I've got to get myself financially in the black this year. It is Monday morning, a week after I've put the kids in school, and, I've got to get my act together. No more leaning on Ma (thank you!), no more leaning on the French State (generous as it is), it is time to land on my feet. This was a far easier task fresh out of University, 22 years of age, with no kids. I just popped around and got temp jobs or whatever. I paid my bills, lived in a tiny apartment, ate minimally. No biggie.
However, I am now 43, divorced with two kids, and have a large mortgage on my house. I'm also living in a foreign country where I feel the permanent disadvantage of a not-complete mastery of the language (particularly the written aspect). And, just in case we weren't all aware of it, there is a world-wide economic crisis going on. Hirings are few and far between for many many industries. Will I succeed where others are struggling? At least I know I'm not alone.
Last year I spent time talking to a counselor appointed by Pole Emploi and also at the Nîmes-based CIBC-- Centre Inter-Institutionel des Bilans de Compétences, a hub of trained psychologists put on this earth to help you figure out where your strengths are and how to put these onto a visually punchy résumé and get it out there to potential employers. I took full advantage of this marvelous socialist system and its free (FREE!!!!) employment and life direction advice. I've been counseled for over ten hours (8 sessions) by professionals. So, I should have a clue.
Problem is, I've actually never gotten a job based on a CV and an interview before. People practice these things. They master interview techniques, self-presentation, key phrases, etc., Call me spoiled or blessed, but I've had many work experiences, but none difficult to obtain: I've worked for my mother helping to run a summer arts festival (great fun and very busy); for Princeton University Press (I was at school next door); for a photography gallery (I walked in the door and admired the Japanese photography on the wall, having written about it in my senior thesis); for a Japanese university (nepotism via Ma, though I must say, I was a good employee to them and they kept me on stipend for two years after my original job was finished, ostensibly to correct English text, but I think also to say thank you); for a Parisian editor -- this grew out of my internship at the Centre National de la Photographie; and then, I created the cooking school and b&b with Erick where I spent most of the past 14 years. Résumé? CV? nah, they were never necessary. I was told to just come in on Monday ready to work. OK.
And now, my means of earning a living in the most recent past, tourism, is not the powerful market it used to be -- which isn't such a bad thing, as much as I loved my clients and touring Provence, I don't miss spending from 7AM to 11PM caring for people other than my children. I'm still carrying around a serious guilt complex concerning my abandonment of my little boys to the care of others for nearly ten years. So, I'll still tour occasionally, but I'll fit these tours into the kids' school schedule, and keep them to a reasonable minimum.
I am facing the need to earn a living along somewhat normal lines, though excluding 9 to 5 in preference to being available to the kids (including my four boarders).
What to do when you're an ex-pat living in France? Well, I've always been told I write well, and thanks to my highly verbal and doctorate-educated parents, my grasp of the English/American language is something I can proffer to a potential employer. I enjoy teaching, I enjoy reading. I enjoy challenges. So, I'm seeking to do what I proudly did not do in Japan -- teach English. But I'm also hoping to get some more translations like the wine tasting notes I did last year, web sites, and hopefully some more cook books.
To this end, I'm polishing up the CV and writing letters -- which are then re-written by more eloquent girl-friends, as the art of writing professional letters in French is not yet a skill of which I can boast.
I've already had one interview with the Wall Street Institute in Avignon to teach English. Apparently I'm on the short list, but more than that, I won't know for a time. And today, I've sent off two CVs to the Rencontres d'Arles de la Photographie, a place I've interned in (that's how I met Erick in the first place) and where I've occasionally served as an interpreter for Japanese photographers. The second I sent to Harmonio Mundi, the editor of classical music based in Arles. I underlined my love and minor-mastery of the bassoon (I'm ok in a teen age orchestra, and playing chamber music with amateurs), and my participation in a singing group at school, hoping these little extras might catch their attention.
Thus, a somewhat profitable Monday morning. Pay bills, cope on jobs, care for Filou's hurt foot. Check.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Growing up so fast
Leo had a very adolescent evening the other night. Not only is he a very tall twelve, growing facial hair and sky-rocketing towards the sky, he is growing ever more serious and sensitive. I do believe there will be unforeseen side effects to my hosting a young boy six months Leo' senior (yet a head shorter) and a tall and delightful fourteen year old girl. Hormones are surging.
Post-shower, hair wet and draping ever so tantalizingly over his eyes, elegant jeans, and a half-way unbuttoned white oxford on his summer tanned skin. Whoa... this is my little boy who was climbing trees, leaping in the water and scarfing down brownies this summer? Yes, I'm his mom, but he was darn gorgeous as he showed off terribly for the benefit of our young teenage female boarders.
And, his haunches up (is that the phrase?) he was in a cocky mood: Not the best preparation for a calm session of everyone reading a paragraph each of Gulliver's travels. As we've done most evenings this week, me and my charges strew about my bed with an abbreviated version of Gulliver, highlighting his visit amongst the Lilliputians. After one turn each, Jonas looked up at me and begged that I read him a book in his room before he fell asleep atop me in mine. Thinking the group relatively stable, I went off with Jonas, leaving them to continue reading.
I hadn't taken into account male dominance theory. Leo may be bigger physically, but Mael is older by six months and quite a strong and defiant character. He also is very physical and with minimal limits imposed upon him to this point apparently. So, as I understand it, Mael teased our little eleven-year old, pinning down her arm, tickling perhaps. Leo leaped to her defense, thinking to be able to manhandle Mael off of her and by his larger size, put him in his place. But, tall though he is, Leo is not a creative fighter (as they would say here, il n'est pas trop malin). Mael easily used a manoeuvre or two with elbow and knee, winding Leo with a blow to the chest, and freed himself.
In five minutes, Leo's pride, view of the world, sense of moral order, and more were touched, and deeply. He was so riled up he was not going to sleep, and adamantly so. I spent a moment with him, gathering information and trying to figure out went had gone so very wrong in my brief absence. Then I descended to speak with both Mael and Maeva. Basically, I communicated a new house rule. No physical teasing and wrestling. We simply are not going to play the game of who's stronger and who's quicker and who's more slippery. And, no touching the others. Permit and respect the imaginary cushion of air around each person. We live in a house that protects and cares for, not one where battles for dominance are going to take place. Maeva was reassured. Mael, no doubt, thought I was over-reacting.
And yes, perhaps I was. Growing up as the younger sister to a much bigger brother I was often a punching ball, tickling receiver, wrestling hold practice bag, you name it, for my older brother. I survived, more or less. And he was assured of his physical superiority and myself of my absolute weakness in the face of such. At one point (or a few times no doubt), I screamed at the top of my lungs, trying to break his hold, break him, and if only by breaking his ear-drums establish my own level of strength and power. No luck. I never did get out my finger nails, nor did I bite (something Jonas was once--no longer, gratefully--particularly adept at). And, I have no regrets on this point. I'm not normally a physically violent individual, and it was only the incredibly frustrating sense of being over-powered that brought it to such a pitch.
Perhaps I'm over-protecting, but I would rather prefer to limit this sort of behavior in my home, particularly as these are not siblings, but live-in guests.
I went back up to Leo after my discussions, hoping he'd have calmed down. But far from it. I spent the next hour by his side, listening, communicating, searching, and observing that my little boy is hitting those intense peaks of emotion and sensation that adolescence too often promises. The anguish, the hurt pride, the frustration, the anger, were all roiling in him pushing sleep away. Not before midnight was he finally willing to turn out his light.
The next morning wasn't a whole lot better (over and past are the days of thirty minute sulks?), but thank goodness, by the time I picked them all up at 4pm, the boys were not only talking but sharing their interest in music again. Phew! Crisis averted. For now.
Post-shower, hair wet and draping ever so tantalizingly over his eyes, elegant jeans, and a half-way unbuttoned white oxford on his summer tanned skin. Whoa... this is my little boy who was climbing trees, leaping in the water and scarfing down brownies this summer? Yes, I'm his mom, but he was darn gorgeous as he showed off terribly for the benefit of our young teenage female boarders.
And, his haunches up (is that the phrase?) he was in a cocky mood: Not the best preparation for a calm session of everyone reading a paragraph each of Gulliver's travels. As we've done most evenings this week, me and my charges strew about my bed with an abbreviated version of Gulliver, highlighting his visit amongst the Lilliputians. After one turn each, Jonas looked up at me and begged that I read him a book in his room before he fell asleep atop me in mine. Thinking the group relatively stable, I went off with Jonas, leaving them to continue reading.
I hadn't taken into account male dominance theory. Leo may be bigger physically, but Mael is older by six months and quite a strong and defiant character. He also is very physical and with minimal limits imposed upon him to this point apparently. So, as I understand it, Mael teased our little eleven-year old, pinning down her arm, tickling perhaps. Leo leaped to her defense, thinking to be able to manhandle Mael off of her and by his larger size, put him in his place. But, tall though he is, Leo is not a creative fighter (as they would say here, il n'est pas trop malin). Mael easily used a manoeuvre or two with elbow and knee, winding Leo with a blow to the chest, and freed himself.
In five minutes, Leo's pride, view of the world, sense of moral order, and more were touched, and deeply. He was so riled up he was not going to sleep, and adamantly so. I spent a moment with him, gathering information and trying to figure out went had gone so very wrong in my brief absence. Then I descended to speak with both Mael and Maeva. Basically, I communicated a new house rule. No physical teasing and wrestling. We simply are not going to play the game of who's stronger and who's quicker and who's more slippery. And, no touching the others. Permit and respect the imaginary cushion of air around each person. We live in a house that protects and cares for, not one where battles for dominance are going to take place. Maeva was reassured. Mael, no doubt, thought I was over-reacting.
And yes, perhaps I was. Growing up as the younger sister to a much bigger brother I was often a punching ball, tickling receiver, wrestling hold practice bag, you name it, for my older brother. I survived, more or less. And he was assured of his physical superiority and myself of my absolute weakness in the face of such. At one point (or a few times no doubt), I screamed at the top of my lungs, trying to break his hold, break him, and if only by breaking his ear-drums establish my own level of strength and power. No luck. I never did get out my finger nails, nor did I bite (something Jonas was once--no longer, gratefully--particularly adept at). And, I have no regrets on this point. I'm not normally a physically violent individual, and it was only the incredibly frustrating sense of being over-powered that brought it to such a pitch.
Perhaps I'm over-protecting, but I would rather prefer to limit this sort of behavior in my home, particularly as these are not siblings, but live-in guests.
I went back up to Leo after my discussions, hoping he'd have calmed down. But far from it. I spent the next hour by his side, listening, communicating, searching, and observing that my little boy is hitting those intense peaks of emotion and sensation that adolescence too often promises. The anguish, the hurt pride, the frustration, the anger, were all roiling in him pushing sleep away. Not before midnight was he finally willing to turn out his light.
The next morning wasn't a whole lot better (over and past are the days of thirty minute sulks?), but thank goodness, by the time I picked them all up at 4pm, the boys were not only talking but sharing their interest in music again. Phew! Crisis averted. For now.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Le Vendange - The Harvest
All over the lower lands of Provence (this is relative as they are still atop plateaus) it is harvest time. Grape juice on the roads, workers up and about early in the morning, the presses, pressoirs, working at full tilt. Bins are filled, tractors are blocking traffic (or at the very least slowing it down). The weather has been wonderful, and today we've a cooling Mistral blowing through the vineyards. Hard to ask for more. 
Syrah, aka Shiraz, is the first of the red grapes to be ready for harvest. The team is out (predominantly female) from 7AM to bring the grapes in at their freshest (temperature-wise). The early morning is necessary as temperature control during fermentation is one of the arts of wine-making. Those who harvest by machine have been known to harvest from 2-7 in the morning... In fact, this is the case of at least one of the neighbors. Two bins came in this morning filling the 20 ton tank. The chilling system - reverse radiators fed by the well water under the cellar - was a bit iffy last night, but in fact is working fine, much to the relief of the vintner. This morning the tanks were at their proper temperature, and the day's work was put into motion. Besides removing the grapes from their stems, les érafles, there will also be multiple airings of the grapes and liquid, remontages, by which the juice and some of the grape solids are pumped out of the tank from below and poured back in from above, breaking any cap that might form atop the liquid, and encouraging a better mixture of the skins into the juices. This is desirable for a maximum extraction (same word in both languages).
This week a WOFeuse, i.e, an intern via the World Organic Farms association which places individuals from all over the world with organic farms for a proper internship, or a working vacation, is here from Paris. Normally a skilled store manager for a leather designer, travelling throughout the world setting up stores in Lebanon, Russia and South America, she is spending her vacation learning about wine from A to Z, and working the harvest. Energetic, willing and bright, she's trading room, board and a short education for her labor.
It's been a stressful week getting everything back into working order, amidst the presence of the electrician and the plumber working on the house above the cellar, etc., But at least the masons have removed their presence from the courtyard, having finished the new roof and flooring. It's been a race against time to have the cellar in shape for this harvest. But, after the first few kinks, things seem to be back in order, and all is moving along as it should. The viognier is looking lovely, currently evaluated at 14 degrees (a bit high for a white, but then again, this grape tends towards this), with rich fruit and amélique flavors (banana, English candy, malabar) inherent to the fruit itself.
The final rosé will be have approx. 25% syrah from this week's harvest. So far, so good. The cooler it is kept, the more delicate and captivating the fruit and floral aromas. It, like the white, has had the solids removed prior to fermentation, débourbage, and is progressing nicely.
Syrah, aka Shiraz, is the first of the red grapes to be ready for harvest. The team is out (predominantly female) from 7AM to bring the grapes in at their freshest (temperature-wise). The early morning is necessary as temperature control during fermentation is one of the arts of wine-making. Those who harvest by machine have been known to harvest from 2-7 in the morning... In fact, this is the case of at least one of the neighbors. Two bins came in this morning filling the 20 ton tank. The chilling system - reverse radiators fed by the well water under the cellar - was a bit iffy last night, but in fact is working fine, much to the relief of the vintner. This morning the tanks were at their proper temperature, and the day's work was put into motion. Besides removing the grapes from their stems, les érafles, there will also be multiple airings of the grapes and liquid, remontages, by which the juice and some of the grape solids are pumped out of the tank from below and poured back in from above, breaking any cap that might form atop the liquid, and encouraging a better mixture of the skins into the juices. This is desirable for a maximum extraction (same word in both languages).
This week a WOFeuse, i.e, an intern via the World Organic Farms association which places individuals from all over the world with organic farms for a proper internship, or a working vacation, is here from Paris. Normally a skilled store manager for a leather designer, travelling throughout the world setting up stores in Lebanon, Russia and South America, she is spending her vacation learning about wine from A to Z, and working the harvest. Energetic, willing and bright, she's trading room, board and a short education for her labor.
It's been a stressful week getting everything back into working order, amidst the presence of the electrician and the plumber working on the house above the cellar, etc., But at least the masons have removed their presence from the courtyard, having finished the new roof and flooring. It's been a race against time to have the cellar in shape for this harvest. But, after the first few kinks, things seem to be back in order, and all is moving along as it should. The viognier is looking lovely, currently evaluated at 14 degrees (a bit high for a white, but then again, this grape tends towards this), with rich fruit and amélique flavors (banana, English candy, malabar) inherent to the fruit itself.
The final rosé will be have approx. 25% syrah from this week's harvest. So far, so good. The cooler it is kept, the more delicate and captivating the fruit and floral aromas. It, like the white, has had the solids removed prior to fermentation, débourbage, and is progressing nicely.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Shopping for the fall, or at least a few months.
I did my first trip to the organic wholesaler's yesterday. It was a time to invest for the year. Some things: grated cheese, quator oil (sesame, olive, pumpkin and rape seed), are truly for the year, but others will be refreshed as needed, month by month. Here's the list of what I considered necessary for my household to function. With these ingredients I've the basics for nourishing my charges daily. Considering I never buy anything packaged and prepared, it means a lot of cooking. But, when you've a house full of pasta, grains, flour, sugar, chocolate, etc., you've not the necessary ingredients to prepare a meal as needed.
Dry goods:
a case (12 packets) semi-whole wheat spaghetti - 12.60E
10 bars (200g) dark pastry chocolate - 21.70E
5kg non-bleached sugar - 9.70E
5 cases plain brown rice crackers - 22.50E
5 cases brown rice and quinoa crackers - 22.50E
3 kg pumpkin seeds - 15.36E
3 kg sunflower seeds - 10.29E
5 kg 9 grain flour - 10.15E
5 kg whole wheat flour - 6.95E
5 kg white flour - 7.25E
5 kg semi whole wheat flour - 7.00E
3 kg 5 grain flakes (oats, rice, wheat, spelt, barley) - 5.70E
a case (12 packets) lasagna noodles - 5.70E
6 litres quator oil - 45.00E
a case (6 boxes 400g) hot chocolate powder - 22.80E
2.5 kilos almonds 21.25
3 kilos chocolate chips (a splurge) 27.15E
Cleaning supplies: (I still have toilet bowl cleaner from last year, and it works very well on limestone deposits too).
5 litres concentrated dish liquid - 10.66E
5 litres concentrated liquid detergent - 15.21E
Perishables (extra to be put in the freezer):
16 packets of 200g sweet butter - 35.88E
10 kilos grated gruyère cheese - 103.50
30 eggs - 7.50
Between various storage pantries and my freezer, this will keep us for a good long while. I go through flour faster than anything else, and chocolate (brownies, muffins, etc.,). I already have stashes of basmati rice, brown rice, spelt, barley, green lentils, bulgur, nutritional yeast, linseed, olive oil, my home-made chunky tomato sauce, 6 litres of plain tomato sauce, a jar of my refreshed sourdough starter, baking soda, sea salt ... and my personal stash of black Tazo chai. Hence, a pantry now filled with what I need to make bread, soda bread, pancakes, lasagna, quiches, tarts, cookies, brownies, risottos, couscous, and much much more.
Weekly I'll purchase eggs, milk, vegetables and fruit. Occasionally a bit of ham, bacon, a chicken, and chunks of cheese. I try not to go over 20E/week, and am normally successful as long as I stick to in season.
Now, if only gas were cheaper...
Dry goods:
a case (12 packets) semi-whole wheat spaghetti - 12.60E
10 bars (200g) dark pastry chocolate - 21.70E
5kg non-bleached sugar - 9.70E
5 cases plain brown rice crackers - 22.50E
5 cases brown rice and quinoa crackers - 22.50E
3 kg pumpkin seeds - 15.36E
3 kg sunflower seeds - 10.29E
5 kg 9 grain flour - 10.15E
5 kg whole wheat flour - 6.95E
5 kg white flour - 7.25E
5 kg semi whole wheat flour - 7.00E
3 kg 5 grain flakes (oats, rice, wheat, spelt, barley) - 5.70E
a case (12 packets) lasagna noodles - 5.70E
6 litres quator oil - 45.00E
a case (6 boxes 400g) hot chocolate powder - 22.80E
2.5 kilos almonds 21.25
3 kilos chocolate chips (a splurge) 27.15E
Cleaning supplies: (I still have toilet bowl cleaner from last year, and it works very well on limestone deposits too).
5 litres concentrated dish liquid - 10.66E
5 litres concentrated liquid detergent - 15.21E
Perishables (extra to be put in the freezer):
16 packets of 200g sweet butter - 35.88E
10 kilos grated gruyère cheese - 103.50
30 eggs - 7.50
Between various storage pantries and my freezer, this will keep us for a good long while. I go through flour faster than anything else, and chocolate (brownies, muffins, etc.,). I already have stashes of basmati rice, brown rice, spelt, barley, green lentils, bulgur, nutritional yeast, linseed, olive oil, my home-made chunky tomato sauce, 6 litres of plain tomato sauce, a jar of my refreshed sourdough starter, baking soda, sea salt ... and my personal stash of black Tazo chai. Hence, a pantry now filled with what I need to make bread, soda bread, pancakes, lasagna, quiches, tarts, cookies, brownies, risottos, couscous, and much much more.
Weekly I'll purchase eggs, milk, vegetables and fruit. Occasionally a bit of ham, bacon, a chicken, and chunks of cheese. I try not to go over 20E/week, and am normally successful as long as I stick to in season.
Now, if only gas were cheaper...
Back at the Goat Farm
Sorry, no pictures today. I forgot my camera! Will do better next week!! Some elegant goat portraits would be nice, no? maybe some textured hair, miss-shapen horns, bales of hay? I'll see what I can do. Wouldn't want my posts to bore you!
Well, a week later, with my kids in school and the weekly program slowly coming into shape, I was able to bop off to the goat farm (an hour's drive) to milk goats, make cheese and lunch with my dear friends, Isabelle and Paul Pierre. My plan is to spend every Thursday there, and during vacations, a few days in a row.
I arrived this morning just shortly after Aurelie and went right to work. Monday she shifted the goats from a twice daily milking to once daily. This meant being far more conscientious about truly emptying (to the best of our abilities) each teat. It also had caused a bit of congestion in the teats of a few of the goats. So some were letting down their milk more slowly then others and needed more attention, massaging, and general coaxing to get their teats empty.
One goat, Bonne Belle, had particularly congested teats ever since she'd first milked. Apparently, she'd given birth to twins and was nursing them fine (Isabelle and Paul Pierre always left the kids with the goats for the colostrum) and so had the production for two kids. But, one day she rejected one, continuing to nurse only the remaining one. With milk for two, she fed one, and thus begat her history of congested teats. To each goat her own particular history...
Another goat, Attia, is susceptible to infected mammaries, and so Aurelie had done some homeopathic preventive medicine. She had an herbal mixture that she injected via a syringe into the teat -- very very carefully. It was strong smelling, and for the next 48 hours she hand milked this teat and passed the milk to the dogs. Strange flavored goat cheese doesn't sell well... However, Filou happily lapped it up.
With the switch from twice daily milking to once, the quantity has actually not been significantly reduced. She was getting 7 not too full containers of milk, and now she gets 5 very full containers.
Once the milk had passed through the strainers and filter, the rennit and whey from the day before were added (to the still warm milk). We flipped the 150 or so cheeses from yesterday back into their molds -- with a different technique than I'd been using last week. I took note! And I flipped out the cheeses from the day before yesterday onto the grills to be put into the drying room. Aurelie turned over the cheeses in the drying room, and switched the racks around, putting yesterday's below, making room for todays, and taking earlier ones out and into the aging room, cave d'affinage.
We then switched to ladling out of the three day curd into the molds which was pretty quickly done. While this was all going on, I kept up with the washing up, disinfecting, etc.: The milking pumps needed rinsing, washing and filling with water before they were hung in their storage spot till tomorrow. The tanks needed rinsing, washing and rinsing. The molds from the day before needed rinsing and washing (these go in the 5 minute machine). The floor needed squeegeeing where I'd spilled some milk (yes, it happens!). And the stainless cheese trays from the day before needed rinsing, scrubbing and hosing down before passing the squeegee to remove excess water.
The cheese lab is unorthodox with its terra cotta tiles on the floor and white washed plaster walls, but it is very easy to clean and to keep clean. Half way up the walls and all around the sinks are close fitting white tiles. These too scrub down easily and rinse well. It shows that thoughtful architects, not young folk blindly following the European Union Hygiene police, built this lab. Though it does not conform to code, it has often been cited as an example by those with actual authority amongst the inspectors. This laboratory has never had a serious incident. Well-conceived and easy to clean, it breathes.
What is interesting to me is that Aurelie is now accustomed to making her cheeses here. But, the plan is to build a different lab over on her father's land. Will she follow the same principles? And, will she be able to transfer over her cheeses to the new lab by simply bringing over her whey? I'm not sure. The walls of this lab are her partners in making her cheese. They bear the imprint of years of successful cheeses in the form of layers of spores from past years -- good spores, good bacteria, good mold. This is what helps cheese take and age as it should. A brand new lab won't have these...
We'll wait and see. For more information about goats do take a look at the site All Things Goat
Well, a week later, with my kids in school and the weekly program slowly coming into shape, I was able to bop off to the goat farm (an hour's drive) to milk goats, make cheese and lunch with my dear friends, Isabelle and Paul Pierre. My plan is to spend every Thursday there, and during vacations, a few days in a row.
I arrived this morning just shortly after Aurelie and went right to work. Monday she shifted the goats from a twice daily milking to once daily. This meant being far more conscientious about truly emptying (to the best of our abilities) each teat. It also had caused a bit of congestion in the teats of a few of the goats. So some were letting down their milk more slowly then others and needed more attention, massaging, and general coaxing to get their teats empty.
One goat, Bonne Belle, had particularly congested teats ever since she'd first milked. Apparently, she'd given birth to twins and was nursing them fine (Isabelle and Paul Pierre always left the kids with the goats for the colostrum) and so had the production for two kids. But, one day she rejected one, continuing to nurse only the remaining one. With milk for two, she fed one, and thus begat her history of congested teats. To each goat her own particular history...
Another goat, Attia, is susceptible to infected mammaries, and so Aurelie had done some homeopathic preventive medicine. She had an herbal mixture that she injected via a syringe into the teat -- very very carefully. It was strong smelling, and for the next 48 hours she hand milked this teat and passed the milk to the dogs. Strange flavored goat cheese doesn't sell well... However, Filou happily lapped it up.
With the switch from twice daily milking to once, the quantity has actually not been significantly reduced. She was getting 7 not too full containers of milk, and now she gets 5 very full containers.
Once the milk had passed through the strainers and filter, the rennit and whey from the day before were added (to the still warm milk). We flipped the 150 or so cheeses from yesterday back into their molds -- with a different technique than I'd been using last week. I took note! And I flipped out the cheeses from the day before yesterday onto the grills to be put into the drying room. Aurelie turned over the cheeses in the drying room, and switched the racks around, putting yesterday's below, making room for todays, and taking earlier ones out and into the aging room, cave d'affinage.
We then switched to ladling out of the three day curd into the molds which was pretty quickly done. While this was all going on, I kept up with the washing up, disinfecting, etc.: The milking pumps needed rinsing, washing and filling with water before they were hung in their storage spot till tomorrow. The tanks needed rinsing, washing and rinsing. The molds from the day before needed rinsing and washing (these go in the 5 minute machine). The floor needed squeegeeing where I'd spilled some milk (yes, it happens!). And the stainless cheese trays from the day before needed rinsing, scrubbing and hosing down before passing the squeegee to remove excess water.
The cheese lab is unorthodox with its terra cotta tiles on the floor and white washed plaster walls, but it is very easy to clean and to keep clean. Half way up the walls and all around the sinks are close fitting white tiles. These too scrub down easily and rinse well. It shows that thoughtful architects, not young folk blindly following the European Union Hygiene police, built this lab. Though it does not conform to code, it has often been cited as an example by those with actual authority amongst the inspectors. This laboratory has never had a serious incident. Well-conceived and easy to clean, it breathes.
What is interesting to me is that Aurelie is now accustomed to making her cheeses here. But, the plan is to build a different lab over on her father's land. Will she follow the same principles? And, will she be able to transfer over her cheeses to the new lab by simply bringing over her whey? I'm not sure. The walls of this lab are her partners in making her cheese. They bear the imprint of years of successful cheeses in the form of layers of spores from past years -- good spores, good bacteria, good mold. This is what helps cheese take and age as it should. A brand new lab won't have these...
We'll wait and see. For more information about goats do take a look at the site All Things Goat
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Moments of Jonas
Jonas has been himself in many myriad ways these past few days. I feel blessed with Jonas moments. Moments of calm and cuddling, moments of questioning, moments of frustration and anger, moments of pride and achievement, and, to keep me on my toes, moments that surprise and delight.
Let's read Hop on Pop, he said Sunday night. There he was, the night before school, pulling out the book I'd told him he would be able to read by the end of the summer. And myself, I'd not worked with him this summer as I'd hope to. I spent so much of my time helping Leo read his required reading, encouraging and pushing him to write that I had no time to work with Jonas. I'd read with him, fun books that we enjoyed, lots of Magic Tree House and such, but we didn't take the time to pour over words and letters. And deep down in his being he'd remembered. He remembered that he was going to be able to read this book before school began. And, ... he did! It would be overkill to say to what degree I was proud of him. But I was, quietly, marvelously, richly proud of this discreet yet profound little boy.
Earlier that day it had been quite a different story. This little boy has adopted a most serious habit of cursing, and cursing and cursing -- in French granted, but when in France, the vulgarity isn't hidden by that lovely accent. Les gros mots spew in a torrent from his mouth, in his soft little boy voice, For someone who doesn't understand what he's saying, it almost sounds gentle and pleasant. Little do they realize! He's truly a little French boy who just happens to speak English. He's never spent time in an English-speaking school yard, thus -- for the moment --his English vocabulary has yet to be enriched in such a fashion.
Just the other day he said to me, Mommy, why do all these words exist if we shouldn't say them? Ah yes, why indeed?
So, finally, I decided to take an age-old threat and turn it into action. Yes, I would wash their mouths out with soap (for one, for all, right?). Thus, a drop of soap for he who curses (my own children, I wouldn't dare with one who wasn't mine, but I have stated to the others that cursing is simply not permitted in my house). And yes, we've had a few drops so far. Each time far worse, each time the anticipation, the disgust, the annoyance, the anger grows. Jonas declares himself helpless. He just can't stop. That's why, I respond, I've changed my tactics. With a little unpleasant reminder he will learn to stop, I assure him.
With Leo it's almost a game. He's not going to give in, even if he is well aware that he's at fault. So, I trick him, put a touch of soap on my mouth and wipe it on his lips. That does the trick. But with Jonas, it is far from a game. And, I'm not going to in any way physically force him. I do however, stand firm. He simply won't have lunch till he's taken his drop of soap. I don't get angry. I serve Leo and his friend. I clean up, having carefully put Jonas' lunch aside. Then I go upstairs to read a bit. Jonas clings sulkily to me. Rather than brooding in his room, he is in my space. He is on my bed, alongside me. But, he is in a foul humor. He's mad at me, at himself, at the situation in general. He kicks, taps, but doesn't say a word. I take the jolts in, and stay calm. I speak gently, ask him how else does he think we're going to rid him of this vulgar habit? If he has another suggestion, by all means share it. But in the meantime, kicking me isn't going to help anything. Yes, I know he's angry, but, such is life. Best to get the (minor) punishment over with and continue with our day.
It took easily a half hour of this, when suddenly Jonas called out to his brother to pardon him his insults. Leo accepted his apology with grace.
Looking at me, Jonas said he was getting awfully hungry. I said fine, let's go get this over with. Perhaps a drop of soap on a spoonful of honey?
Did he still have to have soap? He'd apologized....
Yes, I said, but it'll be over quick, and then you can have your home-fried potatoes, and there's ice cream for dessert. Alright. And together, quietly, and calmly, we descended the stairs.
I just needed patience. It's frustrating to know you've put yourself into a bind. Lashing out at the unfairness (or fairness) of it all is just normal. And then, with a bit of time, internal reasoning, hunger and knowing that I was just there work upon him. This is how he functions.
But, let's end on a high note. A little boy who's ever so proud of his advances in swimming. Come with me Mommy. I want you to come swim with me. Ok, I'll be right there as soon as the quiches are in the oven. And, ten minutes later I was there, watching, laughing, teaching, supporting, excited and delighted. One happy and very proud boy was showing off what he's now can do with relative ease. Never again will he fall into a pool and sink to the bottom! He can tread water, swim a ways, and he knows it. Fear will be banished, past experiences put in their place.
And as I lay beside him putting him to bed, tears came to my eyes. Corny maybe, but I rarely, rarely cry. But I love them so very much, and it just feels so right to be there to the utmost. Every nuance tugs at me. Little else in this life matters as much.
Let's read Hop on Pop, he said Sunday night. There he was, the night before school, pulling out the book I'd told him he would be able to read by the end of the summer. And myself, I'd not worked with him this summer as I'd hope to. I spent so much of my time helping Leo read his required reading, encouraging and pushing him to write that I had no time to work with Jonas. I'd read with him, fun books that we enjoyed, lots of Magic Tree House and such, but we didn't take the time to pour over words and letters. And deep down in his being he'd remembered. He remembered that he was going to be able to read this book before school began. And, ... he did! It would be overkill to say to what degree I was proud of him. But I was, quietly, marvelously, richly proud of this discreet yet profound little boy.
Earlier that day it had been quite a different story. This little boy has adopted a most serious habit of cursing, and cursing and cursing -- in French granted, but when in France, the vulgarity isn't hidden by that lovely accent. Les gros mots spew in a torrent from his mouth, in his soft little boy voice, For someone who doesn't understand what he's saying, it almost sounds gentle and pleasant. Little do they realize! He's truly a little French boy who just happens to speak English. He's never spent time in an English-speaking school yard, thus -- for the moment --his English vocabulary has yet to be enriched in such a fashion.
Just the other day he said to me, Mommy, why do all these words exist if we shouldn't say them? Ah yes, why indeed?
So, finally, I decided to take an age-old threat and turn it into action. Yes, I would wash their mouths out with soap (for one, for all, right?). Thus, a drop of soap for he who curses (my own children, I wouldn't dare with one who wasn't mine, but I have stated to the others that cursing is simply not permitted in my house). And yes, we've had a few drops so far. Each time far worse, each time the anticipation, the disgust, the annoyance, the anger grows. Jonas declares himself helpless. He just can't stop. That's why, I respond, I've changed my tactics. With a little unpleasant reminder he will learn to stop, I assure him.
With Leo it's almost a game. He's not going to give in, even if he is well aware that he's at fault. So, I trick him, put a touch of soap on my mouth and wipe it on his lips. That does the trick. But with Jonas, it is far from a game. And, I'm not going to in any way physically force him. I do however, stand firm. He simply won't have lunch till he's taken his drop of soap. I don't get angry. I serve Leo and his friend. I clean up, having carefully put Jonas' lunch aside. Then I go upstairs to read a bit. Jonas clings sulkily to me. Rather than brooding in his room, he is in my space. He is on my bed, alongside me. But, he is in a foul humor. He's mad at me, at himself, at the situation in general. He kicks, taps, but doesn't say a word. I take the jolts in, and stay calm. I speak gently, ask him how else does he think we're going to rid him of this vulgar habit? If he has another suggestion, by all means share it. But in the meantime, kicking me isn't going to help anything. Yes, I know he's angry, but, such is life. Best to get the (minor) punishment over with and continue with our day.
It took easily a half hour of this, when suddenly Jonas called out to his brother to pardon him his insults. Leo accepted his apology with grace.
Looking at me, Jonas said he was getting awfully hungry. I said fine, let's go get this over with. Perhaps a drop of soap on a spoonful of honey?
Did he still have to have soap? He'd apologized....
Yes, I said, but it'll be over quick, and then you can have your home-fried potatoes, and there's ice cream for dessert. Alright. And together, quietly, and calmly, we descended the stairs.
I just needed patience. It's frustrating to know you've put yourself into a bind. Lashing out at the unfairness (or fairness) of it all is just normal. And then, with a bit of time, internal reasoning, hunger and knowing that I was just there work upon him. This is how he functions.
But, let's end on a high note. A little boy who's ever so proud of his advances in swimming. Come with me Mommy. I want you to come swim with me. Ok, I'll be right there as soon as the quiches are in the oven. And, ten minutes later I was there, watching, laughing, teaching, supporting, excited and delighted. One happy and very proud boy was showing off what he's now can do with relative ease. Never again will he fall into a pool and sink to the bottom! He can tread water, swim a ways, and he knows it. Fear will be banished, past experiences put in their place.
And as I lay beside him putting him to bed, tears came to my eyes. Corny maybe, but I rarely, rarely cry. But I love them so very much, and it just feels so right to be there to the utmost. Every nuance tugs at me. Little else in this life matters as much.
A housefull of young-uns
Well, we've three out of the four of our boarders with us now. School started yesterday morning and when I came to pick them all up, they were a gang of five. As I walked around the walls of the school to enter by a proper entrance, they beat me to it and all scrambled over the fence to climb into my car. There are moments I fell like a silly old adult. I might have scaled that fence too, but I'm afraid of being yelled at by the teachers...
The household is now Jonas (in second grade), Maeva (5th grade), Leo (6th grade), Mael (7th grade) and Lucille (8th grade). In a couple weeks we'll have Gaetan back (9th grade). Truly, I feel like I've half the school. But I also feel lucky. Somewhere in myself I've discovered a deep pleasure in being a den mother. I don't know if I'm freaked out my this, or simply pleased that being surrounded by lively, sociable, generous, funny kids is such a warm and neat way to spend my time.
I tend to have a light hand. I orchestrate the day's meals, shower times, clean-up, bed-time, etc., and I provide many an object for play and recreation. For example, I fixed two bicycles today, dug out all the roller blades, and the skate board, pulled out some puzzles, and cleaned the pool. But more than anything I enjoy watching them communicate amongst themselves. There are elements of a pack of dogs organizing their dominance structure. If I notice something I don't like (Mael physically removing Jonas from changing the volume of the radio) I jump in quickly and let him know that physically man-handling Jonas is not ok. We can discuss things, and in any case, I'm right here.
There is the girl-boy dynamic, in a good way. They're all still so young and open. For the moment, I don't sense a hint of pre-pubescence or weirdness amongst or between them. They're all pretty strong characters, which helps. No one is being smooshed by any one else. Leo can speak loudly and forcefully, but the elder two are fine with that. He's not being too bossy, and they can hear that he's speaking from the heart. Our little girl is home-sick, but naturally a joyous being and seems to be able to quickly pass from a moment of tears to happily working through her homework. I offer a cuddle, but don't press. She welcomed my kiss when I picked her up at school. But there again. I'm a new person in her life, and I need to be a warm and reassuring presence, but I'm not yet truly a known and loved individual. Such a delicate balance being 'in locus parentus.'
The kids seem pretty happy at the arrangement. Rather than being a single outsider child trying to be accepted by a formed family unit, they are a force unto themselves. I and my boys are welcoming them, but also creating a new family structure with them. Together we'll form a unit this year. Or at least I hope so.
In any case, my chocolate chocolate chip muffins awaiting them for snacks yesterday afternoon were a hit. And my lasagna was much appreciated as well. Tonight, perhaps a simple quiche?
The household is now Jonas (in second grade), Maeva (5th grade), Leo (6th grade), Mael (7th grade) and Lucille (8th grade). In a couple weeks we'll have Gaetan back (9th grade). Truly, I feel like I've half the school. But I also feel lucky. Somewhere in myself I've discovered a deep pleasure in being a den mother. I don't know if I'm freaked out my this, or simply pleased that being surrounded by lively, sociable, generous, funny kids is such a warm and neat way to spend my time.
I tend to have a light hand. I orchestrate the day's meals, shower times, clean-up, bed-time, etc., and I provide many an object for play and recreation. For example, I fixed two bicycles today, dug out all the roller blades, and the skate board, pulled out some puzzles, and cleaned the pool. But more than anything I enjoy watching them communicate amongst themselves. There are elements of a pack of dogs organizing their dominance structure. If I notice something I don't like (Mael physically removing Jonas from changing the volume of the radio) I jump in quickly and let him know that physically man-handling Jonas is not ok. We can discuss things, and in any case, I'm right here.
There is the girl-boy dynamic, in a good way. They're all still so young and open. For the moment, I don't sense a hint of pre-pubescence or weirdness amongst or between them. They're all pretty strong characters, which helps. No one is being smooshed by any one else. Leo can speak loudly and forcefully, but the elder two are fine with that. He's not being too bossy, and they can hear that he's speaking from the heart. Our little girl is home-sick, but naturally a joyous being and seems to be able to quickly pass from a moment of tears to happily working through her homework. I offer a cuddle, but don't press. She welcomed my kiss when I picked her up at school. But there again. I'm a new person in her life, and I need to be a warm and reassuring presence, but I'm not yet truly a known and loved individual. Such a delicate balance being 'in locus parentus.'
The kids seem pretty happy at the arrangement. Rather than being a single outsider child trying to be accepted by a formed family unit, they are a force unto themselves. I and my boys are welcoming them, but also creating a new family structure with them. Together we'll form a unit this year. Or at least I hope so.
In any case, my chocolate chocolate chip muffins awaiting them for snacks yesterday afternoon were a hit. And my lasagna was much appreciated as well. Tonight, perhaps a simple quiche?
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