“ Conchita, Esmeraldo, Esperanza, Pedro, Carlo… “ rang out across the evening air. Hearing this slightly Spanish sounding high pitched voice bounce back at me was most surreal. My god that was me. I am actually standing in the middle of a field on a farm in SW France calling in llamas. For a moment it felt like a weird dream. It had been a busy day getting accustomed to all the various animals and the running of the farm and then to top it off a visit from the farmer who pastures his horses in the fields across the road. He lives in the next village and comes each afternoon to feed them. I had checked out the setup earlier after hearing lots of commotion coming from over there. Squealing and thundering hoofs. I knew these sounds. One was trying to mount another and lots of kicking and running was going on. I walked over to check and yep! one was a randy young stallion that was running with three mares. Praying they don’t break out. The lack of fencing alarmed me. Just a few strands of sagging electric fence between spindly looking posts. I just pray that my mares here don’t come into heat..not on my watch anyway. I hadn’t expected to have an encounter so soon with the farmer but here he was standing at my doorway, lips moving so fast, of course in French, blatantly showing no patience for my blank look and parlez vous anglias? No speak Francais. With hand gestures I said just a minute and ran into the house for my translation book. Spending a few minutes to find it, heading back towards the door I hear a loud vibrating noise quickly getting louder, closer. He is coming through my gate on his archaic tractor chugging out white smoke with an offensive burning smell. The dogs are barking like mad, the pony trotting around, tail up in the air. She is lame so right now she has restricted turnout which is around the house. The llamas have cantered across the field to see what is happening. I am screaming STOP then I remember ARRET ramming my raised hand towards him to wait while I put the dogs, pony and goat away. He seemed oblivious of the pandemonium  he had caused or else didn’t care. I could almost see it playing out – second day on the job and animals are out on the road. Pony, goat and dogs bolting off. The drivers are crazy here and I am on an approaching bend on a very narrow country road. Thankfully he stopped, not looking amused, while I darted around sorting out the animals. I must write down some relevant french phrases and be more prepared for next time he comes for hay.

It is very quiet and dark here at night. No street lights. Starry night sky. Far away in this rustic french farmhouse with not a light or soul in sight I am struck with intense emotion. Feel very lost. I am where no one knows of me. This part is good. I am completely alone for the first time in a foreign country. No longer with my Mum who had been with me while housesitting in Ireland. This Mum is a person who feels that she is owed, the world owes her for the bad hand she has been dealt in life. Her son has died and now her grandson has died. Nothing else. Nothing more. It made for a challenging time. Now I am free to just be with whatever arises. No judging or comparing. There is a slightly daunting sobering sense of relief about that.

I am mesmerized with the colours here. The scenery on the way home from Bergerac airport was very pleasing and calming to the senses. A peaceful warm palate of earthy buttery tones. Cream coloured houses with orangey caramel tiled roofs. Gardens still in bloom…roses draping over stone walls…wisteria, ivy. Twisty narrow roads climbing up steeply and dipping down on the other side into the most beautiful fertile valleys- greens, browns, the rich soil recently tilled with tidy small farms dotted about. At each road intersection there is a cluster of little white signs with French names written in black. These are the houses. They have names not numbers. My house’s name is JEANTOUNET. Has a romantic sound to it. I feel like this could be in a french story or movie. Vineyards are all over the place, precise straight rows….yellow and red rich colours highlighted in the autumn light. This is wine country the home owner tells me…the greatest wine region in the world. Apparently it is very cheap..2-3 euros for a decent bottle. This is good! Tomorrow I am going on my first outing to the supermarket in the nearest town of Marmande. I am a little intimidatated with the task but am relying on my translation book, food chapter marked with a book mark for easy reference. I am back on the right side of the road now driving a new peppy citroen. One of the many gadgets is a camera and sensor that beeps if anything is close to the rear and also to my sides. This gives me some comfort having an extra pair of eyes as I head out onto the roads, the roundabouts, joining the fast french drivers.  In this new life of mine, whenever I am spooked/ stressed/ anxious about a situation I try to remind myself that here I am , I am surviving the unimaginable despite the most horrible feeling inside of me. When the worst thing that could happen has happened, the death of one of my children, and miraculously I am still here, then everything else pales in comparison.

Before the homeowner left she had invited several people over for drinks in order to meet me. A woman that was seated across the table from me has just phoned and asked me to go to the local market with her on Friday. How generous of her. Little did I know at the time but this was the start to an amazing friendship, a sense of family.