Glass Half Full

by Caro Feely

  He looked like he could have uttered the French term 'bouche bée' ('mouth wide open') as he took his order off the counter. I felt like running round and giving Valérie a pat on the back but my daughters found me embarrassing enough so instead I gave her a wide smile, ordered my cheese and yoghurt and quietly moved on to make space for the next person.

  Valérie probably had stats at her fingertips like I had for wine, including studies showing that artisan organic milk like hers had up to 50 per cent more vitamin E, 75 per cent more beta-carotene and 70 per cent more omega-3 fatty acids than conventional milk. It also had more than double the amount of certain antioxidants, like those that keep your eyes healthy as you age. It wasn't only that you weren't getting the bad things like wormicide, herbicide and antibiotics; you were getting a product naturally packed with good things.

  The number of organic stalls had grown over the years but it was still relatively low. Based on a quick stall count I estimated less than five per cent. For the average person there was little awareness of what organic meant and why it was worth seeking it out. As producers we knew why so deeply that we only ate organic food. We knew that our health was too precious to compromise on what went into our bodies. We didn't have the latest mobile phone and we shared one old car but we only ate organic.

  A few stalls on was our egg producer. I still didn't know her name but I could tell she recognised my face. She and her partner also grew organic vegetables and produced home-made pasta, including one that was a delightful shade of green thanks to a dose of stinging nettles. It tasted so good – with salad and a little olive oil and garlic, it was a meal in itself.

  Stinging nettle was a plant we used in biodynamics. The Latin name of 'nettle' is urtica, from urere, to burn or scorch, because of how it burns or stings when you touch it. We had masses of it on the farm. I loved nettle soup but we also dried the leaves to use as a tea for the vines. Sprayed on the leaves it acted as a mild antifungal. Macerated fresh, the leaves could be used as a fertiliser or a compost spray. The leaves are high in nitrogen and contain magnesium, sulphur and iron, thus are a good compost activator too.

  Loaded with our shopping, bulked up with stinging-nettle pasta and eggs, we walked down the cobbled streets of old Bergerac to the pedestrianised lane that held the Victoria. An olde English-style metal sign hanging on a gold chain announced the location of the tiny café wedged in above a tea shop. The French couple that ran it were tea fanatics.

  Inside, the cramped space was like a Harry Potter film set except that instead of magic sweets or sorcery books there was tea and every type of tea accessory you could imagine. The wooden beams were hung with hooks carrying mugs; the walls were lined with shelves crammed to bursting with teacups, pots, caddies and related decor. Display cabinets filled the floor space save for a skinny corridor that passed by the sales counter and went up a steep set of wooden stairs to the cosy teahouse. Deep armchairs and tea tables lined the outer walls, and bistro-style tables and chairs filled the middle. The walls were hung with English-style memorabilia of horses, rugby and gardening. Ellie and Sophia made for the armchairs closest to the window.

  'Luxury!' I said, taking the bistro chair that was left.

  'On est bien la, hnn,' said Ellie, looking smug and sounding so French.

  Monsieur Victoria appeared and handed us the menus. 'On special today we have tiramisu and black forest cake.'

  'It is a special day alors,' I said. 'Sophia and Ellie love tiramisu.'

  'Hot chocolate and tiramisu please,' said Sophia.

  'The same,' said Ellie.

  'Please,' I said.

  'Please,' added Ellie.

  'Organic Earl Grey tea and scones for me please,' I said.

  Monsieur Victoria thanked us and whisked himself away, swishing behind the pink cotton curtain that marked the entrance to the small galley kitchen where they worked their wonders.

  I tried to inculcate in my daughters how important it was to say 'please' and 'thank you' and to take time to be grateful each day, but sometimes it felt like a losing battle.

  'I'll have to give you punishment like I had at boarding school,' I said. 'Early rising. That was getting up at five thirty to do an hour of hardcore exercise before the school day. We had to run so much that some kids would vomit. We were so stiff the following day we could barely walk up the stairs.'

  'Ha ha,' said Ellie.

  'You laugh. But if you don't remember to be gentille then I'll have to start doing that. There'll be a double benefit because you won't forget your manners and you'll get fit.'

  'Oh, Mum, that was of your days. Of our days we don't do things like that,' said Sophia, using her own special English expression 'that was of your days' based on the French 'de nos jours'.

  'But we should,' I said, barrelling ahead. 'And I think we need a six-day week like we had – a full work week with a half day on Saturday. None of this four-day week nonsense.'

  A look of horror spread across their faces. I burst out laughing and they did too.

  Monsieur Victoria swooshed back to our table with a tray loaded with goodies.

  'A hot chocolate and tiramisu for mademoiselle, a hot chocolate and tiramisu for the other mademoiselle and the Earl Grey and scone for Madame.'

  'Thank you,' I said.

  'Thank you,' chimed Sophia and Ellie, clearly frightened by the threat of early rising.

  'C'est moi. Bon appetit,' he said.

  The term 'c'est moi' directly translated as 'it's me', a short way of saying 'it's me that thanks you'.

  I took a sip of Earl Grey and a bite of my scone with jam and cream. I was not like many of my daughters' friends' mums, who were into clothes, make-up, city living and things like shopping. I was into walking, farming, wine and the outdoors. I had to find things for us to enjoy together without doing what I didn't like or what they didn't like. Before we knew it they would be grown up and gone.

  'Yum,' I said and took another bite of scone loaded with jam and cream.

  'You have cream just there,' said Sophia, pointing to a glob of cream on my top lip.

  'Thanks,' I said, wiping it away. 'Thinking of school days, wouldn't it be great to go to South Africa?'

  'Oh yes!' said Sophia.

  'So good,' said Ellie.

  'So long as there's no "early rising" there,' said Sophia. She frowned then laughed.

  'When can we go?' said Ellie.

  'I don't know. It depends on how quickly we can save enough money,' I said. 'We'll have to work towards it. It means saving our money instead of going shopping and having fancy cream teas.'

  They looked crestfallen.

  'It will be worth it,' I promised.

  It was 12 years since I had been back to South Africa, the land of the first 27 years of my life. Sophia and Ellie had never visited it. We had been so focused on our farm and so financially stretched that a trip had not entered my head. Now, as I thought about it, I felt a wave of homesickness, of missing South Africa, a feeling I had kept at bay by necessity. I added the cost of flights to my long list of budget priorities. For the balance of our lives, for our daughters to know their roots, to see Seán's parents, for so many reasons, we had to go.

  We had become a Demeter certified biodynamic farm and with that certification came the obligation to have animals. Demeter is the largest biodynamic certification body in the world. They ensure that products that carry their logo and the 'certified biodynamic' label meet the rigorous standards of biodynamic farming and production. We knew we would continue to keep chickens but not as free as they had been. A reckless chicken had trashed the tasting-room table the previous year, smashing glasses and creating mayhem. They were so friendly they left their manure gifts near the front door and on the terraces of the gîtes and the tasting room. A wine-tasting experience that included the stink of chicken poo was not one that we wanted. We had to rethink our chickens.

  If we couldn't control a few chickens, considering more animals didn't seem like a great idea but i
t didn't stop us visiting Château Brandeau, the vineyard in Castillon. They had been mowing their vines with sheep for decades. I loved the idea of a closed circuit where the sheep ate the grass and returned the manure to the fields as they browsed – and gave us meat in the process. But we were frightened by the extra responsibility and bureaucracy animals would bring. Already it was difficult to get away. If we had farm animals it would be even more so.

  Château Brandeau was in a small valley bowl nestled against the plateau of Castillon. The final stretch up to the farm was a swathe of rolling hills filled with vines and patches of forest. In the gravelled entrance a black deux chevaux Citroën added a touch of French cachet to the natural beauty. Alongside the parking area a lean-to shed packed with farming equipment rested on a limestone cliff, and on the opposite side an old farmhouse with climbing roses and a brand-new winery smacked contrasting facades uncomfortably together.

  A tall solid man with shoulder-length white hair stepped out of the front door and crossed the gravel.

  'Fearn,' he said, stretching out his hand.

  'Andrea,' said a wiry, strawberry blonde, a few steps behind him.

  'Caro, enchanté,' I said, shaking hands. 'Thank you so much for inviting us. Your farm is beautiful.'

  'It's home,' said Andrea after greeting us. 'Perhaps we should start outside and then visit the new winery before we have tea.'

  She looked at our footwear somewhat dubiously. 'I have some spare boots.'

  She and Fearn were well shod for the season, sporting serious wellingtons. Seán was the only one on our team with the right equipment; I felt like a right 'townie', the name country kids gave to city kids when I was growing up. Andrea headed inside for extra wellies.

  'A fire took out the winery two years ago,' said Fearn, noticing that we were looking at the modern winery building. 'We were lucky we didn't lose the house and the insurance paid for this new, better insulated version.'

  'How frightening,' I said.

  'It was.' A look crossed his face that said he wouldn't enjoy stirring up the memory.

  Andrea returned with boots and we pulled them on. She went back inside and came out again with two wine bottles fitted with teats.

  'To feed the lambs,' she said, seeing our questioning looks.

  'All ready?' said Fearn.

  We nodded.

  'Alors, let's go!'

  We followed him down the muddy track with Ellie staggering after us in boots five sizes too big.

  'You were asking about the administrative part of the livestock,' said Fearn. 'We went the simple route. We keep the sheep to mow the grass but we don't sell the meat. We have to declare them but the administration is relatively light. If we wanted to sell them as organic meat there would be a lot more hoops to jump through.'

  'That's what we were worried about,' said Seán.

  I left the two men talking and pulled back to help Ellie, who was trailing a way behind. Andrea drew back too.

  'Don't worry, Ellie, it isn't far,' she said. 'You'll see. And it'll be worth it. There are new lambs.'

  We passed through a wide farm gate into a vineyard enclosed by brush and forest. I spied the sheep at the top end and pointed them out to Ellie. Some had already seen us and were running down the hill, their long tails flapping. In the group were two black lambs with white faces and a touch of white on their tails.

  'I'll show you how to feed them then you can do it yourselves. OK?' said Andrea to Sophia and Ellie.

  They were a little scared at first. They had never been this close to sheep before. I felt as if I were in a time warp – growing up, my favourite pet was an orphan lamb called Mini, shortened to Min. She was born premature and at night my grandmother woke up to feed her with an eyedropper every couple of hours. Min made it against the odds. She would hear my voice when I returned home from school and race across the paddocks and cry, 'Maaa maaaaa' at the gate until I came and let her out to be with me. She was closer to me than my dog.

  'They are so cute,' said Sophia as the lamb sucked on the bottle she was holding.

  'I want one, Mummy,' said Ellie.

  'They are very cute, my kiddies. But if we get sheep they have to pay for themselves. They would mow the grass and we would eat them.'

  'Never!' said Sophia.

  'No way!' said Ellie.

  'Well, you do need to find a use for the excess rams and eating them is a good solution,' said Andrea. 'Officially we don't eat ours – they die of natural causes. They're only here to mow the grass and they do it very well.'

  Andrea was a wise woman. She didn't talk a lot, and when she did you listened.

  'It's getting cold. Would you girls like to see the horses before we go in for tea?' she said.

  'Yes please!' said Sophia and Ellie in unison.

  I was pleased to see my lesson in politesse at the Victoria Café was paying off.

  'Fearn, you show Seán and Caro the new winery and I'll take Sophia and Ellie via the horses,' said Andrea, leading the way back out of the gate. Sophia and Ellie happily followed. Usually they would have been shy of someone they had just met but Andrea was already their friend.

  Leaving them with the horses, I caught up with Seán and Fearn in the new winery. It was a dramatic contrast to the rest of the farm. The clinical, square space housed large, stainless steel tanks and an upper level of two drywall offices and a washroom.

  'It's easier to keep things clean in this new space,' said Fearn. 'The last vintage was great. Perhaps the best we ever made.'

  He moved along and led the way out. We passed from the modern block into the house through a narrow stone passage that seemed as old as time. We popped out into a warm, aromafilled living room with large oak beams overhead.

  Andrea was making tea. Sophia and Ellie sat on a brown sofa next to a wood-fired stove, stroking a cat. I felt like a time traveller. Fearn invited us to sit and I sank into a deep threadbare chair near the fire. It felt snug as a hug. The large open-plan kitchen, dining area and lounge oozed comfort. It was ancient and loved. Andrea cut into a loaf of freshly baked banana bread and the aroma spread through the room, adding another layer of comfort.

  Fearn and Seán talked about farming while the girls continued to stroke the cat and I joined Andrea at the well-worn counter.

  'When we started nearly thirty years ago we quickly realised we had to find another income. The farm couldn't support both of us. I ended up having to teach to make ends meet.'

  'I know the feeling,' I said. 'That's what led us into the tourism activities we offer but for me it was a lifesaver. After being an IT consultant and project manager, being a lonely farmer's wife in rural Dordogne was a culture shock. The wine school saved my sanity.'

  'I can see that,' said Andrea as she passed me a cup of steaming tea and a plate of fragrant bread.

  'We did it for necessity but I love being with people and running workshops so it was the perfect fit,' I said.

  'Not like me. I didn't really want to teach. I wanted to be in the vineyard. I spend all my spare time with the vines. I love it. I can't wait for next year when I retire so I can be back in the vines full-time.'

  'Gosh, Andrea, it seems unfair that you couldn't do that and pursue your passion. It's a tough wine market.'

  'Hmm, and it hasn't got any easier. Our costs have gone up every year but the price we are paid has often gone down. I'm thankful I did the teaching so I'm guaranteed a better retirement than a farmer. But I still can't wait to stop and get back to the vines.'

  We handed out tea and bread then settled around the fire.

  'So you're going to get some sheep then?' said Fearn.

  'Perhaps in a year or two,' said Seán. 'I'm not sure we're ready.'

  'Just dive in and do it the way we do,' said Andrea.

  'You're probably right, Andrea, but we're saving for a dream holiday to South Africa. To make it worthwhile we need to be away at least three weeks. Until we've done that trip we don't want to have more animals to worry about�
� And the trip isn't going to happen tomorrow.'

  'I see. Well, it is possible to get an automatic water trough filler and if they're out on pasture in a secure enclosure you could leave them for a couple of days, but not three weeks. But for so long you'll need to get a house-sitter to keep an eye on the place, won't you?'

  'Hmm, I hadn't thought of that,' I said, realising that it wasn't just money that needed to be saved for our trip to come to fruition.

  When we said our farewells I felt like we knew Fearn and Andrea well even though we had only shared a couple of hours with them. We felt deeply satisfied: a corporeal satisfaction thanks to our bellies full of banana bread; a 'thinking being' satisfaction thanks to another key piece of research for biodiversity on the farm; and, above all, a satisfaction of the spirit for the richness of the interaction with this peaceful couple.