After only a week at La Ferme de l'Öko Pain in Martigne-Ferchaud I was united with the natural way of thinking. I sleep in a caravan in my own private part of the farm with 6 black sheep, a pond full of ducks, a plum eating donkey and her two cow friends as my neighbours - with a view of the organic fields, 2 greenhouses and fruit trees out my window. There is also section of sunflowers that lightens my day every time I see them. Such a peaceful setting to absorb the life of a farm in France.
I was greeted at the train station by my host, who I found out was American and therefore spoke perfect English (well, American English), and her two dogs - Layla and Tinker. We pulled up to the farm and a large smile seeped from my mouth. It was an old stone farm house with turquoise painted window frames and another stone barn where the wheat and rabbits were kept. There were old machines, broken down bits and a free growth of greenery surrounding the house - very different from the more structured German farm I had experienced - I knew I was going to like it here. I was shown around the farm, to the fields and introduced to her husband, the French farmer, and eventually her daughter, a joyful 7 year old who had placed a selection of sunflowers in my caravan from the diversity grown on the farm. The first week was a bit out of routine as the daughter and her dad were involved in a local show and had rehearsals and the main event until 1am every evening, all week. On the Saturday night we went along to check it out and I was amazed by the diversity and entertainment that surfaced from this small village - from the young children to the oldies everyone had their part to play. The show displayed the 4 elements - there was a fairy for each earth, air, water and fire. Each with their own spectacular part - the fire and finale were dazzling with hundreds of bowls of fire in a line creeping slowing across the lake surface and fireworks exploding from around the surrounding lake. Another favourite scene was the kids in training for the circus who had their moment to shine and show the flexibility and talent that would only grow with age. To top it all off there was a gang of geese trained to follow the light and dressed in florescent pink bow ties who walked past the water buffalos on their way to the fields. This is the kind of village I want to spent a month exploring.
Life on this small farm had a great diversity of activities from picking beans; collecting and planting tomato and cucumber plants; weeding; collecting berries for jam; feeding the rabbits, chickens, dogs, cats, and ducks; and preparing meals and delights in the kitchen from the produce picked in the fields. One of my favourite activities was picking berries and watching them transform and be made into jam and a beautiful raspberry tart - this started to form dreams of becoming a berry farmer. I enjoyed doing the first step in the blackberry jam one night - from blackberries I had gayly picked all morning while the bushes were being torn from the fence. Battling with thorns, stingy needle and hard to reach places I collected as many as I could until my hands were blood red with juice and my belly was full from very necessary patch testing. As the berries cooked in the kitchen there was a sweetness and a delightful smell flowing through the house. When the weather permitted we enjoyed long delightful meals over a mix of languages, with melons straight from the greenhouse accompanying most meals and stuffed vegetables with a selection of goodies from the farm and frozen animals from previous stock that didn't make it to the summer. Some of my favourite meals were fish and salmon cooked on a grill over the fireplace with a butter and shallot sauce accompanied by a fruity organic wine. Also the veal from my neighbours child, and delicious home made sausages, even some black pudding grown on the farm, were true pleasures to the tastebuds. Discussion freely flowing over alternative ideas to living and knowledge shared over coffees, wines, beers and delicious organic chocolate. Observing the beauty of living by locally made produce, thinking about the impact of finding pride in growing a few things for ourselves, and stopping every now and then to think about where the food on your table came from (I don't mean the supermarket), what process it went through to get there and how much we need of it. Consider what waste is unnecessary in our everyday life and find joy in the food you eat and pleasure in each bite. One day a reporter from the local radio station came to interview me and the family about WWOOFing; why I was doing it, what I had to do, if there were any obligations and what I had learnt. We found common language of Spanish so the interview was conducted in a mix of French, Spanish and English. French questions put to the family were lost to my ears and later listening to the short summary of the interview on the radio I didn't quite catch all of it but heard my voice in Spanish translated over top of in French. Some visitors that came to the house joked that I was now famous in Martigne-Ferchaud.
Thursday is baking day, and one of my favourite days of the week. The bread is prepared in the bakery attached to the house and cooked in the wood fire oven where a beautiful smell and a strong heat is given off throughout the day. We started to prepare the dough at 6.30am, only 80 kilograms of bread were needed today. In a wooden trough, made specially for preparing the dough, we mixed the flour with the water and rising agent - the organic flour is milled on the farm and grown in the area by the baker himself. As I observed it being merged together I looked forward to the moment I could get my hands in it. Two mountains of flour falling from the side creating a thick paste like a volcanic lake to make what would be our dough. After letting the dough rise a couple of hours , and enjoying a coffee and a moment, it was time to divide it off into small sections, weighing them and then kneading them into small balls. As 10 years of experience worked quickly at my side and talked through the process I was thankful for the time he took to explain and give me the opportunity to work with the dough. We then shaped the dough and let it rise once again. The oven was prepared by creating a small fire inside and slowly growing it with oak wood supplied in the area. As the fire got bigger a white surface began to form. Once the large stone roof of the oven was fully white, about a 2 hour process of heating, it was time to put the bread it. It was accompanied with pizzas prepared from the dough for our lunch. Once the bread was complete the heat was used to cook pate, beetroots, plum pie and other delights to get the most out of the wood fired heat. A real treat for the senses as the sourdough bread was removed from the oven and placed on the cooling racks.
While letting the bread sit, we prepared the vege boxes for the market and did the deliveries of the bread to surrounding community groups. Every Thursday there is a small local market with a few stalls selling fruit, eggs, yogurt, vegetables, bread (that I had helped create that morning) and a small selection of animal products. All from local farms, a community of farmers supporting each other - and opening their barn doors for me to experience a diversity of production in the area. One day I went back to the dairy farm where the market is held and spent a day exploring the family collaboration. A father, whose friendly smile always made me feel welcome, had a history of working with cows - growing the hay and pasture to produce organic meat. His daughters had returned with their partners to the farm to start their own projects, adding a selection of hens for egg production and some ewes to create tasty sheep milk yogurt. I woke up earlier than usual and headed to the farm, first stop to milk some ewes. A open barn filled with ready animals waiting for the morning process. I was then on feeding duty as my companion milked, I got a few chances to apply the milking device and massage the utters of these calm animals busied by their food in the troughs in front of them. Once the milking was over and I filled the surrounding troughs with hay for them to eat, it was time to join one of the daughters for a coffee then a tour of the three age groups of chickens kept in separate areas around the farm. The chickens lived in big barns with plenty off outdoor area to roam during the day. We checked on them and collected the eggs that were laid on the the barn floor and not on in their laying beds - which ensure cleaner eggs. Then we visited the cows who had recently given birth as they were feeding, the calves were being checked to make sure everything was fine with them, before putting them all out in to the fields to feed on the pasture surrounding the barn. I was reunited with the ewes to put up a fence and move them out to the fields for the day so they had fresh grass to feast on and some open air. After they were happily nibbling away on the green land it was time to sterilise containers, ensure that things were hygienic and to make some yogurt from the freshly collected milk from the morning. I helped sterilise the caps and the jars while the milk heated and gave off a pleasant aroma. As the small room began to heat up I was grateful for an escape, a cup of tea and some fresh air. Then it was back to add the culture and bottle the yogurt. I was on cap placing duty and on placing the containers in a fridge that severed as an oven at 43 degrees. It would be a 2 and a half hour wait to cool the yogurt and move it to the fridge. It was time to return to my farm and thank a lovely family for allowing me to explore for a day their land and their ways.
One weekend we were invited to a birthday lunch that became a 12 hour lunch with continual food, music and an interval of forest exploring. Another welcoming and charming family that always made sure there was food to be enjoyed, including oysters caught fresh from the coast, and wine to be drunk. After major feasting I headed into the neighbouring forest for a stroll. I managed to go an hour off track as I was surrounded by fields of maize and cows and fairytale paths leading to unknown depths of the forest. A fear of not finding the way back, overcome by thoughts trailing back to happy months spent and smiles shared that could only be reunited if I didn’t find my way out of this never-ending path and back to Anita’s house in the middle of the countryside, somewhere where I really had no idea where I was to begin with. A few hours after I left the lunch I found my way back to the train tracks and went the opposite way to where I had trailed off to. I saw dog and fresh shoe prints and was happy to be back on track. Once I made it back to the house I was met with smiles and relieved faces planning a search party with head torches and dogs if I strayed much longer in the unknown land. Then it was time for more feasting and some wine to accompany while I sat to rest my tired legs that had successfully returned me to where I belonged, in an adventure exploring a foreign land and enjoying the company of new faces and new lessons to be learnt.
One rainy Friday afternoon I was invited to help out at a farm down the road. First we visited the pregnant pigs to check on them, they were restricted to iron bars with just enough space to move as protection for the piglets that would be killed if this surprisingly large animal were to roll on its side. The piglets were running around and aggressively nibbling at their mothers tit. Then it was time to feed the animals separated by age and size. I was left to feed the baby piglets and the 2nd stage and 3rd stage sizes. I was warned about the smell but it didn't hit me until I entered and felt the heat and heard the raw barks of the pigs scattering around in their overcrowd pens. My guide who was considering taking over the farm my was unsure about her future on this non-organic farm, and had the idea and plan to make the pigs organic. This would mean a better standard of living conditions. These animals lived in their poop. There were metal grates below them but the stained piglets to pigs lived each moment with the stench and mess of each of their companions. If organic they would need straw beneath them and would have a restriction to the number of animals per pen. They would also be feed organic feed, not full of the antibiotics that accompanied their lunch and dinner - which stops disease spreading in the excrement filled pens mixed with the overwhelming 26 to 30 degree heat. However, once the feed is missed for a day the possibility of the death rate increasing is an issue: bodies dependent on these antibiotics. I may possibly not eat non-Organic pork again. A great experience. Then it was on to the cows for milking. Again not a favourable smell but a bit more space. It was time to round them up and into the metal walls that separated us from the cows, elevated to be able to reach the utters. As the cows rose from their hay feasts and moved watery discharge, solid in its smell and colour, sprayed from their behinds. I was happy to witness this in the open room so that could learn quickly to get away with this occurred in the metal milking space. They almost got me once but avoided and a quick lesson learned and any attempt was a fail on their part for the remainder of my milking experience. We applied the soap to their nibbles, wiped it away and applied the milking device, then followed with a gooey strong smelling antiseptic. I only completed the whole process once - fear was generated when I was asked at the beginning if I was covered by insurance during Wwoofing, my mind wandered to the worst case scenario as these large animals kicked their legs around and swung their poo infested tails towards my face. I was put on the duty of soaping the nipples and then the antiseptic liquid afterwards. Not to do it if I was uncomfortable - which became more and more when the bottles were kicked out of my hand a few times - I became quicker quite rapidly. I escaped at the first opportunity to start the long process of relieving myself of the stench now impeded into my skin. I do not think milking cows or pig farming is my calling on this planet.
My last weekend on my French farm started on a stunning Saturday. I enjoyed a family lunch at the Granddad’s house near Rennes with continual food flowing, and coffee and chocolate to follow of course. Then a trip to a local castle where a 90 year old lived and had a long history in the village as her husband purchased the castle to put in a blacksmith workshop many years ago. We went for a walk around the lake, and then had a quick tour of the home of a lady living in a tower next to the castle that was built in the 14th Century as a fortress. On the way home we stopped at a creative garden where many gardening ideas where planted in my mind and a display of innovation with recycled materials mixed with growing produce. Summer events were held in the garden and that night there were tales being told in different areas of the garden. There were red recycled chairs with stacks of straw for the attendees. Some of the areas to explore were a children's game area, a sound garden with instruments made out of gardening products, and a wooden chicken coup where the chickens were loose to roam around the high plants accompanied with yellow umbrellas. The next day was a sunny Sunday spent cleaning out the rabbit coup, feeding the animals, checking on some shocked ducklings and safely returning them to their mother, and pruning some roses. It ended with a theatre show at the castle of Chateaubriant, a town near by. It was an amazing display of theatrical scenes enjoyed even though an uninterpreted language was spoken. The scenes moved around the grounds following our guide, a man in the black hat and white gloves - and the sound of the saxophone surfacing from the next stage. A humorous display of French culture and all for free in the outdoors of these historical grounds. Over summer this is the regular venue for outdoor theatre and we had the pleasure of witnessing another show a couple of weeks earlier based around a car and two stranded newly weds. The point at the end was raised about the need for continued support from the government to fund artists which is being fought for and would be a shame to lose. The Roche aux Fees was another venue we visited for evening shows, it is an historical area where some rocks were stacked and there is a questionable theories behind how they were formed. The first spectacular was outdoors, next to the rocks, where we watched a hilarious magic show where the guy was accidentally locked in a glass tank, and with no room to take in air (using some special breathing technique rather that trickery, I believe). At one stage the curtain was pulled and it looked like he was dead, but instead he was just sleeping under the water bored by his companions magic trick. The next week we went back for more and Paul Keaton the clown was there to entertain us. In his show we were kept waiting while a “technician” waited for the actors - finally he said he would do the show and he transformed from a angry bored assistant to the main act which ended with some breakdancing on a unicycle, well played.
Back on the farm I was having an fun time getting to know the animals that surrounded me each night as I slept. During the afternoon I would watch the ducks waddle past the cows and the donkey for their afternoon stroll, while the sheep ran past and the dogs observed them without confrontation. One day it became apparent that someone was eating the tomatoes in the greenhouse, first suspects were the mice. Then they were reaching higher and higher and it was considered to be the ducks - on their afternoon walk. I spent the morning collecting the half eaten tomatoes (only the ripe ones, at least the offenders had taste). While the ducks were conspiring to take on the greenhouse, waddling over in a line formation to avoid suspicion, I was keeping my eye on them. After being attacked by a protective mother that morning whose ducklings had just hatched - lesson learnt - I was beginning to doubt the innocence of these animals that sleep silently next to my caravan. As I went back to collect the full bucket of eaten tomatoes I saw the mother duck waddle past where a gate had been put to keep them out. I hid and watched her, as she watched me and returned to the flock. I watched them from my caravan in the afternoon and saw as they slowly got closer and closer to the fence, squeezing through and thinking I was no longer watching them went into trees next to the greenhouse. I went around the barn and entered the other side to find them in the tomatoes. I ran down, hands slapping, and yelling to chase them out and followed them to find mum near the trees and dad on guard near my caravan. The flock rejoined and the young ducks stayed in the field to conspire. I returned 20 minutes later to find the young ones back crossing the fence - they saw me and turned around. They snuck back through the fence and pretended that they were always on their way back to the pond and not to the greenhouse. They headed back past the donkey - past me waiting with dogs at my side and waddled all the way back to the pond where they stayed. Duck watch was no longer needed the next day when my attempts to scare them failed and another fence was put up around the greenhouse to protect the tomatoes.
Sitting in the caravan surrounded by what has now become a familiar setting, shared with the animals and the family that will be missed, I feel calmness. A month on the farm has helped me to clarify the thoughts of this Kiwi making a big adventure in the other side of the world. Of the many things I have learnt in my time here: about organic farming methods, how to make German Plum cake and jam and pickles, how to bake great bread, feed animals, about life on a farm, how to get out of being lost in a forest, and how interchange in a local community can work - all things I will consider in moving forward - there is one lesson learnt that will always stick with me: Ducks like ripe tomatoes.
Dedicated to Kim, Sam and Lili at La Ferme de l'Öko Pain and to the surrounding farms who welcomed me and made my month here a pleasant and educational experience in the French countryside. And for reminding me why organic goodies are the way forward and sharing with me a taste of farm life and the rising business of bread making.
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