Farmer Foch gives up on us

It has been an ongoing saga about Farmer Foch and our fields, so let me fill you in with a bit of info first: Farmer Foch has been farming the fields here on behalf of the previous owners for several years. It is of mutual benefit that he did so, because the owners get to have the fields used and Farmer Foch gets to reap harvests for minimal rent.

And then things changed. We arrived. Farmer Foch had emailed us in the UK during the sale of our house there, to ask if he could use the fields for one year. We thought that a good idea at the time because we didn't know when we would be able to leave the UK, and having him farm the land meant that the property didn't look so neglected.

A problem: if the farmer farms a land which he doesn't own, and does this for a number of years, then he has automatic rights over that land. Which means that he can keep on farming it until he decides not to, no matter what the owner wishes. The way round it, I thought, was not to receive any money for rent. In other words Farmer Foch got use of the land for free.

He put corn on the fields. We arrived in June 2008 to find the house surrounded by corn fields, apart from the entrance field. The farmers here use every inch of space, and the corn was so tightly packed onto the land, that we couldn't even get round to the back of the house or down to the river. No problem. We were still busy trying to clear the courtyard of vegetation which occupied us at that time.

Late July. Farmer Foch arrived with the combine harvester. And showed great amusement at the fact that we were living in a caravan and tent, that the house of our roof was all of a tumble, and that our French was almost zilch. We were newbies. Still plump from our UK lifestyle, still nervous of the adventure which we had given ourselves by coming here to Labartere, and showing uncertainty and unsureness which must have given him the impression that we didn't have the foggiest idea of what we were supposed to be doing here.

Hubs wanted him off the land and didn't want him to put another crop on. But I felt that since we had given him our word that he could have the land for one year, then we should honour that commitment.

He planted oil seed rape, which is probably the worst crop he could have planted. It took ages to grow, from September through until July and snarled the fields up so much that we couldn't walk round them and worst of all, that beneath the rape grew a multitude of vigorous weeds. We were left with fields full of such plants which we knew would produce difficulties when the fields were seeded with grass.

Meanwhile: the roof of the house was removed (September 2008), the tempest of January 2009 came and went leaving us with ripped tarpaulins everywhere but a second caravan to live in, and we managed to get the Hutto (once upon a time pig and chicken place by the gateway) up and running.

So when Farmer Foch paid a visit in June 2009, we had an 'office' to talk to him in, but still he seemed amused at our efforts to live here which made us feel belittled. But somehow he had a hold over us. We began to be worried in case he refused to budge from our land. He offered us rent again but we refused. This was just before he harvested the oil seed rape. Hubs also discussed his requirement of the fields: that they be laid down to grass so that animals could graze, such as sheep and cows. Farmer Foch thought this hilarious, said that we didn't have enough land for cows, and obviously had not changed his opinion of us: that we were newbies and didn't have a clue.

But Farmer Foch did say he would plant the fields to grass for us. He didn't seem very keen though. I guess he was losing income by not being able to put corn, oil seed rape or maize here.

The summer made its progression: long and hot. The house began to be ressurected. The half barn became almost done, and it was obvious that we were making headway with the house. Having lived here for just over a year, and been stretched mentally and emotionally a million different ways during that time, we have changed. We are not newbies any longer.

Farmer Foch paid us a visit again three weeks ago, still with his original attitude towards us in place. Here is what I wrote in the blog at that time: Farmer Foch has been asked to plough the two fields and then sow them with grass.

Since we don't really do French, and Farmer Foch doesn't really do English, well let's just say that wires can get crossed! Hence HG Hubs fetching up red faced with frustration, and Farmer Foch kind of cross eyed with trying to make himself understood.

And, yet again, God bless the Internet. Onto Babel Translation HG and Farmer Foch went. Ah. An even redder faced HG. For it transpired that Farmer Foch was saying that because we have had no rain since April, it is not advisable to put grass seed down because it won't have enough time to flourish before next summer arrives. Therefore, a 'meanwhile' idea from Farmer Foch: "Why don't I plant another winter cereal crop in December. Then we can have a go at getting the grass planted this time next year." He went on, "But if it rains in the next three weeks, then we might get the grass in this year". What he meant was: Can I use your fields for another nine months? Lets not do the grass because that won't make me any money. Or at least, that is what HG thought he meant.

So: a conundrum: pray for rain so we can get the grass growing which means we can get the animals who will eat the grass in two years time. Or pray for no rain so the roof can be put on.

Well, it did rain. Only for four days, but rain it did. Plus the roof kept on going up. But in the background of our minds was the niggling thought about whether Farmer Foch was going to plant the grass or not. Too mentally tired to phone him, and not wanting to deal with his attitude, which was still that we didn't have a clue about what we were doing, we left it as a bubbling irritation in the back of our minds. In truth, I think we would have probably let him bully us into planting another grain crop.

And then! A tractor arrived. On it, Farmer Michel. Come to discuss the ploughing of the fields, and the grassing of them. Worse to talk to than Farmer Foch because his French is laden heavily with local dialect, nevertheless he treated us more as equals, perhaps because he hadn't seen us when first we arrived so didn't have an entrenched view of us in his mind.

And he came, and he raked over the fields with one tractor, ploughed them with another tractor, smoothed it over with yet another one, went and purchased the grass seed on our behalf (one type for cows, one type for sheep), someone else came with another tractor specifically designed to sow seed, then Farmer Michel smoothed the land back over again. It took three days, and he charged us less than the grass seed cost.

And I think that Farmer Foch must have finally realised that we do know what we are doing, that we are here to stay, and that we won't be messed with. Somehow, during that last visit of his, he must have realised that we remain intent on our purpose and that we haven't wilted under the pressure of living here, which so many of the English do. And so, I think, he handed us over to Farmer Michel.

It is a big step forward for us. By his doing so we feel that we have proved ourselves. And it means that we have control of our land back, that once the fences are up we can start having livestock. But most of all, that we can walk all over our land without being worried about damaging a crop which isn't ours. It is a good feeling.

Front field:

Side field:

What will grow: the newly planted grass, or the newly turned over weed seeds? Probably both. So: how to get the grass to grow without being strangled by the weeds? Two ways: Inorganic which means spraying with a herbicide next spring. Or organic. Which means going out and weeding it by hand. Mmmmmm. A question, I think, I will leave for the moment! They are, after all, quite big fields!!!

'Milking' Amaranth, plumbing and plodding

This magnificent beast of a plant is Amaranth. It has seeds which can be used for grinding into flour. They are tiny, the seeds. Can hardly been seen by the naked eye. It has been one of success stories here. Grown by moi aka Under Gardener from seed, repotted, planted out, thrived. Does a convenient droop of its leaves when it is thirsty, and stands proudly over all the other plants out front.

It is ready for harvesting. Uno problemo: Just How Does One Do That! It is upwardly pointing. An Idea made entertainment in my head. 'Milk' them. You know, like you would stroke the udder of a cow. Did I succeed? Well, sort of. I did get a yield of seed. Plus other things, like spiders and other creep crawlies. For more of that little experiment have a wander over to Jumbly Gardening, and look at 'How not to harvest Amaranth'. Being self sufficient is ever an ongoing learning curve here!
And here is Head Gardener home from the fields, putting his trusty (?) ancient rotovator to bed for the night after having spent a happy afternoon whizzing up and down the veg plot out back. Him and his trusty implement are managing wonderfully well at this task. Bless.



And so the plumber came this morning and left this trail of pipes.




And for the first time in all of its life the house will be plumbed. Not only with cold water, but with hot as well. It has been decided by Project Manager Hubs, that we are to have a boiler, having become enamoured by Ron's boiler in situ over the now blocked up with an apricot stone sink in the dining room.

Now I am happy with a kettle. Having lived with a kettle as my main hot water provider for many months, I have become perfectly happy with that means of heating water. It is simple. Fill the kettle. Plug it in. A few minutes later and hot water arrives.

I find a smidgeon of dismay arriving in my head when I observe these wires, pipes, and other various assorted electrical and plumbing detritus now festooning my house. Because it looks complicated. Filling a kettle is not. It is easy. And if the kettle decides never to work again, then all you do is go buy another one. But all those wiry and plasticky pipes and things look ssssooo complicated, but Project Manager Hubs says not to be so silly and 'You do want hot and cold water don't you!" he says, "And it means you can have a shower whenever you want...".

Mmmmmm.........uno showero? Mmmmmmmm.......washing my hair more than once every few weeks? Mmmmmmmmmm..........having proper girly type evenings when the armpits, feet and other neglected spots on the bod are given a good going over with nice smellies? Mmmmmmmm......lingering while naked without fear of planes and microlites overhead having a good look at what I am up to, which is a concern when I have occasionally braved Ron's boiler shower by the now blocked with an apricot stone sink.

If you were to see me at this precise moment, you would notice the teensiest little smile tickling the corners of my mouth. I may be changing my opinion about all those pipes and cables and things!

Meanwhile uno ploddo at my PC. Strewth, if I had known what a task it was going to be when I fiddled about with the entry page to my website, then decided to tweak other bits up as well, which led onto an almost complete re-write of the whole thing, I would have left it all alone in the first place! Well perhaps I wouldn't have, but Tech Team Guy Hubs decided to 'show me how to do this little thing' and 'oh this would be a good idea for you to do' then off he goes leaving me to sort out his instructions, most times suggesting I do an Internet search if I get stuck.

I have spent the last three weeks grappling with css code, which to PC bods would be no problem at all, but to me, quite frankly, it is mind blowingly difficult. Just to get drop down boxes, for crikey's sake. Yes, but then the format of the individual pages had to be changed, which meant the graphics had to be altered, which meant the colour-flow didn't work page to page, and so on.

My head has felt as tangled up as a ball of wool would be after a bunch of kittens has messed about with it. I wake up in the middle of the night with a line of code cruising through my non-asleep head. When I have spent ages interred in the lines of code, to hold a sensible conversation with me is not do-able. And yet the pages look far simpler than what they used to be! That's the irony. For all my hard work, the web site just looks more streamlined! Oh well, it should make the reading of it easier, and the navigation simpler.

Things I have learnt today: That it is great to be living the life of a camper when one knows that one will not be doing it forever!

So Hooray for the Plumber!
So Hooray for the Electrician!
So Hooray for the Builder!
And Hooray for Project Manager / Tech Team Guy Hubs for pushing me and the house along!

And off I go, to apply my very pickled brain back to the task of my website, wishing you happy moments in abundance and the ability to laugh when the happy moments are a bit far apart.

An Old Photo and The Little Cupboard

Through my email came this photo, posted over to me by Claudine, our neighbour across the road who lives at the Chambre d'hote. And it is of our house when the roof was still up. If you enlarge the photo you should be able to see the damaged roof tiles on the left hand side which would eventually lead to the collapse of that side of the roof. The side barn on the far left is totally obliviated by ivy, and to the far right you can just make out the tall barn, which juts out from the side wall of the house.

It has been a constant source of amazement to us that this house was left to deteriorate for so long. So many people have said that it was once a very pretty house, and several have made the comment that they thought about buying it themselves. But they didn't. Then we came along at the last moment, and hopefully have saved her. The hurricane in January would have brought the remaining roof down, and probably the walls as well, or damaged them beyond repair. She was in her last moments of life. Sometimes I think she still is! But that is only when I am tired, and the bills are high, and the task seems too enormous.

Today the builders turned up. It has been a day of making holes. We now have a hole for the kitchen sink waste pipe, and a hole in the pantry space for the electric and water pipes. Otherwise, all the plastic has been laid on the floors, and all the steel mesh put on top of it.

Labartere is on the up! Lester says that it is our responsibility to get her tidied up, for her history, and for the area. She is highly visible, and it will do justice to this pretty part of the world if she can be made to look attractive again. We will do our best.

Meanwhile, one of our first Big Discussions has been about the cupboard.

The Little Cupboard has become a project over which me and Hubs have tussled. The Little Cupboard is in fact not a cupboard as such, but a small smoking hole, used for smoking hams and things. The blackening of the wall is from the old chimney which fell down when the roof collapsed. Since it is gone, we are not going to replace it. The Little Cupboard has not gone. OK, so it might be a leaning over sideways, and is a bit ragged around the edges, but since it is still with us, I think it should stay put. Intactus. Hubs says it looks a mess. I say that with a bit of a rub down, and bit of oiling, the Little Cupboard will look lovely. Upon this we differ. He says he will have a brand new one made. I say NNNNNOOOOOO!

I haven't told him that I want the wall saved as well. Nearly all the downstairs walls are plastered, some of them with dried mud. We know this is so, because the dried mud reverts back to its original state of muddy mud when it gets wet. The walls have got wet. Well, without a roof, they would, wouldn't they! So that is how we know that some of the walls have been plastered with mud. Not to worry though. All will soon dry once the roof goes back on.

But all the walls which are plastered will stay plastered. The smoke blackened wall has no plaster of any type. It has some huge stones in it, and I think it looks great. With a bit of a hose down, and some good old fashioned scrubbing, I reckon that the wall will come up a treat. And so what if the blackened wall can't be made to look pristine. So what if the wall keeps some of its smoke stains from those hundreds of fires which used to drift their smoke over it. Doing a typical English-stye renovation would be the same as having bo-tox or a face-lift. Smooths out all those hard-earned wrinkles, taking away the character, the history, making the face look plastic, making the house look like a modern new-build. Yuk! So I keep doing face exercises to stop the face muscles from going too far south, and I try and keep the house from looking too done up!

Meanwhile, the sun is shining again, everything is putting on a spurt of growth because of the recent drop of rain, and we are eating tomatoes by the dozen, courgettes by the several, and not getting tired of either. Other bits and pieces of veg are coming through, but we got in a bit of tangle over succession planting, mostly due to the hot, dry summer we have had. So we have a gap in the salady stuff. Not to worry, though. Next year we will be more experienced.

So must close now, as I want to get another hour or so in on my web site before bed time. It has turned into a humungous task, but has been worthwhile.

Things I have learnt today: That doing something to the very best of one's ability gives one a great sense of personal achievement. That sometimes one can be put in the position of having to learn something new, which at first may seem un-doable. But that with patience and perseverance, that new thing can be learnt and be put to good use, which again expands one's sense of personal achievement. That one must keep stretching one's mind because an awake mind is a happy mind, providing it is given something to do. An awake mind with nothing to do will become a naughty mind, and start getting up to all sorts of nonsense thinking.
That the puddles on the plastic covered floor of the house from the recent rain soon dry when the sun shines.
That taking time to walk one's dog is good for the soul. That to sit by a river and spend a few moments watching the life of the river, is good for the soul.
That cleaning one's oven out helps make the gas jets flow better.
That helping oneself to one's very own sun-warmed tomatoes straight from the vines is quite, quite satisfying.
That its surprising how excited one can become when one hears a builders van approaching the back gates of the house. Because it signals another small step in the long journey of our house project.

The Motoculture arrivee

Ah, so there it was. Hidden away amongst stuff. Rusty. Mucky. Forlorn. Lester's dream! Well not quite, because it wasn't a lovely shiny red Kubota tractor which he has been lusting after since Labartere came into our lives. It is his intention to go onto the fields and till the soil, preferably with something which makes a noise and needs fuel.

Myself, I have a trusty wheelbarrow, a spade, a rake, and a three pronged thingy which I don't know the name of, but which is probably French because it doesn't have a handle. English garden tools have handles at the top of them, but the French ones are one very long straight pole minus the handle at the top. Don't know why this should be. It just is!

Anyway, I make do with hand tools. Lester will use a fork, but mumbles for most of the time he is using it: "I need a tractor" being his most used form of mumble. Of late that has changed. Due to the need to sometime soon put a roof on our house, financial need dictates that he changes his requirements for motorized help with his digging. I meanwhile plod on with my barrow, and three digging implements, the only fuel they use being the calories which are being burnt up from my body!

So, Cherry, our English neighbour, pops in for a chat. "Can you come and help me..." she said.

So off we went to do our neighbourly duty, and she opens up her barn which is full of stuff, and hidden away in the corner is this contraption which Lester immediately hurries towards, stumbling over this and that to get to it in his haste. He lets out a yelp of joy! His hands leap all over the contraption, fiddling about with this nob and that nob, meanwhile enthusing his delight at this treasure which has come his way.

It is a rotovator, or in French: 'motoculture' which is a far posher word. And I kid you not, it was in a hell of a state. Why do men enthuse over oily, mucky engines? Must be a man-thing!

Anyway, after a battle over price, Cherry wanting less that Lester was offering (Isn't it the other way round normally when one is purchasing something?) with pride he gently placed it in the car, with a beam on his face a mile wide! This was made wider still when he spotted an old set of concrete rabbit hutches. It is another one of his intentions to get us totally self sufficient, and that includes meat.

A few days later, and we are the proud owners of a rusty old rotovator and a pile of rabbit-hutch pieces.

The rototovator needs sorting out, the rabbit hutches need assembling, I, meanwhile, carry on with my wheelbarrow, spade, rake and other thingy! And my weight keeps dropping off. Hooray!!!