Countrified

After receiving the key to the country house, we walked the three miles back to the train ‘stop’. As we rode the train back to Paris, we enthusiastically talked about the advantages of living in the country, yet still living near enough to Paris to enjoy all the city had to offer.

Over the next few days we told our friends of our plans to move to the country side and assured them they would be welcome visitors and that we would be coming into Paris often to see them. On the day we moved from Paris with our trunk and suitcases, we took the train to the nearest town to Marangis. From there we loaded a taxi with our luggage and rode the 20 or so miles to the house, arriving well before noon.

The house came with a bed in the downstairs bedroom, one in the upstairs room and a dining table and chairs in the large room off the kitchen. As I set about dusting and making beds with the linens we had purchased in Paris, my husband asked a neighbor about getting butane for the stove. At the time we received the key to the house, we had been told butane was available at the little store, but because of our imperfect French, we had not understood that we would have to lug it home with a wheelbarrow.

We were dismayed at the idea of pushing a wheelbarrow three miles to get a tank of butane, then pushing it three miles back, but it was either that or go without. The brick wall stove and oven had not been used for a long time. Never having had the experience using this kind of stove, we were reluctant to start.

Our neighbor was willing to loan his wheelbarrow and without further delay, my husband started down the road, but neither he nor I had any idea how long it would be before he returned. Many hours later he returned only to struggle and overcome the obstacle of connecting the tank to the stove with borrowed tools.

We began to adjust to the problem of keeping enough water from the well on hand for drinking and cooking and the several buckets of water needed in the bathroom for flushing the toilet.

The neighbors across the road were very helpful in telling us which farmer sold milk, chickens and eggs and which took in laundry. A truck made the rounds of the hamlet on a scheduled week day taking orders for meat and veggies which would be delivered his next trip and a bakery truck delivered breads once a week, also on a scheduled week day. Within a short walking distance from the house, a farmer sold cheese. Our little creek provided all the watercress one could use. In a short time, routines, which proved advantageous, developed, and we settled into county living as our French neighbors lived it.