Carotte and Baby Carotte

To all mothers reading: thank you! We hope you have a lovely day.

au revoir les chèvres

Lydie et Alexandre having a demi-pèche in Lasalle after the market

we visited both

saying goodbye to the ladies (and Darwin)

au sommet du Mt Brion

Two weeks ago today, after two car rides, four trains and a bus, we found ourselves somewhere in the hills of the Cévennes in the south of France. After introductions, Lydie, WWOOF host and fromagière, offered a small lunch. On the table, nestled between the teapot and a crusty loaf of bread, was a small plate of two or three pélardons of her cheese; it would remain a fixture at the table throughout our stay.

Our time here has been relatively quiet. Quiet, but hardly uneventful: we've probed medieval ruins, milked goats, made cheese, refined our ability to keep 30 hungry animals in order, and even helped free one that somehow lodged herself between two chestnut trees. She hadn't even the dignity to bleat for help. 

Oh, we'll miss them -- maybe even Darwin too.

One month into our séjour, we're beginning to realize that for the organic farmer, 'organic' is not a label, but the single intended nature of everything we consume. If a vegetable is produced 'non-organically,' it's not really a vegetable: it's something that looks like a vegetable. What may seem like snobbery or a quirky lifestyle choice is actually a better understanding of what food is and how we have become disconnected from realizing this. There's something to be said, too, for eating and buying locally, or enjoying herbs from your own small patch. 

Speaking of herb gardens: tomorrow we head to Normandie. 

Thanks for following!

À plus,

Katie and Eric

and of course, Darwin the buck

Eric on duty

Eric off duty: on the way to Mt Brion

Katie on duty

Katie off duty: drinking Hoegaarden in the medieval town of Sauve

introducing: some of the gang

Carotte

Bleuet (we think)

Abricot

we call her Belle (she's the one with the bell)

Baby Carotte (our name for Carotte's baby)

Katie with our girl, Audace: the only one who comes when we call

cheese

whey (le petit lait) drains from moulds

des pélardons (Canadians: think 'pucks of cheese')

pélardons and ashed pyramids (below) being dried

pélardons

pyramids, ashed and salted

tommes which we strained by pressing the curds (le caillé) into moulds

the tommes are wiped with salt water and placed in a cool, dry 'cave' where they will age and develop a rind

<

Lydie's cheese ... selling well.

a lesson in chestnuts (châtaignes)

this is a chestnut tree

these are the leaves of a chestnut tree

this is a chestnut

this is where chestnuts were once fired, dried and stored

on the left is how chestnuts should be enjoyed. others at the petit déjeuner party, from left to right: peanut butter, quetsches jam (small red plums), and local creamed honey

... and you thought there'd be a post without a goat! goats love chestnuts

morning walk to Lasalle

Katie finally finds the entrance to the Secret Garden

and the Secret Water Fountain

... and an old chestnut drying house (more on chestnuts in a post to follow)

the patisserie in Lasalle where we procured a couple of fresh palmiers

to enjoy with a café crème

or a café simple at le café du Pays -- a serious affair

Lydie starting the milking

Teaching Eric how to milk by hand. Eric takes this very seriously.

the finished product

Katie feeding Rillette

awwww.

Lydie's home and fromagerie

Eric the goatherd

feeling threatened by the sound of a plastic bag rustling in the breeze

Katie, the now-professional goatherd

Darwin the buck guards the chevreaux.

la traite (milking)

Eric pleasing the ladies

enjoying some hay before the milking

(im)patiently waiting

ready to be milked

"is it my turn yet?"