Lessons in Non-Attachment

Posted on 31 March, 2009 by Val

Having recently returned from my insanely stressful house-clearing, son-moving stint in England, only to be faced with the imminent trials of our French house move to the Allier, I find myself somewhat overshadowed by a cloud of dysphoria. I fear that I may have inadvertently packed my sense of excitement into an old box along with the twenty-years-worth of dust-covered memorabilia that was hastily discarded at The Tip (sorry….I mean “Raynesway Civic Amenity Centre”) on the frantic last day of my nowhere-near-long-enough visit to empty our Derby house in preparation for its (yet-to-be finalised) transfer to new ownership.

Emptying the attic of all the Stuff that had somehow accumulated in it during my 19 years of residence in the house was a bizarre experience. Boxes of baby clothes, children’s toys and school work (Ahh..); sacks of discarded clothes hoarded through the seventies, eighties and nineties (did I really wear THAT?); my ex-husband’s first draft of the first (never-published) book he wrote (pretty good, actually); myriad leaving cards containing messages of good will from long-forgotten work colleagues; black and white photographs of times-gone-by, and dog-eared colour snaps of ex-boyfriends….and only a few short hours to decide what to keep and what to throw away forever. It was a strangely emotional experience –  nostalgic smiles dampened with melancholy tears as I rummaged through the dusty record of My Life So Far.

And then, cleaning the empty house, I recalled all the work that Simon and I had done not much more than a year ago, to get the house into a sellable condition. The days of plastering and painting, plumbing and prettifying, from dawn till dusk for days on end, culminating in a last minute rush to get everything presentable for the estate agent’s photographs, the day before we left forever, with a trailer full of furniture and and hearts full of hope.

Why do we always have to do everything in such a rush? And why does the pleasure of starting a new life always have to be tinged with the sadness of leaving behind the old? And, as we find ourselves just a year on from that last Big Change, once again thrashing about frantically in the upheaval of yet another transition, I wonder when….if….we will ever Settle Down.

There is no doubt about it –  I feel monumentally sad about having to say Goodbye to two houses that I have loved. Both are very special to me, and both are full of wonderful memories. If I could wrap them up in newspaper, squash them in a big box, and keep them safely hidden away in the Attic in the Universe, I would.

Clearly, I have a problem with Attachment. I have a problem with Letting-Go.

But I also have an insatiable appetite for Novelty, and an irresistible urge to try out all the possibilities that Life sends my way. An un-taken Opportunity becomes a Regret. Memories grow out of New Experiences. Life is Change. It has to be Lived.

And now I think I am beginning to understand the lessons in non-attachment that the Universe keeps ramming down my throat. The key isn’t to avoid attachment – to live like an island, so that no loss can cause pain. The trick is to recognize that joy and sorrow are two sides of the same thing, and to accept that they are both fine. To enjoy and appreciate things while they are there, and to let them go when their time has passed.

Today I am sad, and that’s ok. Tomorrow I will be happy, and that will be ok too. Life is just what it is, and I’m pleased and grateful to be bouncing about in the middle of it.

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Moving update

Posted on 31 March, 2009 by Simon

I have been postponing this article, in the hope that everything would be finalised, and I could write the definitive statement of what is happening.

I should have realised that this was never going to happen. The complications and frustrations of selling two houses and buying one, separated by many hundreds of kilometres and two different legal systems, conspire to ensure that we are never entirely clear what is happening.

Still, we have made progress on all three transactions, and here’s the latest state of play:

  • Derby sale
    The buyers are still on board, although their solicitor keeps asking additional, often stupid, questions. The date for completion has been tentatively set for 9 April, but contracts have yet to be exchanged. So this could all still fall apart.
    Our estate agent, Hayley, continues to annoy us intensely, but we have at least managed to get written confirmation of the fee we shall pay on completion. Val achieved this by going in to see her in Derby, and demanding that she write us an email, and print off a copy, before she would leave the office. Vague protestations of “I was going to do it . . .” were sternly countered by “You knew I was angry, so why didn’t you then?”
  • Roquetaillade sale
    We are now certainly completing this Thursday. Frank and Phil, our purchasers, will arrive from Dublin tomorrow and are staying with us till Friday. We shall have a couple of hours of the delights of Maitre Isard (pipe puffing, obscure references to his long-ago schooldays, well meant ‘jokes’, a dogged commitment to ensuring everyone is clear about every detail of the transaction, and growing evidence that his legal knowledge is not fully up-to-date with the world of international treaties about marriage contracts and property sales). At least, unlike those involved in the Derby sale, we are sure he means well.
  • Saint-Sornin purchase
    Maitre Vivier’s office seem to be getting their act together. Last week I emailed them to check whether they were nearly ready to set a completion date. Their response dashed our hopes as it turned out that they had delayed several weeks in starting the statutory two month period for SAFER to decide whether it wanted to intervene and buy the farmland. We paid out an extra fee to bring this back on track, and the apparently efficient Mlle Perron seems to have everything under control. She even returns phone calls, and speaks in admirably clear ‘standard’ French.
    Mlle Perron explained that the sellers had not expected things to suddenly move ahead, and could not move out before 26 April. So we have fixed the completion for 10:00 on Monday 27 April.
    Now we just have to agree dates with the removers . . . . Which is not as easy as we hoped, because they like to have the whole of a Monday and Tuesday available for scheduling deliveries on long distance moves. The nice lady we’ve been dealing with says she will talk to the patron and see if the delivery might be scheduled for the Monday afternoon. So much for having a few hours to clean the place out and check where we want things placed!

In four weeks, we could be installed in our new house, happily erecting fencing so we can bring the llamas over from their temporary lodgings with Mike and Suzanne. I wonder what crises we shall have to deal with between now and then?

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Spring images

Posted on 24 March, 2009 by Simon

Now that we really are in Spring, everything is coming to life. Each day, there’s something new to take delight in. Often the blossom on a particular type of plant only lasts for a few days, so it’s an ever-changing picture as I go to and from the fields.

Not that the llamas are impressed, although I’m sure they prefer the warmer, drier weather.

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Dangerous wildlife (allegedly)

Posted on 22 March, 2009 by Simon

As today is a Sunday, one of the first sounds I heard this morning was the intermittent cacophony of hounds. Each weekend throughout the autumn and winter, many of the men in the commune gather to take part in that most typical sport of this area – hunting. The full season finished at the end of February, so rabbits and most game birds are now left in peace. But for the wild boar, although the season has ended, there is never real peace because of the many loopholes which allow the killing of animals which threaten crops etc.

There are lots of boar in this area. Once you know what to look for, you can see signs of them everywhere: the two-toed footprints, the droppings (often containing cherry and plum stones in season), and the holes and turned soil where they have been digging.

Adult boarDespite their abundance, we’ve only actually seen a boar once, in the first year we owned this house, when one came trotting down the hill at the bottom of our garden. As soon as we told our then neighbour, her young teenage son went sprinting off in chase with his rifle.

That first Christmas, we were given a big bowl of boar meat to cook – I think there was rather a glut from successful hunting. And this is the point, I guess. People here hunt for food. I think it has a similar social significance to hunting in rural England, but no-one would mistake it for a class linked activity. And there’s none of that absurd ritual or fancy clothing. The men gather, often at the village hall near our house, and chat and smoke before setting off for the hunt. They then seem to spend hours standing with guns spaced around the perimeter of an area through which the dogs are encouraged to chase. The whole thing doesn’t look like much fun! The dogs seem to enjoy it – not surprisingly, as hunting dogs seem to lead a very poor life between hunts; they are never allowed inside the house and are often kept in small, bare runs with little stimulation.

Nearly half a million boar are killed each year in France. Amazingly, rather than decreasing in modern times, the total has increased five fold over the last 20 years. This département has one of the largest boar populations, and around 15 000 are killed annually. Despite this apparent carnage, the survival of boar in the wild appears not to be threatened, and numbers remain high.

Perhaps not surprisingly, as with other hunted animals, a significant mythology has developed around the boar. I noticed in England, where small groups of escaped boar have become established in the wild (the original boar having been hunted into extinction in the 17th century), there are occasional TV and radio stories about the risk of being attacked by a savage wild boar. The best information I can find is clear that boar really don’t present much of a risk:

Wild boar are large and potentially dangerous animals. However, people have been hunting wild boar for thousands of years thus wild boar are afraid of us. If you come across a group of wild boar in the woods they will always flee from you. Although their eyesight is poor, wild boar hear and scent very well. They will know you are in the woods long before you know they are there, and they will make themselves scarce.

The only real danger would be to step on a wild boar sleeping away the daytime hours, which will then wake up and may feel threatened. I have actually done this several times when radio-tracking wild boar in areas of tall vegetation. Fortunately the woken animal has run off every time, but it certainly gets the heart racing.

This running-away-from-people rule does not apply to wild boar that have recently escaped from captivity. Often these relatively tame animals associate people with food and may come up to you thinking you are going to feed them. After being shot at a few times, the boar get the message that life is not all a bed of warm straw and a bucket of pig nuts, and the survivors gradually become nocturnal and as secretive as free-born populations. These tame animals pose no threat to you, but may take a dislike to your dog if they perceive it to be a threat.

Dr Martin Goulding, www.britishwildboar.org

So, what should we make of this story which made the headlines of the local paper last week? It suggests that a man from the next village was saved from serious injury by a ferocious boar through the brave intervention of his faithful dog. Although the dog was clearly injured by the boar, I must say I was unconvinced! It seems that M Lassère was on all fours, searching though the vegetation for wild asparagus, when the boar suddenly charged him. I can imagine the boar being surprised and getting into conflict with the dog. Perhaps the fact that the boar ran away is the key to this drama . . . . .

Click on the cutting if you want to read a larger version

Article in local paper

It’s not going to change my behaviour. I’d back away from a wild boar, and I’m sure it would be doing the same thing in the opposite direction, only faster. There are many sorts of harmless and potentially dangerous animals in the countryside round here, and they’re all scared of humans. For me, it’s a privilege to be able to share the space with them, and occasionally to be able to catch a glimpse of an animal neighbour.

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Spring chickens

Posted on 14 March, 2009 by Simon

Spring may still be nearly a week away, but the weather has been superb for the last three days.

On Thursday, we went for lunch to Lin and Pete’s. Sitting outside in the sun, we relaxed and managed to get the first suntan of the year. As the temperature passed 20°C we all marvelled that such a nice day could come out of nowhere as the dismal winter came towards the end. Pete — an avid recorder of weather data — commented that they had not experienced a frost after this date in the six years they have been in this house.

On Friday, Val went off to cooler England to empty our house prior to the long awaited sale (fingers crossed). I remain, thoroughly enjoying the company of the various animals. The llamas are really relaxed as the sun shines throughout the nearly windless day. Everything seems positive. Even the man we have dubbed Mr Grumpy, who works the vineyard just down from the first llama field, gives me a cheery ‘bonjour’. And as I sit on the balcony, relishing the solitude and getting to grips with Les Misérables, the temperature passes 23°C.

The chickens are returning to some of their summer behaviour patterns. By 7 in the morning, they are bouncing around in the hen house impatient to be released. As the sun reaches high into the noon sky, they disappear under bushes, searching for restful shade. Then they come out for more food and the first dust bath of the year.

It’s a good life. I’m enjoying being on my own for a while. I suppose I should gather my strength to do preparations for the forthcoming move, but for now it seems right to remain firmly in the warmth of the present.

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Isolation and fraternité

Posted on 11 March, 2009 by Simon

Roquetaillade is only about five miles from the edge of Limoux, the market town which serves as a commercial centre for a large number of villages. Limoux only has a population of just over 10 000, but it has four supermarkets, and a good range of shopping outlets. All the main banks have branches, there are lots of estate agents and so on. For us, this trip into Limoux has seemed a small journey, which we tend to make once or twice a week.

On our way back from Limoux yesterday, we stopped to pick up a man from our village who was hitch-hiking on the outskirts of the town. After conversation on the journey, a number of things struck me . . .

Hitching is still common in this part of France. I did it a lot as a student in England, but that was nearly 40 years ago. I can’t remember the last time I picked up a hitcher in the UK. Here, people of all ages seem to hitch on quite short journeys, and they seem to be successful. The reasons for this are simple, but they reveal some interesting insights into French village life.

There is no public transport linking Roquetaillade, or any of the neighbouring villages, with Limoux. Roquetaillade has no shops, no post office, no doctor and no chemist. The villager we picked up had been into Limoux to collect a range of medicines for the various conditions from which he suffers. He told us that his car was no longer roadworthy, and as he couldn’t work any more he couldn’t really afford to get a new one. Quite a large, and increasing, proportion of the 200 or so inhabitants are at or above retiring age, and many don’t have any transport. The French welfare and medical system is excellent, and we know that some villagers get a lot of support in the home. Nevertheless, people like our hitcher need to rely on the spontaneous generosity of others to get into town and back. And it works. There’s a real sense of ‘fraternité’ — you do stop to pick up people looking for lifts, as a matter of course. In the same way, if someone needs help with a problem, it seems natural and expected that anyone will give a hand. We recently got waved down by a driver whose van was stuck in mud alongside the road into town. Could we pull him out? Of course. Tow rope attached, spinning of his tyres, and the Land Rover does the job. Brief handshake and we go on our way. There’s not a lot of money around in the village, but it is a community, with shared obligations. Of course, this doesn’t mean that there aren’t feuds and petty rivalries, but that’s another story!

Getting into Limoux takes just over a quarter of an hour. By British commuting standards, this seems a very small amount of time. However, when we were talking to local estate agents, they suggested that our house was too far out of Limoux to have widespread appeal, because of the journey. It became clear that this linked to the traditional French working day, which has a two hour lunch break and then (despite the famous French 35 hour week) finishes much later than in the UK. If you have a two hour lunch break, you need to go home, and you don’t want to spend 30/40 minutes travelling there and back. So, the French residents of the village tend not to be commuters (what a difference from England) and most work, or used to work, very locally. Mobility is not high, and most villagers can trace their origin to five or six families.

In this context, it’s perhaps surprising that we have not felt rejected as incoming foreigners. Certainly, I don’t feel accepted as a true villager, but the spirit of neighbourliness has embraced us. It will be a wrench to leave.

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