Psalm 7 Verse 17 for another glorious day. No rain, just cool and cloudy
I know we are not in Kansas. The French farmers like rocks. Rocks for walls. Rocks for barns and rocks for houses. Big rocks, little rocks it makes no difference. Stack them or mortar them anyway that you can build with stone. Did not see much evidence of wood on the outside of buildings. Huge timbers must support the roofs. Roofs were mostly tile. Did see inside a few with timbers supporting their hay decks.
The barns are huge. 200 x 60 feet seems to be the norm. The bottom level is for wintering the livestock while upstairs resides the feed. Of course, livestock deposit their waste downstairs so they have these mini-conveyor belt contraptions that deliver a smelly pile outside the barn. The green manure is then spread on the field. Easy to know when there was a recent delivery. Germans in groups like to picnic near those fields. Inscrutable. Peggy says I am too hard on the Germans. I just report. You decide. The Fox News motto. I will try to be less judgmental. Sometimes.
The cows have the same unconcerned and complacent look as American cows. The sheep and goats rank much lower on the scale of importance and their animal tenements reflect their position in the agrarian community. Chickens, peacocks, and other fowl seem to be fine eating French bugs. The cats are on the prowl near every barn. The dogs are either barking or lay in the road. Some want a hand out. No mini-dogs spotted unlike in the city where ladies buy their lap dog a beer.
Saw backhoes that are used for some purpose and almost got squashed by a large tractor on the ten foot wide road that we shared. Barns seemed to also house a variety of things with wheels that have some purpose. When a farmer is not in the field or in a bar, he is in his barn garage. Saw no pickup trucks or gun toting Rednecks. Seemed pretty down to earth just like they know what they are doing.
All in all, a nice walk in the country.
Inside the converted stone barn we found our chambre that we share with a French guy. Likes to eat but like many lucky people has a metabolism that a shrew would possess. I know this because of the nice farm style meal we enjoyed with a total of seven people. One couple was from Quebec and another lady knew enough English that she could help with ours pathetic French.
The gite hostes brings in her daughter to stamp our pilgrim passports and hand us change from our night’s fee for a bed, dinner and breakfast. Kind of like a B&B&D. We will probably seek these places out. First course is a giant bowl of pea soup and perfect bread. Two helpings for me three for the skinny guy. Steak, broccoli and noodles come next with the wine. To my left, the slender one almost empties the bowl of noodles. The cheese plate and fruit is it for the evening. Six different cheeses in quantities that we couldn’t finish. It Is always tough to get a bad meal in France. Enjoyed every bite.
Conversation covered Arnold Schwartznegger, Bill Clinton, the Obamas You can guess the common thread. French people seem to be interested in this sort of thing. Many laughs. In the farm house, the guests do the dishes. Many hands got it done quickly. Language no problem. Time for sleep thirteen km tomorrow.
Here is the kitchen crew and the outside of the gite.
Trail was up and over and then lots of down. Encountered pretty streams and bridges. The highlight was a small chapel perched on a rock. Amazing that they leave old stuff unattended. This place was built in the 12th Century for St. James.check out the remains of the fortification above the chapel.
Spotted a small saw mill near our destination. This is for Suzan.
In Monistrel for the night. Same folks we stayed with last night have joined us. Eating a good pizza in a restaurant with a wifi connection. Probably healthier that hanging in a bar.
Ready to go,again.