying as well as your responsibilities when you are there. Also you can consider opening up as largely being the reverse of closing up so this list will always be a helpful reference point whether coming or going.

So here goes; Closing up!

Laundry: We’ve already discussed doing the last load the night before. This morning you’ll bring it in, fold it and put it away if it stays, pack it up in your luggage if it’s going.

Dishes: Collect all the dishes that have not been done. Do them and put them away where they came from. Wipe down all surfaces, particularly tables you have used and the stove and refrigerator.

Carpets: Lift up carpets, shake them outside and roll them up leaving them sitting in one of the chairs. Do not leave them on the floor.

Food: Refrigerator-clean out all perishables and dispose of them. Wipe out the shelves and ensure that nothing remaining in there will go bad. Non-perishables should be placed in the sealed plastic boxes you found them in whether they are in containers or not. No food item of any sort should be left out. The spices, in the large wooden bowl on top of the refrigerator should be double bagged and left there as they were when you found them.

General Cleaning: Sweep up and vacuum the floors as required. Any linens that were used please use to cover furniture. All furniture should be covered with linens. There is an ample supply, which you would have seen when you arrived. Please do not spare using coverings. The coverings that were on when you arrived should have been washed then and made ready to reuse at this time.

Trash: Recyclable trash should go into the garbage container with the yellow cover in the barn. Non-recyclable trash should go into the community container in the Place du Vieux Chateau. Glass bottles should be taken to the disposal station near the church in Montaud.

Outside: Bring inside all loose items, tables lanterns etc. ensuring that nothing is left out in the courtyard and that all loose things are locked somewhere inside. Install the security shutters on the main entry door on the ground floor. They attach by hanging on hooks with bolts securing the bottom of the shutter. Make sure the bolts are secured tightly...finger tight is fine but make sure it is as secure as possible.

Main doors with security shutters installed.

Water: Take your last shower and turn off the water. (Valve is located in the horse stalls at the back and to the far right.

Electrical: Turn off the water heater by unplugging it (light should go off) and turn out all lights.

Security: Lock all doors with the locks that were on them when you arrived. Close the main gate and secure with available lock. The keys are all on one key chain. When opening the padlocks to the main barn doors on your arrival, make sure the locks are left with the chains so that when you leave you’re not trying to find them again. Make sure to give the keys to Christian.

Main gate closed...this is the scene that should 

greet you and that you should leave....

forgetting the painting to come of course!

Note: At certain times of the year, notably in the summer, fires are forbidden due to high risk. Please ask Christian for his advice before starting any fires outside. A fire inside is a great comfort but generally requires that the door remain open so you get enough draft to go up that huge chimney…its worth it but don’t try to have a fire AND keep the door closed.

I’m sure I’ve forgotten something but I’m sure that a little common sense will go a long way towards ensuring that all is taken care of. Have a great experience!

Michael

Down to the wire...

Racing with snails!

April 21st, 2009

On our last full day I woke early, determined to set up the main bedroom upstairs. I had still to wire it, move in furniture, clean, and trim the window so it was no small challenge to get it done.

"Le Puy" or the well, the symbol of La Ferme du Vieux Chateau

But as it happens, I took my tea and walked out the main gate as the sun was rising and noticed that there was a considerable mess of rocks out there and that some piles had been there waiting for me to clean them up since the early days of working on the farm. I got it into my head that I could get that all cleaned up first and then do the bedroom. So I got my gloves and started hauling rocks. I will be rebuilding the old beehive well, a photograph of which is the basis of our new and exclusive Micro-Leaseholder wine label (La Ferme du Vieux Chateau, Coteaux de Languedoc) located about 75 yards from the entrance to the farm as well as some old stone wall that leads to it so I had been accumulating rocks in that vicinity for some time. Now I took wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of rocks and added them to this pile, making what I would say was a formidable heap. I was about halfway through when Christian arrived and so he began to work with me to get it all cleaned up. We also decided to plant the two peach trees in that area so he started the task of digging holes for the trees, encountering as many rocks in the holes as there seemed to be earth.

A newly planted olive tree.

After about three hours we had everything cleaned up to my satisfaction and with a clear conscience I could now approach the bedroom.

The sad part is that I did not get it done. I got the wiring done with plugs and two lights, the window trim completed and the place cleaned but along about 7:00 pm I realized I wasn’t going to get the furniture cleaned and in place nor the bed assembled. Christian had been raising the bathroom wall to finish that, so we together cleaned everything up, put the tools away for another trip and agreed upon some work that could be done while I was gone. I dearly wish I had gotten that bedroom finished. I am literally just a few hours from completion but I did not. So the farm remains a comfortable and yet rustic place to stay with sleeping quarters on the ground floor and a nice new bathroom upstairs. I will get back there in June to complete the main bedroom and a second one but still I felt like I had failed a little bit that day.

Rob had been visiting a couple of wineries that day and had brought back some wines he liked from Domaine Clavel (clavel means nail in the old language of Occitan). He had also been marinating a big hunk of meat in the leavings from the roast pork of party fame and 8 popsicle lamb chops in oil, native rosemary and thyme. We planned a feast for our final night I set up the barbecue while he performed his chefly duties on the remaining.

Pierre and Estelle from Domaine Clavel

We started off the feast with a Blanquette du Limoux, a sparkling wine made famous as the very first wine of this type in the world, a full sixty years before Dom Perignon made his first wine in Champagne.

Then as dinner was parceled out we tried several of the Domaine Clavel wines culminating in their 100% syrah wine, which was rich, earthy and full of spicy flavours…perfect with the lamb, the wine being strong enough to cut the fat down to size. I have to say the local wild herbs are so much stronger than anything we can buy, made so by a climate that forces every growing thing to the very edge of its existence. I think it toughens the plants and intensifies the flavours. Whatever it is cooking with them is a unique experience in flavour.

While dinner was being enjoyed an important last night ritual was also being conducted. The last laundry was being done in order to hang dry it overnight and put it away in the morning. This is key for independent stays at the farm. You’ve got to do this or your going to be leaving dirty laundry for the next folks who come through.

I must give kudos to Rob for hanging in there and doing such a fine job of cooking every day and for the party. He knows I love to cook as well but he also knows I’m probably more valuable tiling floors and wiring lights than anyone else, so his willingness to stand by the kitchen was very much appreciated. And on this last night he was “au point” again. I always enjoy traveling with Rob. There are few in the world that focus so intently upon experience as a key objective in life and even fewer who so relish the peak experiences available to those of us who so regularly chart our own course. He is a worthy companion and I know that there are many more of you out there who are of the same metal. Perhaps we should start our own order, the Companions of Montlaur. A small ceremony to induct each new attendee might be a worthwhile way to recognize the contributions of those of you who have been and will come again. Something for us to think about as we settle in for the last night and cast our minds over the many joys we have experienced over these extraordinary days.

The Right, True and Honourable, Meritorious 

Order of the Companions of Montlaur

begun in the year Anno Domini 2007

comprising those individuals who have laboured, perspired and bled

for the preservation of the past and the glories of the future

of La Ferme du Vieux Chateau and of the Chateau de Montlaur.

Robert Davis

Leslie Nestor

Clayton Power

Claire Collamaria

Glenn Long

Peter Shea

Jack Leibel

Louise Leibel

Brian McCandless

Iris Berdrow

Christian Chiriaeff (et Corinne aussi)

Susannah Mintz

Michael Belanger

Amaury de Montlaur

Herve de Montlaur

Jean de Montlaur

and of course others to be named.

Getting it done....

The green of spring in Languedoc - Looking up at the farm.  

Winter wheat has been planted in the vineyards to prepare

the ground over a couple of years for new vines.

April 20th, 2009

I came to France this trip to complete the installation of a gate for the main entrance to the farm. I’d had the materials from the last trip and had worked out a design that I thought would provide for the gates to be invisible when open and effective when closed. And so today, with only a couple days left I wanted to get the gate done. But first I had to set up meetings with the Bruno from the cooperative and with Jean Pierre and his pruning guy. We also wanted to meet with the small artisan olive oil producer from the town who has his business located on the wonderfully named street “Le Fontain des Amours”. While we did not find the fountain we certainly fell in love with the olive oil. He makes several different types and has won awards for his olive oil throughout the region.

Montaud has a long history of olive oil production having been a major center of production for hundreds of years. Everywhere you see the olive trees along the roads, in the fields, between vineyards. While it is not the industry it once was it is still an integral part of life in the region and a key reason why I was so happy to uncover the old olive trees on the farm property.

We discussed our proposal for him to provide a small olive oil bottle for our new “A Little Languedoc” gift packs. He came up with a 200 cl bottle that would be wax sealed with a little descriptor of the olive oil. In the future we agreed we might also sell larger quantities and bottle and containers of different sizes but for now we were starting with the gift size. His solution looks beautiful and the more so for the fact that it comes from the very soil where we have our vineyards. There is something satisfying about getting back to a connection with the land that makes everything in life taste just a little bit sweeter.

Once finished with that I threw myself into completing the gate, while Christian toured the vineyards with Jean Pierre, Bruno and the pruning guy ( I cannot remember his name but he drove a big, tank like Mercedes truck he used for off road races in North Africa). My design required a little refinement as I went along but I was more than half done when then finished their tour and summarized for me what they had found.

Christian, myself, the pruner and Jean Pierre Martin

after reviewing the condition of the vineyards.

They could start pruning within a couple of days depending on the wetness of the vineyards and be completed within perhaps a week or ten days. Jean Pierre would produce a proposal and email it to me this night. The vineyards were certainly worth investing in and could produce a significant. Crop for the coming year if all else held true ie. Weather.

All this was good news to hear and I was happy to recommend to Jean that we go with this approach. It would take a lot of worry over the care of the vineyards off the table and give us greater confidence in being able to produce the wines of quality that we have been after.

In the afternoon Christian and I finished the gate in the opening of a rain storm but we could not stop. Literally just a few screws away from completing it we kept working and finally had it complete. It was a design that opens upward and as the gate comes together each half contributes half a shield to the center so that our logo can be painted on that shield. I was very proud of it but not so proud I remained too much longer in the rain.

The new gate installed - it will be painted and

the crest added to the shield in the future.  I think

of this as a temporary gate until we can afford

one made of metal.

That night we had another great dinner at Christian and Corinne’s. I hope Christian adds the recipes to the blog but suffice it to say I think Corinne’s southern French cooking is worth crowing about. For that matter, Rob also cooked several incredible meals over the course of his visit and I would look forward to his menu additions as well. Eating good food and drinking good wine is so central to the experience of life in the south of France that I sometimes don’t mention it. But literally every meal, right down to sandwiches, can become a truly sensory experience when approached with good ingredients, a modicum of culinary sensibility and a dash of panache!

It was a great wrap up dinner at their house as we had accomplished a great deal in the time I had been there and such a show of good cheer is always important in appreciating the help that people provide. And over in France there is no better help than Christian and Corinne. Whenever any of you visit, with or without me, they are the best resources and guides to the area. Between them they know everyone and how to get to anything. I trust them with anything and everything I have so the message is clear…you will always have a friend in Montlaur when you visit. And it's important to take care of friends.

Musings on Languedoc...

Blog Note:  Apart from an errant shot or two that I might rattle off with my camera or iPhone most of the pictures I use are taken by Rob Davis.  Rob brings a passion for photography to the table that I lack, although judging from the shot below I make for difficult subject matter.  I think the camera adds ten pounds...and that might look good on Amaury but not on me!

Amaury and I playing Frenchmen at the train station cafe.

April 19th, 2009

The only real downside of a party is cleaning up. I’ve found over the years that there are several fundamental principles of party cleanup. First and foremost, it needs to be approached like a military campaign, the trash disposed of, the assets recovered and cleaned, the equipment returned to its proper place, order restored.

I was up early and while Rob and Amaury slept my loyal troops (ie me) returned almost everything to order. The final dizzying assault on the mountain of dishes was completed as they roused themselves and we then made ready to drop Amaury off at the train station.

After doing so Rob and I spent a leisurely Sunday afternoon at the antique market in Sommieres. It was the first time I had attended that market and, while there were some good deals, I walked away with only a couple of things, including a nice little oil painting I had procured for 20 euros.  Rob was luckier, picking out some nice things and a special surprise for Denise, his wife.

The antique market in Sommieres

We lunched on Croque Monsieurs and rosé at a little riverside café in Sommieres and spoke of how different Provence and Languedoc are. It’s a subject that has preoccupied me for some time and finding the right words to express it is an important piece of helping people understand the experiences that they can find here. As beautiful as Provence is it is a place that seems to come at you in a somewhat contrived way. The streets are cobbled, the flowers are arranged, the stone is dressed, the architecture is artful. Everything has been put together as if for presentation and, not surprisingly, this arrangement is appealing to the many tourists that flock there to stroll amid the tiny little shops that sell lavender and herbes de Provence and local wines.

Languedoc, by contrast, is like the country mouse or the poor second cousin of the stately residents of Provence. There is a more primal feel to the region, an “it is what it is” jauntiness that revels in inconsistency and chaotic flourish. The harmony that one feels in Provence is replaced by a medley of independent notes, a few jarring but so many extraordinarily beautiful. It is the real South of France and not just the other “South of France”. And for what it is worth I think people are far more interested in real these days than concocted. We’ve had our fill of being marketed to, of being lead by the nose and conned into believing that this thing or that is just what we wanted. I think we’ve matured a little, we can discern beauty anywhere in the world and sitting in a little café in Sommieres, by the side of a river and within spitting distance of a 2000 year old Roman bridge is a little bit of heaven, even if the buildings are in need of a little paint and there are a few too many cars driving by.  And while there re cars there are alos horses.  Nothing is perfect and that is perfect.

Shots from our lunch table.

Rain clouds had been forming for a couple of hours and as we made our way back to the farm we could see showers all around us. Curtains of water appeared to descend from the cloud banks perhaps a mile or two away and for a while we did not get hit. But we had stopped the car and taken a walk up a hill, through a vineyard to the old Roman road that leads to the Chateau de Montlaur to take a few pictures. We got caught in a little rain there, enough to make us cold and wet and desirous of a fire and perhaps a little port.

Kind of an odd cloud formation amidst the rain.

We made our way home and settled down to a quiet evening with a good meal, some good wine and an early sleep.

Mussels anyone!

Images from Sommieres Market

April 18th, 2009

Saturday morning broke chilly but with a warming sun in the offing. We had much to do today to prepare for the party, not the least of which was to get the food, prepare the food and clean up the courtyard and as much of the farm as we could. Of course I needed to hook up the lights in the barn, where we would have the serving tables and where everyone would likely hang out, and I needed to put a door on the new bathroom so our guests could use it in some privacy.

First we went to the market and found that a large antique market was being set up for the whole weekend in the park in Sommieres. I’ve already mentioned how I love antiques so it's no surprise that we were drawn there first. I acquired a couple of small tables for use at the farm after a little bit of energetic haggling with the vendors. We took an espresso at the nearby café and then went on in search of our supplies at the regular market.

This is one fine market which I’ve written about before so I won’t repeat myself but suffice it to say we had a great jaunt through, picked up some fresh vegetables and fruit before making our way back to CGV. Next stop was the Intermarche where we needed to pick up our order for bread, pizza, quiche and mussels. Apart from the prepared foods and the pork roasts that Rob would prepare we were going to serve mussels. I had procured a large pan usually used to prepare paella. This pan was about 3 inches deep and about 3 feet wide. We would kindle a fire in the fire pit and place the pan over it to cook the mussels….I’ve never done this before so I was anxious about how to do it well.

Getting home after lunch with the party starting at 5 drove us into a panic as preparations needed to be complete. All of us were worried about making a good first impression on the community. I’m often at my best in these kinds of circumstance…if you measure best by getting focused, getting to work and getting things done. It certainly isn’t measured by how sensitive I am to the needs of others. I admittedly fail on that score. With Christian coordinating Corinne’s boys to clean up the barn area and the wood, Rob was left to food preparation while Amaury bounced back and forth between helping with food and cleaning. I worked on the lights for the barn, then on cleaning and finally on the door for the bathroom finishing it up just in time to have a private shower before the guests arrived. By that time everyone’s nerves were frayed and it was time to make a few apologies and have a drink.

To our credit everything looked great. Rob had done an amazing job on the roast pork and setting up the table for service as well as numerous other things required to put on a good show, including setting up the sound system, which now filtered classical music through the courtyard. We served Marquis de Montlaur red wine by the bottle, a Sauvignon Blanc in pitchers and cordials for those not inclined to have an alcoholic beverage.

The guests arrived tentatively at first, starting at 5:30 and were reserved and I would say even somewhat guarded. They stood away from the serving tables and seemed reluctant to take a cocktail. By 6 the courtyard was full of guests and the mood began to lighten as friends chatted with friends and the libations began to flow more in earnest. I was still concerned that things felt awkward and was fretting a little over it. Amaury came to my aid at that point telling me that most of them had had a late lunch not too long before and they did not want to eat just yet. And of course when the French don’t eat they largely don’t drink wine either. While I knew this of them it was still a revelation to see a cultural norm playing out in front of me. In North America the wine would already have been flowing. Amaury suggested that I take people on a tour, which I was only too glad to do. Utilizing him as my translator and lapsing into my broken French from time to time I began the tour. It was an instantaneous draw. No sooner had I started than I had a rapt audience focused on everything I was saying. I spun out my story, my vision of this place and how we might achieve it. I spoke of how I wanted to reinvigorate the farm and the Chateau with the needs of the community in mind, and of the specific plans for the various parts of the large farmhouse, a building of over 14,000 square feet with parts dating from the 14th century.

They were an eager audience, full of questions and excitement about this project. I came to know that many of them had played as children at the farm, had watched it suffer from a lack of attention for decades and how glad they were that an effort was being made to restore and preserve it. They also had many ideas of their own which they would expound in incredibly rapid French. I was very happy to have Amaury on hand to translate. More than that Amaury as a representative of the family Montlaur stood years of family community relations on its head. They all knew of the family but the relationship had never been close. And now here was this intelligent young man conversing with them and helping them understand the vision of the crazy Canadian who had come into their community and started to rebuild something close to their hearts. It was a very important moment in this business but more importantly in my life. I remembered the words of the town planner, “We like to hear of good things to be done but more we like to see them done.” I try to be a doer in life. I think it showed through to these people.


The big hit of course were the mussels. 15 pounds at a time went into the paella pan over the hot fire. A little olive oil, some wild herbs and in five minutes, with the guests stepping in to stir and test the mussels themselves, the batch was done and brought to the table. These French like their mussels, if they had been reserved before with the food and the drink, they shed that reserve and filled their glasses with white wine (you must have white wine with mussels!) and stepped up the table. The pan disappeared in short order and the rest of the mussels went on to cook. If nothing else indicated the success of the evening then this certainly did. People who had intended to drop by for a short bit stayed for three hours, talking, chatting, and I think coming to and understanding what it is I’m trying to do. It was very heartening to hear their positive comments and to see their own enthusiasm, fired as it was by my own and of course by the people that make it possible, my partners and my Micro-Leaseholders. This can be a triumph for us all.


The party hung in there, as good parties do, long past the time it was scheduled for. When the last guest made their salutations all those that remained including Benjamin, headed over to the Café in St. Bauzille where a rock and roll cover band was playing. It was a lively diversion after such a good party and we enjoyed the evening I think to well past one o’clock before taking CGV home and hitting the pillows. A very good day in Languedoc I think!

Amaury and I

Insert Nozzle A into Hole B...

April 17th, 2009

These spring days in Languedoc remind of our own fall days for their weather. They run the gamut of sunshine, cloud, rain and then sunshine again. This is generally because the middle of spring and the middle of fall see the two primary weather systems governing the region exchanging places. The cool continental air is getting shoved aside by warmer Atlantic air moving from west to east while the warming Mediterranean air is rising faster than all other air around it and so flows North to fill some of the void created by the cool air being pushed south. This gives rise to a multitude of weather. In the course of a day you can feel a warm breeze on your face and not too much later you can feel a brisk bite in the wind and then raindrops. Not a great time to plan for picnics but certainly interesting.

Jean Pierre was arriving at the vineyards at 11:00 to do a walk through so the morning was frenetic in getting a few small jobs out of the way to be ready for that. He arrived and after tasting some of the wine produced out of these vineyards, Christian, Rob, Jean Pierre and I bundled into CGV for the tour. We first looked at the areas where vines might be replanted and discussed the aspect of those spaces to the sun, the trees and of course the soil.


We then toured the existing vineyards noting the pruning requirements for each. At the end of the tour Jean Pierre summarized what he thought needed to be done and offered that he could coordinate this effort very quickly. Of course I needed to get Jean’s concurrence before launching in this new direction but I was confident that it was the right thing to do. Jean Pierre articulated a philosophy of management for the vineyard that was very close to the model that both Jean and I had hoped for when we launched the business. Working with knowledgeable people and sustainable organic methods we wanted to create first class wines from these properties. Jean Pierre had the expertise and knowledge to do this, the connections to get things done and the experience to handle anything that cropped up. His own wines were regularly rated by Parker and to top it all off he was interested in having me import some of those wines to serve North American markets.

This was an opportunity grown in grape heaven and so I called Jean right away to discuss it. He was thrilled with the idea and said he looked forward to the proposal from Jean Pierre. So things were moving along well.

Afterwards we went to lunch in St. Bauzille and talked further about what the proposal might contain, including oversight, any fungicidal treatments and how they might be applied as well as Jean Pierre’s philosophy of pest control. He does not use herbicides but rather prefers to let the grass grow between the rows including any weeds that might be strong enough to compete. The insects that live on the grasses and weeds are natural predators for the insects that would feed on the grapes and grape vines. To use a herbicide to kill the grass requires then the use of an insecticide to kill the bugs who, without the grass based insects, have no natural predators. This is a practice common in California vineyards and one of the reasons why humans build a histamine type reaction to the herbicide and insecticide that inevitably ends up in the wines, largely reds (made with skin on). This natural approach serves the wine well and I was glad that a practiced adherent would be looking after the vineyard.

After Jean Pierre departed we did a little busy work around the farm. I was to pick up Amaury de Montlaur, Jean’s younger son at the Montpellier train station around 4:40 pm. I left Rob to the relaxation of the farm and made my way in CGV to Montpellier by the back routes. Traffic was almost unbearable but with a short delay in the train arriving I got to the station almost as he arrived. Amaury had spent time with me in the US, done some work for me in construction and in marketing the business, and has spent the past two years finishing his high school education in Santiago, Chile. I hadn’t seen him in over a year and it was great to reconnect. He had turned from 17 year old kid into a 19 year old bearded young man. The change would have been profound except for the fact that Amaury has always been mature in his head. He has a canny way with people and instinctively finds the right approach to dealing with people of all stripes and patterns. It is often more like talking to a peer than to a kid whom I’ve seen running around the house as a naked 2 year old on visits to their home in Mulhouse.



We shared a drink (several actually) and Rob made another great dinner. But tiredness overwhelmed us and the need to be on top of things for tomorrow when we would have our great coming out party called for an early evening. Of course there were some comical moments as I stood there pumping up Amaury’s air mattress for about an hour before realizing that he was holding the nozzle in the much too large deflation hole.

“Amaury…one thing you must learn in life is to get the nozzle in the proper hole”.

With this bit of fatherly advice we laughed our way to sleep.

Monsieur le Mayor!

The war memorial in Montaud outside the Mayor's office.

April 16^th, 2009

After waking on the 16^th Rob and I went off to the Brico Marche to get a few things we needed.  For example, we needed a snake for the plumbing as we had developed a stoppage and I couldn’t abide letting it go.   While we were there we picked up several other items, including a couple of young olive trees and two peach trees….I love peaches and the olive trees are everywhere in this area.

After returning we spent an hour or so clearing the blockage which proved to be very prophetic for our planned meeting with the Mayor of Montaud, Monsieur le Mairie Pierre Combet.

That meeting, scheduled for eleven, began right on time.  I met the Mayor and listened while Christian translated Monsieur le Mairie's southern French into Christian's broken English, although never rapidly enough to assuage my growing sense of dis-ease.  I gathered that they spoke of land uses and septic systems and permits and the like, and while that might be the dross of many an existence surely it was the lifeblood of the Mairie of a small commune in France. 

After explaining our business model, that Micro-Leaseholder clients were more like part owners than customers and assuring the mayor that indeed we wanted to abide by all requirements as necessary, did the conversation begin to flow more to my liking.  We were joined by the town's planner and by the brother of the Mayor, Joel Combet who, besides being a former director of the cooperative was also my closest neighbour in the Hameau de Montlaur.

At this point I became effusive and somehow found a well of French in me that I had not suspected.  In passionate fashion, I stood, arms waving and gesticulating at the large aerial photograph of the commune on the wall behind us which included the Chateau grounds and the farm as well as several of the vineyards.  I described a future where together we could create something new, unique and different that would serve the community, the family Montlaur, and my customers.  Something that would be a wellspring of education and a source of jobs and pride in the community, something that took the natural gifts of Montlaur and allowed them to work for us, for all of us.  With their piece of land that almost assuredly holds a stretch of Roman ruins and road and the medieval Chateau I sketched out a possible future including a regional park to aid in the interpretation of the history of the area.  There was a point at which my own enthusiasm became infectious.  I finally sensed that they had become just as excited as I.

Aerial View of the farm compound (lower right)

These are savvy people, country farmers they may be but they have seen a lot of fair and foul weather over the years and they know when the sun is shining just as surely as when it is not.  They made several good points.  Points about their role, and procedure and paths…most specifically that the project was best approached in a unified way along one path…and they were the ones to help make it happen.  I was very glad to hear the news.  We had gone from discussing the prerogatives of bureaucracy and how we might be made to serve it to defining a collective vision and how we might use bureaucracy to make it serve the community.  It was a beautiful thing to witness.  I’ll have to ask Christian what it is I really said during that meeting.

Regardless, one point was made and it was abundantly clear, they admire most those that both say a thing and then do a thing.  That’s our challenge then.

Having had that wonderful meeting we celebrated at the Café in St. Bauzille over lunch.  When we got home Christian and Rob burned some of the brush we had cleared and I installed the new toilet and shower in the new bathroom.  I even had enough time to christen the facility with a first flush and a first shower.  Bravo, everything works and we now have a thoroughly modern bathroom.

That night both Rob and I were still aglow from the great meeting and drank several toasts to the day over leftovers and a couple of fine local wines.  It might be good to be king sometimes but I am a builder and I can say that it's good to be that on some days too.

Chicken Mother for the Soul!

April 15th, 2009

Wednesday began overcast, a sloshy kind of gray sky that just seemed satisfied to churn itself into submission. By 10:00 the sky had cleared enough to proclaim it officially a beautiful day.

Most important today was the dinner we were having that evening with Christian, Corinne and Francois, from whom I purchased my little CGV. We also had to make sure that all of the invitations we had made up for our upcoming party Saturday, were handed out. That party would be our “coming out”, a presentation to the community of Montlaur and beyond, including the Mayor, the Cooperative and to the region that we were here to become a crucial part of reinvigorating the farm and the Chateau de Montlaur. I personally delivered most of the invitations, getting confronted by the anti-social small black dog, which lives across the square from the farmhouse, in the process. He is a vicious little bugger and courageous far beyond his size. The only thing that stops him short of taking a piece of your leg is to face him straight on and look him in the eye. He won’t attack then but he’ll annoy the crap out of you.

Rob and I had talked over dinner plans the day before and so we were ready to head out for a provisioning run to the local stores. As it happened we picked up a stereo system at the local cash converters (read pawn shop) for 50 euros and then visited three grocery stores to get all of the ingredients we were looking for, including brandy, which was remarkably difficult to find. Apparently the French don’t drink a lot of it and what we found was suitable only for cooking or perhaps for the final stages of sclerosis of the liver.

Armed with the provisions and anxious to get home to get some work done we enjoyed a little jaunt through the French countryside in CGV before arriving back at the “ranch”. While Rob busied himself in the “cuisine” I made ready to grout the new floor. This turned into the floor grouting from hell. It turns out the French don’t use polymerized grout. (I know you guys are all shaking your heads, “How could they not use polymerized grout?”) That’s what I thought. But here it is, they seem to know their way around the various products of masonry and tiling. Still the grout I made up seemed dry to start, prone to drying quickly and when in contact with the old tiles dried immediately to the consistency of hardened wet sand. What I thought would be a couple hours of grouting and washing turned into 6 hours of arm cranking hell. Oh, I adapted. After all I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck but I stubbornly did two thirds of the floor the way a North American would do it before succumbing to the simpler stratagems suggested in the all French instructions. They called for soupier grout, pre-wetting the tile and scraping off excess grout before I washed it out. Still what I would have given for a dozen bags of polymerized grout right then is scary.

Having run my grouting time right up to dinner I barely squeezed in a shower before our guest of honour, Francois had arrived. Francois does developmental work for an aid organization based in France and working with several African countries He is affable, charming and speaks English well if with some hesitation (and he represents yet another single southern French gentleman after Benjamin who would do well to meet a few of my clients!). He has two (I think) very nice sons who live with him and he hopes to send them to the US this year for their vacation.



Rob had prepared a very impressive meal and set a wonderful table. He had also brought over a bottle of his favourite bourbon to share with Christian, something that Christian appreciated very much. We spent an enjoyable evening with the fireplace crackling behind us while wine flowed and food was consumed. Somewhere in all of that Rob earned his nickname. I can’t remember the specifics of the circumstance, perhaps it was his oversight of Corinne and I engaged in a chocolate fondue battle during dessert, or maybe something he said to Christian…anyway Christian, in his idiomatic French, referred to Rob as being a real “chicken mother”. Now I think we all knew he meant “Mother Hen” and he meant it in the most benign of ways but somehow “Chicken Mother” just sounded more epithet-ish.



Whatever, it was the hilarity of the moment transcended all else and we happily bid them adieu that night and made ourselves off to bed.

A guest arrives!

And the photography begins.....

Rob's first lunch at the farm.

April 14th, 2009

Morning came earlier than it seemed and a quick coffee got Christian and I on the road back to Montlaur. Rob was arriving today and I did not want to be late to pick him up. The last time he had arrived I was 45 minutes late and he rented a car and ended up lost for a while before he found Montlaur. Not this time!

I got home, cleaned up a bit and fired up the little Opel Corsa. This would be the farthest trip afield with the car so far and I was a little nervous of a breakdown somewhere on the road with Rob standing at the station looking forlornly up and down the street.

But I had no problems. I arrived 45 minutes early (thus making my average arrival time deviation exactly zero). I lounged, bought an International Herald Tribune, checked the NHL scores and got some money out of the bank.

He arrived at 12:30 and we got out of the station and out of Montpellier very quickly, hitting 120 kph on the highway. I was proud of my little car and after some discussion about her I nicknamed her CGV, Corsa Gran Vitesse after the French TGV trains and of course ennobling her high speed prowess. I did lament the fact that there was no fifth gear, which did not stop me from trying to shift in to it from time to time when the situation seemed warranted.

I had planned a lunch at home but unfortunately I had forgotten to get some fresh baguette. Realizing this as we pulled into the driveway, I turned around and headed for San Drezery and the little convenience store there that, of course, sells a pretty good selection of fresh bread. Unfortunately, this is a land that time forgot and upon our arrival all we were greeted by was a closed door. Everything was closed for the lunch break, which usually lasts about 2 hours.

So I said, “lets go to St. Bauzille de Montmel. There’s a good café there that serves a nice lunch for 11 euros.” Off we went, CGV buzzing merrily along the twisting French roads. Pulling up in front of the café we were greeted by …a closed door. “Ferme lundi et mardi.” Damn! “Well how about we go to Sommieres …there must be something open in Sommieres.”

CGV groaned out of St. Bauzille and headed down the road to Sommieres. Rinnnggg! It was Christian reminding me that I had an appointment at the bank at 3:00, on the other side of Montlaur. It was 2:30 and we were going in the wrong direction! Change of plan. “We’ll get a baguette at Sommieres and I’ll drop you at the farm and then head to the appointment.” Ok. Rob was jet lagged and drooling slightly for lack of food, an easy mark for my subtle manipulations. “Ok” he agreed.

That all accomplished I made the appointment at 3:15 and proceeded to have a pleasant transaction in opening an account at the local bank. Neither of us I’m sure understood a word the other had said but in the end I walked out with my bank account opened and to boot I had won a new account opening prize of 40 euros. “I should do this more often.” I thought.

Rob was pretty well bushed when I got home so we ended up having a quiet dinner, which he prepared and some of Jean Pierre’s great syrah to cap the evening. “And it was only ____euros!” I said. Rob beamed in appreciation of yet another joy of the Land of “Yes”, Languedoc.

Start your engines! (Sorry, rain delay)

Sunset at Montlaur

Benjamin and I 

April 13th, 2009

Today Christian and I are going on a road trip. We’re going to see Benjamin Schmerber’s race training circuit. Benjamin and Christian raced together in “cart” series racing. Hand now Benjamin has found a way to keep his passion for racing alive and trains interested people to drive his Subaru rally racing cars around a one of a kind dirt track. Now I like driving fast, there’s no doubt about that but training? Who needs training…you get that from the school of hard knocks or, as I like to call it, near death experience. But Benjamin makes a persuasive case. Its not about speed, its about control. Why do I feel a tortoise and hare story in the offing.

But first I wanted to get some basic work done to prepare for the arrival of my friend and part time business partner, Rob Davis. I’d missed his birthday party yesterday and I was looking forward to showing him all the improvements at the farm since the last time he was here. Such as toilets, sleeping quarters, actual running water and of course that thoroughly modern convenience, electricity! Wow! Have we made improvements here at Monte Lauro Vineyards in the beautiful “other” south of France.

And of course the well-stocked wine cellar would certainly meet with his approval. So I made like a French maid and cleaned and dusted all morning, set up his sleeping quarters and generally made ready to make him welcome. Before I knew it is was time to leave for St. Gilles, where Benjamin lives towards the eastern edge of Languedoc.

It was a pleasant drive over after the hard rain of the weekend but we were certain that the dirt track would be too wet to drive on. It was a shame since on arriving at the track you pull up a hill and park at the top. From there the view of the “petit Camargue”, an area made up part of the Rhone river delta and filled with canals and rice fields, was stunning. We toured, ie walked, around the track and I managed to edge out both of the experienced drivers at the very end with a burst of speed over the ditch and up the hill, although I’m not sure that they realized that in my mind I had been racing them all the way around. “Hah!” I exclaimed to myself, “Victory! Winner’s circle here I come!”
Afterwards we lounged in Benjamins “Clubhouse” a structure he has set up for race attendee’s to enjoy the races, replete with a bar and first class view of the circuit. From there it was on to visit Jean Piere Martin’s Chateau Aveylan for a wine tasting. Little did I know that the visit would change the course of the trip and the future of our own vineyard…but I’ll get to that.

Driving up to Chateau Aveylan I was struck by the same feeling I am almost always struck by when I visit a French winery, that is that the French don’t place much emphasis on marketing. We drove in past what appeared as a fairly industrial installation, old equipment adorning the foreyard, random bits of twitch grass growing from isolated crevices between concrete and pavement, adjoining walls and an array of boxes with dating indicating they were for a 2005 vintage.

Benjamin preceded us and while I was looking around, Jean Pierre arrived to greet us. He and Benjamin were personal friends and I had heard already a few good stories of the master of Chateau Aveylans. My first impression was that he was a right fine specimen of an English country gentleman, older and lanky in the way of squire who has lived the majority of his life out of doors. Of course I could not say this to him because ..well you don’t know how offended a Frenchman might be if he were told that he looked English, even though I thought of the resemblance in the best possible of ways. In any event I was afraid a scene from Monty Python was at risk of unfolding if I did say that so I muttered a greeting in my pathetic French.

After some niceties, and feeling rather parched from my victory lap at the track, I suggested that we proceed directly to the wine tasting. However, pleasantly, a tour of the whole facility and a discussion of capacity, hectares, investment and the like preceded our entry into the small salon where wine bottles stood here and there around the room and an array of literature, including Parkers impressively high ratings of Jean Pierre’s wines, layered the central table. After some effort to find four identical glasses, Jean Pierre suggested that we first try something straight from the cuivre. Excellent idea, I thought, as we made our way out to a set of outside tanks that reminded me of grain silos on the prairies. We made our way to a tank of some 25000 liters, whch was destined to be shipped in “flexi-tanks” to Vancouver the following week. Hah! I thought, I’ll be the first Canadian to try this one.

From a small tap inconspicuously located on the side of the tank he poured off our four glasses, a dark velvety purple liquid the very colour of which spelled promise. “100 per cent syrah!” he announced and the youngest in his brood of wines. I conspicuously grasped my glass by the base, swirled the contents and took the nose. I think you could have seen my eyebrows shoot up back at home had you been looking in my direction. If a butterfly’s wing flap in Asia could start at tornado in Kansas then my eyebrows might well be responsible for the late winter storm that hit Canada later that week.

“My God!” I said aloud, although not being a religious type what I really meant was Holy cow! If the taste that followed the nose was any indication, this was going to be good. It was! I judge a wine not by how good it tastes but by how bad it doesn’t. Many wines start out well, peak too early and then dive at the end. A few take the low road and come back at the end finishing strongly, although that’s a harder trick. But a wine that is fit to thoroughly enjoy (as opposed to just drink) crosses the palate with enough flavour to leave strong and positive sensory impressions and then, through the swallow and afterwards, those positive impressions linger. The best wine I have ever had echoed with positive sensory impressions for almost ten minutes…but that was $150 a bottle. This young little syrah was good for several minutes before I was compelled to taste again.

And that was the first wine. We returned to the small office and Jean Pierre selected several more wines of increasing complexity, largely syrah based but also a few syrah-grenache blends. I can only say that each one was a joy and the increasing complexity made the exercise both one of enjoyment and enthusiastic anticipation for the next. I bought a case of wine right there and paid my money…I’m not going to say how much because that I want you all to experience for yourself but let’s just say that my mother, who doesn’t drink, would consider it a good deal.

Benjamin suggested that Jean Pierre might be interested in finding an importer for his products and that he might be interested in coming to Montlaur to take a look at Monte Lauro Vineyards. We knew we needed to have some work done so I humbly asked if he might come and give us an opinion. He was effusive I think in his agreement and we set Friday as the day he would visit. I was very excited that we might possibly get the benefit of his experience and expertise for our stripling little vineyard and, perhaps flushed from the tasting, I spoke confidently in French that “I would be happy to receive him on Friday at Montlaur”. I’m not at all certain that that is what I said as he momentarily seemed confused but Benjamin smoothed everything over nicely and we left in very good spirits.

It was early evening and we made out way to Belle Garde to see the medieval tower there. Apparently they host concerts at the tower. It is a square-ish structure with three sides, the fourth obliterated in some long ago and forgotten battle. Simple really when compared to the ruin at Montlaur which is far more dramatic and encompasses much greater space and variety of buildings. His point was really, if they could hold a damn concert there then we could certainly hold one at the much better venue of the Chateau Montlaur. Of course we can, I thought, the wine still pulsing through my veins. We can do anything!

Then back to Benjamin’s place in St. Gilles for dinner. Benjamin hails from Alsace Lorraine, that great storehouse of culinary art and tradition. If you’ve not tried the Alsatian charcroute with a good Riesling, you’ve not truly lived. But he is a bachelor, not confirmed, but in his mid-fifties and deeply immersed in the world of auto racing. I daresay the right girl will have to foreswear being cooked for or, perhaps better, come to the table with her own restaurant.
I poke a little fun, the food Benjamin had procured from the Chinese restaurant down the street was excellent and certainly we had several bottles of good wine to mellow out the evening. We argued about politics and the economy and in the end I adjourned to bed leaving them to discuss the vicissitudes of racing. It was a remarkable day.

Stoned again!

Some shots of the "New" bathroom before (lower) and during (above) renovation...some later shots this trip to show the finished product!

April 12th 2009

I spent most of Easter Sunday on my knees, which in at least one sense would make my mom happy, however rather than venerating the almighty, an act of faith in the unknown, I placed my faith in 400 year-old tiles coupled with modern adhesion technology. Yes I spent Sunday preparing to tile the “new” bathroom, tiling the “new” bathroom, and admiring my tiling of the “new” bathroom. I say new because I began to muse on old and new when I found one old tile with the paw prints of a dog set clearly on it (I did us it in the floor).

I got me to thinking about how old the tile was, which I knew to be in the range of three to four hundred years old. Do you know what that is in dog years? Two to three millennia! Anyway, that lead me to thinking about the bathroom which is in the farmhouse which again is bout 650 years old…650 years old! It was here before my ancestors left France for Canada, before there was even a thought of a “New” world, indeed even before Columbus drifted off course and bumped into the Americas.

I know I’m not alone in my sense of wonder at the age of things but there are times when even I am drawn up short thinking of the spans of human time that are represented in the farmhouse. It goes back further I know…there used to be a Roman settlement very close by and its certainly safe to assume villas and buildings throughout the area. By all reckoning the peak population of free and slave of this area in Roman times probably approached about 30-40 percent of modern levels, that would mean about 1200 souls in this little valley, most clustered around this hill called Monte Lauro. They would have built fine sturdy houses in stone, their quarrying marks like signatures on masterpieces.

You can scan a wall today, knowing that the stones are probably in their third or fourth use, and pick out the ones most likely quarried by the Romans. They are everywhere. To me it is a comfort, that even in their jumbled reutilization, that they remain as they were originally made, by hands long set in rest and by minds that saw the world in way so different than we can now see.

Even further back, one wall of the farm has in it a very peculiar stone, a stone unlike any other in the wall. My eyes were drawn to it like a magnet when I first saw it in full light. I can imagine the masons, hundreds of years ago working on that wall, laughing under the hot Mediterranean sun, toiling on makeshift scaffolding and coming upon this stone. I can see them hefting it with one hand, tossing it, as masons do, to see its best fit in the puzzle of the whole wall. I can imagine their surprise when the stone stared back at them, through eyes long turned to stone themselves. They then set it in the wall looking over the stable, as if like some guardian set to watch over the flock for as long as the wall stood. They would not have known then anything about fossils or about human history. They would have believed themselves descended from Adam and Eve, cast out of the garden into a long and toilsome stint in purgatory. They would not have thought these eyes the eyes of man but of some beast. But perhaps what they cradled in their hands was their own kin, some million years old and turned to stone with the passage of time. It closely resembles skulls of homo erectus. And perhaps it watched another dawn in its own day in this very same part of the world. Who knows…but it begs thinking, and pondering and wondering.

That is another reason why I like it here. It seems that the mind is unshackled from the rut of everyday existence and is free to travel the pathways of conjecture and to arrive at some very different places than one might otherwise venture to.

I don’t think I’ll ever think of stones the same way again but unlike that old dog who walked across some tiles freshly made I have the hope that my marks will be seen in a few hundred years by someone who thinks about what came before them.

How about them apples!

April 11th, 2009

Today it rained. I mean it poured. The skies opened up and rain came down like a million garden hoses had been turned on. If the weather had held back up to now it was suddenly in full release and water filled up every gutter and ditch, depression and field. Thunder rolled across the region and lightning flashed repeatedly throughout the day. It seemed one system would just finish up and the next would roll in to take its place.

I was happily ensconced in my farmhouse, working away at the plumbing for the new bathroom, a task at which I easily whiled away the better part of the day. Except for one adventure to Leroy Merlin for materials since they were to be closed for the Easter Weekend.

I went for dinner at Corinne and Christians with our friend Benjamin also in attendance. We had hamburgers done French style. I must say I have had my share of hamburgers and make my own vey well. These were delicious, well made and quite delightful. But the dessert was what was even more amazing, something so simple and tasty I could hardly believe that I hadn’t seen it before….basically it was battered and fried apple slices dusted with crystalline brown sugar.

Here’s the recipe for two apples;

1 cup of flour
1 ½ cup of milk
4 egg yolks
2 apples peeled, cored and sliced about 1/8 inch thick
crystalline brown suger (cassonade in France)

Mix the flour, egg yolks and milk and layer over the slices of apple.

Heat a frying pan with vegetable oil so that its hot (like for pancakes) and lay in the slices of apple, enough to cover the cooking surface but keeping the pieces separate. Cook for two minutes on each side. Remove and sprinkle with the brown suger.

Serve hot. They taste like little mini apple fritters which I guess is what they are.

Bureaucracy reigns supreme....

April 10th, 2009

Today it finally rained, alight misty sort of rain that refused to really fall straight down by floated in somewhat sideways to dampen everything. Today I spent four hours standing in line at the Prefecture de Montpellier learning what it is like to operate within the bureaucracy of France. It is essentially a glorified DMV but I have never seen line ups like this. We drew number 659 when we entered. The number being served was 523 and then there were numbers and lines for other things like licenses, registrations, foreign persons registrations, and of course an information line up to get information on which line you should be standing in. Thankfully I had Christian with me. He knows his way around French bureaucracy, although the simple challenge of registering the car in my name had proved a challenge which had used up the entire six months of validity of our “Controle Technic”, that form that says the used car meets road safety standards. This was the last day of its validity. We stood in line with our fingers crossed.

But no worries! Once we had waited our allotted time (hatching plans to come in and take numbers and then sell them to later arrives), we whisked through the registration simply relieved to be done and out of there.

I spent Friday afternoon picking up materials and preparing the upstairs bathroom for the final installations of shower, sink and flooring. It will be a comfortable place when I am finished I think.

I made a great dinner of pork chops cooked with some flowers of rosemary that I picked out side the farmhouse in the Place du Vieux Chateau, fresh mushrooms and cream and poured myself a glass of wine before settling down to read Travels with Charlie and get an early start on sleep for the night.

We will have horses!

April 9th, 2009

Again the warning of rain gave way to a warm but overcast spring day. Taking advantage of not being inundated I grabbed my trusty chain saw early in the morning and went “lumbering” as so many generations of my father’s people had done in Canada. Although it’s fair to say that I would only be cutting down teensy weensy scrubby trees rather than the behemoths that used to fill the forests of Quebec and northern Ontario. Still it seems I have the genetic predisposition to the work and as a side benefit it always stirs a hearty appetite.

Part way through the morning Christian arrived with his friend Nicola. It seems they had another mutual friend who was looking for a bit of pasture for their horses. “Would it be ok to pasture the horses in this section of land below the farm? We’ll help you clean it all up ?” Of course I said “It would be fine but please leave some saddles too so I can ride when I’m here.”

“Wow!”, I thought, this is great. Not only do I get help cleaning it up but I get some horses to look out at and feed some apples too. Shortly afterwards a crew of six or seven people showed up, all smiling French men and women, some youths, who I took to be their children, and so began in earnest the process of cleaning out the bramble, the incipient softwood trees, and the myriad of rusty old bed frames that had accumulated at the bottom of the hill. Who knows how they got there but we pulled and tugged and twisted about fifteen of them from the overgrowth, which with the help of so many people was receding quickly.

To my great joy we found four old olive trees, or at least we found young olive trees growing around where four ancient trees had apparently stood. They had been overwhelmed by the insidious overgrowth including thorny blackberry canes at least twenty feet long and almost an inch thick. I carefully sent a few hours removing the overburden and releasing the olives to the light of day. And then I pruned them back severely. It will take some years to reshape them but the farm has its own olive trees now and perhaps in a year or two we might make some of or own olive oil.

At the end of the day Iris conducted a video interview with me as something that would be an additional piece of info for the business school case she is writing. Such questions as “why are you doing this?”, “What do you think it means for the local people?” , “Who are the other stakeholders and how do they benefit?”, took me back to my own business school days. I would not have imagined this future then even though now I can say with certainty that I can hardly imagine any other reality that would be as worthwhile to live.

Some wine, cheese and bread (the real three pillars of French civilization rather than “Liberté, fraternité, égalité”) as the sun set, with a fire roaring in the fire pit, the evening was calm and tranquil and beautiful. A day of work is the kind of progress I understand in unequivocal terms. The stock market may advance or it may decline, science may discover new truths or they may be stymied, the home team may win the big game or it may lose…these things all affect us in ways that makes us feel better or worse but they are essentially outside of us. What is inside of us is what we do with our time, what we make of our space and how we live our lives. We seek comfort in all things, in the shape and form of the physical world we inhabit, in the scents and sights and sounds we encounter, in the security of building for a future. Our every choice is a choice favoring more comfort over less by whatever fulcrum operates in our subconscious. This is why I do as I do, because I can.