Organic Farming in France

Friends,

Now that I have taken some time to reflect on my summer, I would like to take this last opportunity to think about what the experience taught us all. In retrospect, I am struck by how the goal of the internship evolved from the search for an agricultural alternative to the pursuit of a healthier consumer lifestyle. Let’s look at the experience chronologically to see how the change occurred.

Before ever stepping foot on a farm, a lot of thought and energy went into designing the project. For all CPGC internships, the goal is to connect a social problem to an innovative internship that engages with the issue. For me, the interest was agriculture and how the current industrial system creates great social problems (polluting the rivers with synthetic fertilizers, decreasing biodiversity, creating health epidemics, etc.). With these challenges in mind, the natural progression was a project that evaluated organic agriculture as an alternative, with the catch that it had to be economically-viable. Leaving the country then grew out of the search for new perspectives because I believed another culture could provide an interesting contrast to our own. Thus, I set off to France in June hoping to find a culture intimately connected to a food system that produced food naturally and efficiently.

As soon as I arrived at the Moulin Ruel to spend my first two weeks with Alain and Christine Blancart, I began to see that my goals were not fully realistic. Two key realizations occurred; first, France has an agricultural system that is as industrialized as our own, and second, the Blancarts own a non-lucrative farm that produces goods only for personal consumption. With each of these conclusions challenging my original goals, I soon began to realize that Christine and Alain’s motivations for keeping a small farm provide a different and equally important approach to solving the problems of industrial agriculture.

In their own words, Christine and Alain are “décroissant,” an adjective used to describe a group of individuals who believe excessive consumption is the primary cause of most social problems. Applied to agriculture, the ideology argues that the industrialization of the food supply and the problems that follow are caused not by the industrial farmers who produce the food but rather by the consumers who demand the produce out of season. The idea contrasted my original assumption that agribusiness firms were responsible for the consolidation of the food system. Instead, the couple helped me see that we, the consumers, are just as responsible because it is our money and desire for fresh produce year-round that support industrial farms. It was at that point when the goal of my internship began to change. Each successive farm became a lesson for why our consumption choices are critically important instead of the “economically-viable alternative” I originally hoped to find.

In the third and fourth weeks of my internship, I witnessed the devastating effects of industrialization on small farmers when I visited the Petit Ane Bleu. Applying the Blancart’s décroissant theory, I began to see that Denis and Hind Bigliardi’s difficult history was partially the result of consumers valuing the lower prices of supermarket produce. About a decade ago, the couple settled down on a farm and began producing organic vegetables for sale in a local farmers’ market. A few years back, however, they experienced a difficult season that ruined their crops and forced them to change their lifestyle. They simply did not have a large enough consumer base to compete with industrial firms so they added a small tourist resort, hoping to make more money. Unfortunately, the decision has led to a life of great hardship. Each morning, the couple rises early to send hikers off, continues to manage the farm throughout the afternoon, and already exhausted, cooks for paying customers at night. With time, I began to see that the difficulty of their lives was caused by the lack of consideration paid by local consumers to their purchases. Though Hind and Denis were growing healthier products, the consumers preferred the lower prices of industrial foods and helped the couple sink into near poverty. Thus, their story represents another way industrialized agriculture hurts the population and also emphasizes the importance of good consumer choices.

In the fifth and sixth weeks, I unexpectedly returned to the home of Alain and Christine and developed a better understanding of their own consumer habits. In the most obvious way, Alain and Christine are  tremendous examples of consumers who understand the effect of their purchases and who live differently as a result. Instead of spending their retirement golfing and playing tennis, the couple has carefully constructed a farm that provides many of the goods they once purchased. Vegetables and fruit are grown in the garden; honey bees provide a sugar alternative; goats produce milk for cheese and yogurt; trees are cut into firewood that heats the house; and horses occasionally pull lumber from the woods. What cannot be produced at the house is bought locally as seen in the cow’s milk from a neighbor, the flour from a mill dating to the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, and the straw traded with a friend. Fiscally, each example saves the couple money, but more importantly, it reduces their impact eon the world by decreasing transport and societal costs. Thus, their farm is the physical realization of their economic philosophy. It supplies them with a huge portion of their needs and saves enough money to let them make smart, locally-focused purchases when necessary.

As I entered the seventh and eighth weeks of my internship, I had forgotten about an agricultural alternative and was wholly focused on changing consumption patterns. Surprisingly, however, my final host Jean-Yves Martinal proved that a small, organic farmer who subscribes to the décroissant theory is actually a viable and competitive alternative to massive industrial farms.

In the words of a family friend, “Jean-Yves is a true ‘paysanne’ (peasant), the last of a dying breed.” While most of us have stepped away from the land and specialized in a profession, Monsieur Martinal has fiercely retained his connection to the earth, has humbly maintained a diverse skill set, and has successfully driven his consumption to practically zero. With his land, he produces the household vegetables, the grain for his animals, and the apples and barley used to make apple juice and beer. Ninety-five percent of his family’s food is produced at home, and with the income from his organic products, he easily purchases whatever else he needs. Thus, he succeeds at living the décroissant lifestyle to a much greater extent than even the Blancarts themselves.

Though his minimalistic consumption habits provide are respectable, possibly the most important realization I drew from my stay in his home was that his lack of financial obligations allows him to remain competitive in the face of industrial agriculture. As a farmer, he has resisted the temptation to specialize and augment production. While his colleagues were taking out bank loans, buying new tractors, and ramping up production, he remained small and debt free. In combination with his few expenses, the result is that he lives comfortably while producing food naturally. In short, he is the ideal consumer and economically-viable alternative in one.

Now, if you are asking yourself “How does this apply to me?,” the answer is quite simple; the summer’s experiences indicate that the continuation or decline of the industrial food system is actually our choice. This conclusion is rooted in the internship’s two crucial lessons. First, if industrial agriculture is going to give way to healthier, organic practices, it is the consumer, not the farmer, who is going to force the change. Second, as we see in Jean-Yves Martinal’s case, an economically-viable alternative to industrial farms really exists.

Considering both lessons, the overriding conclusion we must all draw is that our own decisions about what to buy have a direct impact on what gets produced. Though this indicates we are responsible for letting the industrialization of the food supply occur, it also reveals our power to make a difference. Just like we learn in Intro Micro-Econ, supply is derived from the quantity demanded by a population. In other words, what we want (manifested in our purchases) ultimately decides what gets produced. Applied to industrial agriculture, we can conclude that we, as consumers, have the power to make change happen.  By demonstrating our support for local and organic products and by carefully choosing what we buy, we can sponsor farmers like Jean-Yves Martinal and watch as industrial agriculture evolves into a new, sustainable form…

Thank you all for your extended interest and support,

Andrew

Friends,

Though I let you know at the beginning of these last two weeks that my posting would be less frequent, I apologize anyway for my lack of attention. This will be my last opportunity to write here in France before I fly home on Saturday. One final and reflective post will come early next week. Otherwise, thank you all for the continued interest and support.

As it has been so long since I let you know what I have been up to, here is a brief overview of my final week in France:

This past Monday and Tuesday, we began the work week with another foray into the construction of the pottery oven. Last week, we had successfully constructed the three, ascending foundations of the oven and the temporary supports for the arch. This week, we built upon our previous progress by beginning the walls that will eventually arch into each other, forming the roof of the oven. More specifically, the job included laying bricks with special attention to vertical and horizontal levels, cutting wedges to support the curve of the walls, and reflecting a lot on how we want the project to proceed. At the end of the two days, we were physically and mentally exhausted but had mounted the walls about two feet.

In the middle of Tuesday’s work, I took a break from the work and went on a serendipitous visit to the region with a family friend named Michel. An incredibly curious and hospitable gentleman, he observed that the work was taking its toll and off we went in his car to explore. Over the course of the afternoon, we accomplished little tasks like buying a train ticket to Lyon and finding a store that sells Opinel pocketknifes (a celebrated and inexpensive brand made in France). The best part of the afternoon, however, was when we took the time to visit a local  village built on the remains of a two-thousand year old Roman encampment complete with a Twelth Century chapel. It really puts into perspective the short amount of time we Americans have been around. After, we ate a pastry at a local café and talked about the evolution of French consumerism over the past fifty years. Sitting there, discussing societal trends in the shade of the imposing church and watching the townspeople pass, the day could not have been any better.

The next day, I woke early to get to work and was once again surprised by an adventure. Out of the blue, Albon (Jean-Yve’s son) and Jean-Yves (a neighbor with the same name as my host) asked me to accompany them on a trip to a local mountain. After quickly packing a few things into a backpack, we set off towards Le Lac d’Anncey www.mountain-riders.org/_news/upload/lac-annecy-forclaz-2210084529.jpg and its famous mountain “La Tournette” www.randos-montblanc.com/pages/album/album-tournette.html which was about an hour-and-a-half away. Once arrived, we began an arduous three hour hike up the mountainside, eventually reaching the summit where we saw Mont Blanc in one direction and the Lake in the other.  It was a breathtakingly beautiful view accompanied by a delicious lunch of crusty baguettes, local sausage, and Roblochon, an Haute-Savoie cheese that resembles Camembert in ooziness and is a must-try.

Looking back over the two days, I could not think of a better way to have spent some of my last days here in France. Though the experiences were not directly related to the agricultural base of the project, it was nice to take a bit of time to appreciate the area and to see how the locals spend their time. I am indebted to my hosts and their incredibly hospitable friends.

Now, I am in the middle of getting ready to leave. Tomorrow morning, I will take an early train into Lyon and check into a hotel where I will sleep tomorrow night. For the rest of the day, I am going to explore the city and experience its gastronomic traditions with the help of a New York Times article a friend found earlier in the summer. frugaltraveler.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/07/15/in-lyon-a-day-devoted-to-the-stomach/?scp=1&sq=frugal%20traveler%20lyon&st=cse Hopefully, I will find a few good places to eat and will get to see the famous St. John’s Cathedral in Vieux Lyon. Then, Saturday morning, it is an early train to Charles to Gaulle Airport and a much awaited flight home.

Wishing everyone an excellent weekend,

Andrew

Hello all,

An interesting story:

Yesterday afternoon, as the sun was shining down on our backs, Jean-Yves, Albon, Alex (a neighbor), Bastien (a friend of Albon), and I stood at the edge of a wheat field, enjoying the golden glow of the straw resting on the ground. Our task was the hay harvest and we were going to do it the old-fashioned way. Working together as an efficient five-man team, we began in earnest. Alex drove the old tractor and the hay trailer, while Albon and I speared the straw bales and lifted them onto the trailer bed. Once there, Jean-Yves and Bastien organized them into neat piles. Advancing slowly through the field, we collected all fifty bales at a leisurely pace.

When the task was finished, Bastien and I stood chatting when I noticed that there was another farmer in a distant field harvesting his own straw. The difference, however, was that he was using a new, more powerful tractor, and an auto-charger that rolled the straw stalks into large, round bales much larger than our traditionally square bales. In passing, I remarked that the image, of two tractors from different eras doing the same work, was a veritable juxtaposition of the old and new, of the organic and the industrial. Building on this conclusion we even ventured to say that the contemporary farmer is probably heavily in debt and working to pay off bank loans…

As it turns out, the conclusion was not that far off the mark.  Later in the afternoon, Albon, Jean-Yves, and I went to the other farmer’s home to give him a hand moving a herd of sheep. When they were successfully situated in a new field, we sat down for an aperitif that extended into a two hour chat. The basis of the conversation was the difference between organic farming and industrial farming, each represented by one of the farmers. Many topics were addressed with Jean-Yves arguing that organic farming is better for the environment and uses less fossil fuels while the other man countered that organic agriculture is too expensive and cannot feed the world’s population. Needless to say, neither gentleman changed his perspective.

The interesting part of the exchange, however, came just as we were about to leave. Moving on from the topic of agricultural subsidies and their common battle to make end’s meet, Jean-Yves posed the taboo question of “How much money do you actually make at the end of the month?”  Before the response came, he admitted that his average income is about 1200 euros per month. After a bit of hesitation, the other farmer admitted that his monthly income is only 500 euros even though his flocks are significantly larger, his land is his own,  and his equipment is “better.” How does that happen? Though the neighboring farmer is more visibly well-off, the great part of his monthly income is devoted to paying debts. Money borrowed to purchase animals, chemicals, and machinery was loaned by a bank, and with time, accumulated into a large debt that the man tries to escape by producing more. The result is that he works incredibly hard, applying all the newest industrial technologies, and just barely pays the bills.

Driving away from the conversation, I asked what Jean-Yves thought about the conversation. He said simply, “He is a slave to the bank.”‘ His comment, though painfully direct, brings to light one of the major problems that we see in the United States today: as agriculture becomes more and more industrialized, those who work the land suffer under incredible debts and must either “get big or get out,” in the words of the former Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz.

The issue is a complicated one and though it cannot be solved by one clear solution, Jean-Yves’ business model is a good start. For the past twenty years, he has resisted the pressure to modernize. Each year, he spends about ten months making a small quantity of goat cheese (about 300 a week) to stay in the lowest regulatory bracket and to keep his herd size manageable. In October and November, he hires four workers, presses, heats, and bottles the juice of local apples, resulting in about 4000 liters of artisinal product. Finally, he uses his own barley in December to make a small batch of beer that he sells throughout the year. All the while, he rents his land and borrows no money to stay financially free.

Considering the contrast between the neighbor who increases herd sizes to pay off an increasing debt and Jean-Yves who has no debt, I am beginning to conclude that the small, diversifed farmer model is, in fact, an economically viable alternative that I have been searching for all summer. Yes, I understand that the solution is not simple because such a farmer must produce enough to feed a growing population, must have a solid consumer base that values localized production, and must be content with a rural lifestyle. At the same time, however, the glaring fact is that Jean-Yves and Mark (the Blancart’s neighbor) are two small farmers that produce a large quantity of food, that successfully navigate the modern economy, and that are content with their lives. They are not solely an economically-viable alternative, the are an economically successful alternative to massive industrial farms whether agribusiness wants us to believe it or not.

Yours truly,

Andrew

Hello all,

As of now, I am officially writing from the third and final farm I will visit this summer: the home of Jean-Yves Martinal. Before I begin, you should know that the internet situation here is scanty because the family prefers to keep the computer off to save electricity. I will post when I can, but be prepared for a slightly less frequent analysis. Now, on to the farm…

Like the description earlier in the blog states, the Martinal’s farm is a small, seventeen hectare operation that follows the rythym of the seasons. In February, the family begins producing goat cheese from the milk of their twenty “chevres” after having given the herd a few months rest. As summer approaches, the garden is planted and the cereals begin to grow. The list of grains is long, but it includes everything from wheat to make homemade bread to oats to feed the goats. As August winds down and the cereal harvest is finished, Jean-Yves transitions into his beverage production phase, beginning with apple cider in September and ending with beer in December. With a successful year completed, he reposes for a month or two before starting anew. In short, the family produces as much as it can for personal consumption and makes its living selling small, artisinal goat cheeses on the side.

Speaking of the family, Jean-Yves lives with his two daughters Lucie (19), Estelle (17), and son, Albon (15). He is a piercingly intelligent and talkative individual who sees the world symbolically and is curious about any subject. His daughter Estelle is going to art school to specialize in pottery and is currently building her own wood-fired oven. Albon, is young, energetic, and plans on joining the French Army’s firefighting division. Lucie,  unfortunately, just as I arrived to visit friends in Romania. Thus, each is interesting, engaging, and a wonderful host.

Though the lifestyle here is simple, each day is filled with many labors. Twice daily, we take the Border Collie to retrieve the goats from the fields. They are then led into the chevrarie where they are milked two-at-a-time by a small machine. Every two days, the milk is processed by adding rennet and whey, ultimately ending up with small goat cheeses much like those I made with Christine Blancart. In addition to the goats, the pigs and chickens are fed each day and the garden is maintained. Those, however, are just the daily tasks. For the past three days, the great majority of our time has been devoted to the construction of the pottery oven. Measuring six feet by fifteen, the immense structure has literally grown from the ground up just since Monday.

Unfortunately, my internet time is running out and it is getting late. Though this is just a brief introduction to the farm, look for more to come later. Basically, all is going well, and the next week and a half promises to be a delight.

Talk to you soon,

Andrew

Hello everyone,

Just as a quick note, I will be leaving the Moulin Ruel tomorrow to visit the last farm of the summer. It is a small, family-owned operation that makes homemade cheese and bread from for sale in local farmers’ markets.  More to come once I am settled in.

Until then, I wish you all an enjoyable weekend.

Best,

Andrew

Hello all,

Yesterday morning, as Alain and I were taking a break from our work, he once again said something that really made me think. “L’ultilisation des ressources du terroir, ça c’est l’écologie” or roughly translated, “Ecology is the use of local resources.” Though it was a simple statement made in passing, it emphasizes the overriding goal of the Blancart’s existence: by exploiting local, renewable resources and by continuing local traditions, Alain and Christine reduce their effect the environment and maximize their own standard of living. To explain this broadreaching conclusion, we need to think about yesterday’s project, the “chevrarie”, and the “smoko.”

Having finished the morning routine, Alain and I drove to a distant hay field to build a shelter for a tool that stays there year round. Our list of supplies included a chainsaw, an ax, a hatchet, two shovels, a machete, a large iron bar, a scythe, two Coca Colas, three kinds of cheese, bread, and chocolate. (A diverse group, but each member of the list completely necessary.) At the field itself, we began by digging one of the four 60 cm deep holes to hold the four upright supports for the roof. Working together with the iron bar and shovel, we slowly advanced deeper into the earth until it was sure enough to support the roof. After, we collected the rest of our tools, picked two good trees, and felled them with a chain saw. Tomorrow, we will return with Contesse, one of the families four workhorses, to pull the trunks out of the woods and to finish the construction of the shelter.

Aside from being an incredible learning experience and a great time, the project emphasizes the Blancart’s use of local and renewable resources. Though it would be really easy to run down to the hardware store and buy materials to protect the harvester, Alain purposefully decided to use the local trees, our own manpower, and Contesses’ strength to build the shelter. With time, all three inputs grow back stronger than before and leave no lasting effect on the environment. Raw materials, however, are not the only resource exploited here on the farm.

In a more abstract sense, Alain’s decision to construct the chevrarie (goat-house) in a historic and/or “rustic” way represents another important resource: local tradition. Though most new construction in the area uses “innovative” building materials like cinder blocks, Alain’s chevrarie is a combination of the region’s traditional stone walls and a newer, ecologically-friendly style called “corded wood masonry.” To begin, Alain and I laid a two foot high foundation of large, riverbed stones. Mixing the cement by hand and carefully picking the stones took a lot of time, but the end result is durable, attractive, and traditional. After, we built the walls which are composed of split Oregon Pine logs glued together with cement. In addition, other examples of traditions continued abound: small wooden dowels cut by hand that serve as nails; three-hundred year old beams saved from the farmhouse; a traditional, Meditteranean tile roof; and even a door from an ancient chateau. Each detail, from the corded wood walls down to the smallest wooden dowel, embodies Alain’s continuation of historic traditions which utilize regional resources, are specially adapted to the climate, and treat the environment well.

Considering the amount of energy that Alain puts into living life in an ecologically friendly way, the one resource that he does not forget to respect is us, the humans who live in the environment. Halfway through our work on the harvester’s shelter, Alain and I took a traditional break called the “smoko” to relax and appreciate the work we had done. Sitting there on a hill, admiring our progress and eating homemade cheese and bread, Alain and I could not help but conclude how beautiful a life lived slowly really is. Though we had worked hard throughout the morning, the break gave us time to find new energy, to enjoy a bit of conversation, and to value the simple lifestyle we live here. Just like the decision to harvest the wood with real horse-power or to build the chevrarie with regional stone walls, our daily “smoko” forces us to reflect on our progress and appreciate the life we are living.

Thus, if a true ecologically-friendly lifestyle is the “use and respect of local resources,”all of Alain and Christine’s projects represent a strict adherence to that creed. Whether the resource exploited is the the tree we cut for a harvester’s shelter, the local tradition of stone walls, or our own labor, each is used in moderation and celebrated as a gift that need be respected.

Yours,
Andrew

Friends,

Having finished the work day, I have an interesting story to tell. Earlier this afternoon, as Alain and I were gearing up to split some wood, we heard a rumbling in the distance. Each of us leapt up from our seats and ran outside to see Mark, the neighboring dairy farmer climbing up the hill in his antiquitated tractor. The straw had arrived.

This year, the straw holds special importance at the Moulin Ruel. While it is generally spread over the floor of the barn to keep things tidy, it will also be used to insulate the second house on the property, home to daughter Marie, her signifcant other Fred, and their expected baby. Thus, the arrival of the straw marks the preparation for a long winter for both the animals and the humans on the farm.

Having unloaded the first trailor of straw, Alain and I decided to give Mark , a sixty-three year old, bronzed, and sprightly gentleman, a hand with the second trip. Off we went riding on the sides of the tractor pleasantly chatting about his cows, the dairy business, and the land. When we arrived, Alain and I used pitchforks to lift the bales onto the traditional trailer (its actually made of wood) while Mark carefully secured the load and dismounted with flair, swinging from a rope. Back at the Moulin Ruel, it was my turn to climb on top of the trailor to unload the bales. Standing about twenty-five feet off the ground, I wielded my pitchfork, sent straw flying, and felt pretty thrilled.  

Aside from the theatrics of the whole experience, however, the fascinating parts of the day were two seperate conversations held with Mark and the Blancarts about the evolution of farming in France. When I asked Mark about his history as a farmer and the changes to agriculture he has experienced, he launched into a story about the wheat harvests when he was just fifteen. Instead of using tractors and modern machines that roll bales, he and his five brothers cut the cereal by hand, tied it into sheafs, and used horses to haul the load. The story, he said, illustrates how drastically the agricultural system has changed in so little time (about fifty years), considering most modern, industrial farms extend beyond the horizon and need an army of tractors just to harvest one crop.

Later on, I asked Alain and Marie about Mark’s farming practices and discovered that he leads a lifestyle quite similar to the Blancarts. While most farmers in France and the United States strive to increase their output, buying new tractors and taking out bank loans, Mark avoids all financial obligations. He drives an old tractor he fixes himself, is content with a small herd of dairy cows, and never puts money in the bank. He even goes as far as exchanging goods for services because the straw that he delivered here today is a “payment” for Alain’s mechanical help from time to time. The point is that he stays small, keeps expenses to a minimum, and ultimately, earns a good living as a farmer.

Pondering Mark’s financial philosophy, Alain and I extended our thoughts beyond the neighborhood to industrialized agriculture’s problems and concluded that,  like the general public, many farmers today overconsume in the form of new tractors, genetically modified “wonder seeds,” and bigger harvesting equipment. By constantly wanting the new best machine just as we want a new outfit or car, industrial farmers are just another consumer fueling an economy out of our control. The Blancarts’ anti-consumerism philosophy, therefore, applies quite directly to agriculture itself because farmers represent another major consumer buying more for the wealth of a few.

Ironically, it is Mark, with his torn shirt-sleeves, old tractor, and reliable cows, who keeps most of what he earns, smiling all along.

Yours,

Andrew

Hello everyone,

As today is Monday and the beginning of a new work week, I think it is time for an update of what we are doing here at the Moulin Ruel. Here we go:

Like I may have mentioned before, Christine works part-time as a pharmacist in the summer when other families are taking off. This week happens to be one of those times, so Alain and I are here alone (because the Czech couple has also left). Luckily, Christine makes it home for lunch and saves us from a gastronomic breakdown, but for the rest of the day, Alain and I work together on projects. There are five primary ones right now.

After breakfast, the first major task is attending to “Clafoutis,” the milk-providing goat. Knowing that she would be working this week, Christine spent the last week teaching me a crash course on the ins and outs of cheese making, hoping I could replace her while she is gone. The system is working perfectly. Each morning, after enticing Clafoutis into the barn with hay and expertly (okay, just barely) coercing the milk from her udders, I make our daily cheese. First, the current day’s milk is mixed with rennet and whey and left to separate. Then, the separated milk from the previous day is poured either into little moulds and left to dry or kept in its whey. The result is either a small chevre cheese or a cottage cheese called “fromage frais” eaten with jam for dessert.

Having completed that task, Alain and I move onto our primary job of constructing the ”chevrarie” or goat house. It is made using ”corded wood masonry” which is an architectual form that combines split logs and lime mortar to create an ecologically friendly, attractive, and insulative wall. Check out this site for more information: www.cordwoodmasonry.com/Cordwood.html The goal is to make a small and warm structure to house the farm’s five goats and their three expected babies throughout the cold, Isère winters. More on the project to come later in the week.

After lunch, Alain and I move onto the cutting and splitting of wood necessary for the corded wood chevrarie and the heating of the house. This past Saturday, we finished harvesting all the wood that Alain had cut this past winter and calculated the total of his efforts. I am not kidding when I say he cut and transported fifty tons of logs in three months time. (That is enough for two houses for two years.) Now that it is here on the farm, however, it needs to be cut down to size for the oven or the goat house. While he mans the circular saw and divides logs into foot-long pieces, I split the wood with an ax if it is to be burned or more carefully with a wedge if it is for the chevrarie. The whole process is carried out in a tranquil semi-silence as we cover our ears with thick protectors and move with coordinated precision.

While those three primary activities are the bulk of each day’s work, we also have two other projects planned for later in the week. The first task, the construction of a small cabin, is necessary because all of Alain’s hay fields are not connected to the main property. Thus, to avoid driving on the roads with bulky harvest material, he has a set of tractor attachments for each field. One of these attachments, which simultaneously lifts the hay to aerate and places it into a neat row, is in need of a protective structure for the winter. Theoretically, we will be digging four foundation holes, placing uprights within, and building a roof above.

Last, but most sentimental, Alain and I are planning on constructing a bench later this week. Behind the house, there is a small hilltop that overlooks the entire valley, including a Thirteenth Century chateau and the Alps in the distance. Earlier on, I had mentioned to the family that it might be a nice place to have a bench, so we are going to build one. Hopefully, it will become another symbol, much like the tree at the Petit Ane Bleu, of my time spent here, projects accomplished, and a friendship discovered.

Wishing you all the best,

Andrew

Hello all,

While my internship is officially devoted to the comparison of French agricultural practices to those in America, one of the best parts of the project that I have discovered are the enlightening conversations (on all subjects) I get to have with my hosts.  Earlier this week, one of these groundbreaking, value-shaking exchanges occurred and really made me think.

Though our usual morning routine at the Moulin Ruel includes a leisurely breakfast and a wood run, one day this week we found ourselves rushed out the door by seven forty-five because we had a rendez-vous with a neighbor at eight. The elderly gentleman, named Guy, is another retired business man that has devoted his leisure time to the husbandry of work horses. New to the work, he inquired if we could give him a hand attaching an untrained pair of horses to a buggy so that they could be taught to work together. We spent two hours rigging the carriage, teaching the horses voice calls, and finally, enjoying a midmorning coffee break.

Upon our return to the Moulin Ruel, however,  Martin and I wanted to make up for lost time and began working quickly on the walls of the goat house. The others, encouraged by our efforts, started building at a breakneck pace until Alain, in complete frustration, called a halt. Exclaiming “All WWOOFers work too fast,” he took the time to step backwards, see the mistakes we had made, and correct them at a reasonable pace.

As the work went on, his critique of our pace evolved into a conversation about the advantages and disadvantages of working quickly (or as I think,  ”efficiently”). Alain concluded that working quickly keeps us from enjoying the process of building, and then applied to the statement to general society arguing that most individuals in modern society work only towards an end, be it money, material success, the pursuit of financial security, etc. Though they believe they are on their way to happiness or security, the actual quality of their work and of their lives is often shoddy because they are living for the completion of a project or ideal. 

Though his ideas critique a lifestyle that I often pursue, I find that Alain’s conclusion often justly applies to American beliefs. Yes, I am like most other college students who dread essays and enjoy the feeling of having finished instead of the joy of researching and writing. Simultaneously, I am beginning to see that taking the time to enjoy building a wall (or writing an essay) can be a lot more satisfying.

On a larger, societal scale, many Americans live the same hasty, goal-driven life.  A myriad of examples exist: families that push their children to get into Ivey League colleges because they lead to “sucessful lives”; working parents that pay others to watch their children; the pursuit of “financial security” that quickly becomes the quest for a bigger bank account; and people who plan busy vacations because they cannot actually relax. The common theme that runs through them all is we often go, go, go to reach a goal without thinking about why we want to get there. In French, the expression is “Métro, Boulot, DoDo” or “Subway, Work, Sleep” and is meant to criticize the daily grind lifestyle wherein people work to “live” but end up living for their work.

At the same time, the critique is not necessarily fair because many of us have fiscal responsibilities that require us to work. Someone has to pay the staggering sum required to attend a liberal arts college, the grocer for the food on the table, and the mechanic who fixes the family car. The simple truth is that most people need a bit of money to participate in society.

With these contradicting ideas swirling around in my head, I returned to the subject later on in the afternoon with Christine and Alain over a cup of tea. Admitting that I was frustrated by the seemingly impossible equilibrium between enjoying one’s life and making enough money to do so, Christine and Alain concluded that there is no one true way to find the balance. Their lifestyle works for them but is not necessarily plausible for an American in need of health insurance and money for a child’s education. They concluded, however, that  one way to avoid the “Métro, Boulot, DoDo” cycle is to constantly questioning the motives behind decisions. By taking steps backwards to wonder why one absolutely must make six figures or why a seven bedroom house is non-negotiable, we can either better appreciate why we are doing things or see the folly in those pursuits. Instead of making decisions and/or consuming a lot because it is what people normally do, we might find that we do what we actually enjoy if we are not caught up in the pursuit of financial success.

Considering that a lot of us get caught up in the daily grind of the work week, I believe we can all take a lesson from Alain’s frustration about our construction hastiness. Whether we are working a job, cooking a meal, or driving a kid to soccer practice, we can all benefit from taking a moment of respite to really consider why we are doing what we are doing. Maybe we will find out like I did that we are just working towards an end, ready to put a big check in the box.

Yours truly,

Andrew

Hello Everyone,

As many of you know, the traditional morning activities here at the Moulin Ruel are the wood harvest and the continuation of the goat house. Today, however, was much much different.

After unloading the old Toyota, Alain, Martin, Patricia, and a friend named Guy hopped into the small four by four Suzuki and took off at a brakeneck pace across the Combe (essentially, the primary grazing field). Before long, the field gave way to the forest where we bounced over rocks and creeks until finally arriving at home’s spring. Alain then proceeded to show us the easiest way to cross the barb-wire fence before hopping back into the Suzuki and taking off in the other direction.

Having crossed the hunter-proof fence, we four remaining individuals walked up a back country road and eventually arrived at a recently paved road. Curiously, hundreds of spectators lined each side of the road. Why? It was the Tour de France!

A good friend of mine’s father often cites the idea of  ”serendipity” when an enjoyable situation occurs without planning; I cannot think of a better example than today. A mere stone’s throw from the house, the Tour de France passed, complete with its miles of publicity cars, helicopters, and riders. All we had to do was drive across Alain’s own land before we were in a prime position to see the show, which came in two parts. At first, hundreds of cars and trucks painted with the insignias of various organizations (Carrefour, Vittel bottled water, the national police service, etc.) pass throwing little objects to the spectators. I came away with a bottle opener while others got everything ranging from candy to hats. About a half hour later, the tension mounted as a car passed detailing the progress of the riders and saying that they would arrive in about one minute. Then, before I knew what was happening, a group of twenty leaders riding at forty kilometers per hour wizzed by. Another, primary group followed with over seventy riders bunched together, straining up the hill and practically sizzling in the afternoon sun. Finally, the last two belaguered riders crawled by to the applause of all watching.

Though the race took the better part of a day to observe and stopped us from pushing forward with our work, I am glad to have seen it. Serendiptity and all, it was a great opportunity that may happen only once in a lifetime.

Best,

Andrew