Remnants of Rome

We took a day to visit the city of Arles, France, which has some wonderfully preserved examples of Roman architecture. We visited the theatre and amphitheatre.

Though only restored to about 60-75% of their original height, they were nevertheless stunning, epic and monumental; in short, everything we'd hoped they would be.

We also squeezed in a visit to the site of Van Gogh's famous painting Cafe Terrace at Night.

La Croix-Valmer

Our place was just a stone's throw from an isolated beach. 

Provence, France

Out of a trio of possibilities, I chose to study French when I was 13 years old. I took to it quickly and kept at it till college where I burned out after freshman year. Later I was called to serve a mission for my church in Bordeaux, France, so I recommitted. Afterwards I returned to college, took a few courses, and called it quits again. But it keeps coming back. Every few seasons I find myself in a situation where I'm using it again, and Tbilisi has been an intense season. 

We chose to enroll our girls in the French school, and I chose to work there for the duration of our time in Georgia. With my children now speaking fluent French as well, I realize: I'm in it for the long haul. No more luxury of burning out or quitting, this French thing will be in my life now. Forever. 

And, with nothing close to resolve, I feel ambivalence toward the language and everything connected to it. 

This, oddly, is what I discovered on our family's long-anticipated trip to France.

In her third year of French education, well nigh time to have a go.

We tried to fit in.

Then settled on the tourist thing, 

which seemed to fit us better.

We rented a dreamy abode, which immediately inspired everyone to wax artistic.

Eldest daughter's rendering of father as artist.

And we settled in to our place,

by the sea.

Putting down roots

After our fundraiser last year for the recycling bins, we had a windfall of funds that, with the blessing of the administration, was earmarked for the children to plant a tree. One year later the season was right and the stars aligned. The rain, however, did not let up. We pressed forward even so. 

Each child lined up to offer a hearty dig into the earth to create a new resting spot for our little Japanese Maple. 

We managed to dovetail the planting with the observance of Earth day. The whole thing was pretty much super awesome.

I remember declaring that I would not work at the French School this year. That was a vain thought indeed. As it turns out, I have continued to teach (albeit less), run an after-school program called Destination Imagination, and act as the school translator for all things into English. My greatest stress this year has arisen from these commitments but, as is often the case, they have also been the avenue for the most exhilarating highs.

Update: 6/13/15

The ever humbling art of baking bread

 

About five years ago, following a gradual decline in health, we started following the Nourishing Traditions philosophy of food preparation. Within the first week we saw marked improvement, which has only continued, so we've kept it as a framework ever since.

Over the years I've gradually implemented more and more of the recipes and suggestions: first, soaked oatmeal; next, lacto-fermented creme fraiche; then local farm-sourced meat and dairy; seasonal produce; buttermilk-soaked fresh ground wheat; sprouted wheat and other grains; long-simmered hearty broths; soaked beans and lentils; salt-soaked and dehydrated nuts; not to mention all the things we've omitted from our diet--refined sugars, hydrogenated oils, white flour, etc.; and many, many more things. Every few months I experiment with a new addition to the regimen.

Back in America we lived just down the street from an excellent bakery that featured sourdough bread leavened with an old Amish starter. I couldn't possibly bake a better loaf. But here in Georgia I haven't had such luck, and after relapsing to white bread and suffering from the consequences, it was finally time to strike out on my own.

This season's experiment has been long in coming, with many failed predecessors, but I'm delighted to declare that I have made a successful sourdough starter from wheat flour and water alone. I found a heritage strain of wheat here in Georgia and it has really flourished.

And after trial runs of sourdough biscuits and pancakes, I baked my first ever loaf of sourdough bread. It was dense but very tasty, and it felt like a great achievement.

Just the beginning. . .

Long walk home