La Réserve

Next to the farm was a reserve, and also the home of the wild boars which ravaged my carrots. <fist shake>

I spent almost three weeks on the farm before I made my way over there (partially due to being unsure as to how to enter said reserve . . . apparently the boars knew more than I). Once we made it over there, there were even nutria spotted. It made me so nostalgic for Eugene, Oregon.

One evening we decided to make a picnic of it, and took homemade bread, a spread made of aubergines, garlic and tomatoes, beet and carrot salad; rice pudding and red peach preserves, and wine. The night was complete with a bright purple sleeping bag to sit on, a computer playlist with Salsa music. Thanks to Paul for setting up this photo; it captures the mood so perfectly, and cracks me up each time I look at it.

The picnic was highly successful, and included a much needed nap after all that cooking . . . 

The salsa was slightly self-conscious, and only lasted long enough to produce incriminating photographs. It was a fun idea, though. Perhaps next time some louder music would help? The tinny mac just didn't give the right atmosphere :)

We stayed long enough to see the sunset in, and not long enough to become scared of the wild boars . . . then headed back to the farm and the safety of the cabane.

Bienvenue à la ferme... pour la deuxième fois

 My second wwoofing experience, now back in France, I went to live and work on a small fruit and vegetable farm. Situated 25 kilometers south of Toulouse, Renée and Nigel's farm is a small organic (obviously) farm that supports a CSA with 25 boxes of produce, weekly. During the summer months they have between 1-3 wwoofers at any given time, and they (we wwoofers) live off in a cabin to the side of the main house. Today's post will be a quick tour of the location, just to set the scene.

Here's la cabane. . . a strawbale building, with a comfortable rustic feel. Somewhat uncompleted, it still managed to be a lovely home for a month.

Off to the side of the cabane was a lovely veranda with grapevines, where many a night of food, laughter, drinks, charades and shenanigans were to be had. You can just see the table peeking through the grapevines below.

We were also lucky enough to have a partially constructed ecologically friendly swimming pool. Not yet a fully functioning plant-filtered swimming pool, Nigel had to empty and re-fill it every few weeks in order to not get overrun with algae. Check out the working cinderblock/plank diving board! There were a few encounters with creatures--frogs, tadpoles, these incredible tiny spinning creatures, and a possible nighttime encounter with a mouse, but lovely after a hot day's work on the farm (minus the possible mouse). Luckily no encounters were had with the wild boars that got into the rows of carrots and leeks, invading from the nearby reserve.

The farm grew spinach, lettuce, carrots, leeks, white and red onions, broccoli, cabbage, Chinese cabbage, green and yellow courgettes (zucchini), white, purple and globe aubergines (eggplant), squash/pumpkins of many kinds (we never did try cooking those pomme d'or), potatoes, turnips, beetroot, grape vines (mostly not yet bearing fruit), a whole variety of heirloom tomatoes and cherry tomatoes (favourite being Mexican Honey cherries, and least being the noires), green peppers and hot peppers, apples, peaches, plums of several varieties, rhubarb, fennel, basil, and various other things. Did I forget any obvious ones, fellow wwoofers?

For our part on the farm, we cleared new ground, formed new beds, composted, sowed seeds, planted plants, weeded rows, picked produce, boxed/bagged and weighed items for the CSA, cleaned greenhouses, sorted farming supplies, etc. One evening we got to go to where the folk from the CSA pick up their produce. It was a really nice addition, in that each person came to select their produce, so you physically got to see people enjoying the fruit of your labour. Not only that, but each week two people were designated to bring wine and snacks, so people hung around chatting, drinking, and eating. This made it a much more human experience than that of the CSA I participated in the States, where I never saw another person, and just picked up my box of produce from the loading bay at National Geographic.

Farming things I learned:
* Sometimes you have to be very careful, other times, not so much
* Efficiency is key . . . I can't make everything perfect and beautiful
* Some seeds have clay covers for protection, and they look like sprinkles for cakes, but probably don't taste like them
* All those straight lines I drew in graphics class and all that measuring I do for illustrations is very important and helpful for having a good "eye" when creating new beds for plantings and when actually planting plants
* Some lightweight tools are amazing, and I will never have a large garden without them (what is the French word, sarcleur?)
* I don't like weeding fennel, but most other things are fine.
* It's all about the compost.

In the house we helped to prepare foods, wash dishes, set tables, cook, and generally help out. It was pretty fabulous (although mildly terrifying) as Renée is a retired chef, and suddenly I found myself reduced to something like a 16-year old with no culinary knowledge whatsoever, and perfectly able to fail in all sorts of menial tasks. For some reason, the pressure also caused me to drop just about anything I was holding when in Renée's presence . . . suffice to say I was a mess. Despite this, I learned some fabulous new recipes, and am interested to expand into all sorts of new ground once I stop cooking on a camp gas stove and actually have something to work with.

And last, but not least whatsoever, we emptied and cleaned dry toilets. My least favourite job on the farm--as I can bet a few of my friends would guess. Fortunately for you, I took no pictures of that particular task. But, task completed, I realized that I can actually accomplish that, despite squeamishness . . . which leads me to believe that I can actually do anything if I put my mind to it. 

Week One Biking: The Netherlands

The Netherlands portion of my biking journey took just over a week. I took only one day off, in Rotterdam, and the others I biked between 35 and 80 kilometers depending on the day.

To start off with, I took the North Sea Route, which follows along the Western Coast of the Netherlands. It regularly linked to beaches, and was a beautiful undulating topography of scrub and dunes, with a smooth bike trail. Every so often the trail would be interrupted by a holiday town, full of places to eat and people looking to relax.

I decided pretty early on that I wasn't interested in this route, mainly because beaches and dunes I have seen, whereas the canals and villages of the interior of the Netherlands are much newer and more interesting to a New Zealander (or at least this New Zealander). 

I headed for a campground and hit my first rain in quite some time. However, it was pretty soothing to stay inside and read my book while the rain drummed tunes lightly upon the stretched canvas of my tent.

Turning inwards, I decided to make for Rotterdam. In Rotterdam, I found a lovely innercity campground. It was unusually affordable (6 Euros), and allowed me access into the city. I set up tent, my hammock, made dinner, and planned my visit into town for the next day.

Rotterdam was beautiful, and I meandered past canals, old windmills, wandered into galleries and museums, and generally explored the town. Late in the day I found a supermarket, got some groceries and had a picnic in the gardens of one of the museums. I was so lazy and so relaxed, that I made the first daisy chain since I was probably 10. Fantastic feeling to have absolutely nothing to do.

From Rotterdam, I went due south past Kinderdijk, an old milling area of the Netherlands. There are many windmills that remain, and a lovely network of trails. I'd long since stopped following the main routes, and was wandering my way via bike roads and marked intersections, to just using directional methods.

I really liked the beautiful vegetable gardens I found throughout this region. Who knew something productive and economic could look so beautiful.

From this area, I turned Westward again, and biked and ferried my way out onto Zeeland. I figured I needed to see the area from which my country was named for (the name Niew Zeeland comes up in Dutch cartography in the 17th century--from Abel Tasman's brief visit to our lands). True to life, as soon as I got into that coastal region, the grass seemed greener, the wind seemed windier, and sheep seemed to abound. Standard.

One thing was clearly different . . . roadside stands aren't a bucket with a lid and a hole for your money, and a pile of produce. The Dutch are tech savvy. I bought my tomatoes in the middle of nowhere, from a vending machine.

 This is the lovely meal I made for myself with the above tomatoes. Yum.

A beautiful and a lovely lovely place to ride. If anyone reading this does go, check the dominant wind directions and go the opposite way.