We were driving from our small village of Puimisson to Saint-Genies, the next one over, and we had turned a corner scaring the birds that were eating in the vineyards with the noise of our car. The birds exploded into the air, rising up in the thousands, darkening the sky and setting it in motion. The sound of flapping wings filled the air. It was nothing I had ever seen in America. I grabbed my camera but by the time I got a shot off they had mostly settled down again. This photo hardly does the moment justice.
Traveling the single lane country roads of France in autumn you wind your way through hectares of grape vines that have burst into the most astonishing reds and oranges, browns and yellows. Who knew that the leaves of different varieties of grapes would turn different colors?
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| Different grape varieties, different colors |
Who knew how simply beautiful it would be?
Later sitting in a bar, still dazzled by the vineyards, I thought about our move to France, life, the universe and everything.
I turned 65 earlier this year and had a late life crisis. I felt that I wanted things to be different. Easier perhaps or just what’s a good word?--gentler? We had been to the South of France before and decided that if we were ever going to have the good life we wanted, we needed to move here.
Life in America had grown increasingly expensive and brutal. For example although we lived in an idyllic setting it the Northwest surrounded by big trees, deer and friendly neighbors. Neighbors who were nice enough but had big dogs and were armed to the teeth—a good friend had a loaded Uzi he enjoy showing around to folks. These were hard people who didn’t laugh much. They had money and instead of feeling secure they were paranoid.
And we had grown tired of the rat race that was all about more money, more stuff and more more. The striving for more reminds me of a scene from the movie “Key Largo.” At one point good guy, sailboat captain Humphrey Bogart asks bad guy gangster Edward G. Robinson what he wants.
Robinson thinks for a minute and says, “More.”
Bogart replies, “More what?”
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| Johnny Rocco just wants more |
Robinson pauses and then in an annoyed voice responds, “I don’t know. Just more.”
That goes right to the heart of America. What do Americans want? More? More of what? Who knows, just more. More cars, more homes, more money more home theaters.That’s the big difference here in Sud de France.
Our village has a bar, a bakery, a butcher and a tabac. And it is sufficient. Villagers don’t want more shops in the middle of town. These few shops and the local winery, provide them the basics of daily French life. There’s a supermarket a couple of miles away and the big city of Beziers is twenty minutes away so it’s not that people don’t have access to stuff.
It’s just that they don’t equate how much you have with how well you live.
Our rental village house has a little kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a terrace that overlooks a vineyard filled valley. It is perhaps 700 square feet of living space. It plenty of room for us and our cat and one we use one bedroom mostly for storage. It is a great place to have as a home base and to go out and photograph and write.
That’s the trick to the French good life for me I think. Getting to that place where you have enough, where you turn off the “more” machine and it’s just okay.
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| Hanging out Sud De France style |
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