On another train back to Paris. I spent the last fours hours waiting at the station as the train was delayed. I won’t make it to my reserved AirB&B until 2:30 am. Fortunately, my host is flexible and won’t leave me homeless for the night. The mystic in me says that I wasn’t supposed to make it to Paris in time for whatever reason.

It’s difficult to describe my experience of the last week at La Ceppe. One thing I didn’t expect was to bond so much with the other wwoofers here. Antoine and I have become friends over plenty of hand-rolled cigarettes. After a few days, I confessed that I don’t really smoke at home, but was picking up the habit while in France for the social benefits. It was nice to have an excuse to take a break from the work or to leave the table after a meal. A lot of the time our conversations were about how we’d like to see things changed at La Ceppe. But because of the nature of our stay, most of our complaints ended with the consolation that “it’s not my farm”.

Antoine is a tall, thin, bearded Frenchman that could pass for an Arab in a kebab restaurant. Last year, he was working for a department store doing quality control when he and his friend were talking over beers and Saint-Nectaire cheese. They were both lamenting that they were not being fulfilled by their current work. That’s when they decided that the answer was right in front of them. The Saint-Nectaire.

They were both passionate about cheese. So why not work with it? Antoine mentioned that he’d like to have a cave out of which he’d sell specialty cheeses. He’s enrolling in a cheese school in December where he plans to learn about how to make, keep, and sell cheese and the particularities of each region’s cheeses. Until then, Antoine and his girlfriend, Laura, are making a tour of France wwoofing at dairy farms in the different regions.

After the market on Monday, the crew suggested that we take the rest of the day to take a trip to Saint-Saturnin and then to Puy de Dôme to see the views above Clermont-Ferrand. The Dome has a pretty cool history if you care to look it up.

Tuesday, after working in the morning, Lena took us all out to walk and ride the horses. The six of us took turns riding and walking alongside. The weather was beautiful and I hadn’t been on a horse since high school. I was loving it. My horse, Hugo, was a big brown work horse, but we got him galloping for a little bit. When we got back, the girls asked if I would prepare the quiche with the some chard. Excited to be back in the kitchen and wanting to impress, I jumped at the opportunity. I borrowed an idea from my dad to use shaved potatoes as the crust. I started sweating some onions as I grated the potatoes and fielded skeptical questions. To feed the now nine of us and fill the eighteen inch pie pan, I poured 16 eggs over the chard, onions, tomatoes, and goat cheese. I let it bake in the oven as we sat down to eat our salad course. After, it was giving a satisfying jiggle and the top was starting to brown. Upon cutting into it, though, I rushed to put it back in the oven to firm up. We killed some time with saucisson, cheese, and bread, but after ten more minutes, I couldn’t wait any longer. I served the soupy quiche to everyone at the table and finally myself. I was struck with horror at the first bite when I realized that I had forgot to season it with salt and pepper. We finished the quiche quietly, and I left the table with my tail tucked between my legs. Lesson learned: don’t be too cocky when dealing with French food. Trust the experts. After dinner, we retreated to one of the caravans (camping trailers) parked outside the house for wwoofers to sleep in. We emptied a few bottles of beer and wine as the conversation floated back and forth from English to French. The next days manure shoveling would have been a little easier with a little more sleep and a lot less booze, but it was worth the headache. Evenings spent in the caravan last week will be some of my favorite memories from France.

I’m not sure what else to write for tonight, so I’ll save some stories for the plane ride back and more for the Corner Club.

Very excited to get back home.

Á bientôt,

Clayton

12. Reflecting on La Ceppe