What came first- the chickens or the blog?

Three French hens, two noisy turkeys, and a …..tiger in a pear tree?

on August 19, 2012



Just back all fresh and rested from a week in the French Alps. There is something very restorative about al fresco meals, long walks and seven days of wall to wall sunshine. Also a lack of Internet for phones, iPads and laptops. Lots of board games, deep and meaningful conversations and sporting competitions among family members. Not a bit of it. Evenings were spent by Mr Gillybirds watching the Olympics and for the younger folk, a complete 2 series of How I met your mother on DVD (a whopping 44 episodes). I sewed and read two uplifting books. And occasionally woke myself with an overly loud snore. Holidays are hard work.
Our own feathered ladies were left in the excellent care of oldest son and carried on laying as well as they have been. He even baked a welcome home cake and tidied the house to celebrate our return.
A couple of steep turns in the road up from our chalet is “ferme de Caroline”. Mme Caroline is a very enterprising lady who keeps cattle, goats and poultry, and has a sweet little farm shop open 3 hours a day selling hone produced cheese,eggs, honey and jams. We had some delicious goat cheese which the younger folk thought was best eaten before without smelling it.
It was nice to see some genuine French brown hens, just like my own, and there were some cute grey hens, ducks, and two really noisy turkeys.



Amazingly although it was only 7pm, the sun was splitting the sky, Mme Caroline was putting the birds to bed! There was a great deal of flapping and fuss. My girls don’t head to bed until darkness, which sadly is getting earlier and earlier as the year turns on, but is still after 9pm.
On another of our long hikes we came across a farm with hens and donkeys, I love donkeys. The hens were so nosey they came over to check us out. French hens make the same clucks and sounds as Irish ones!
We had lunch in our local “goat village”. Armed with a bag of goat food you can be overwhelmed quickly by these perpetually hungry ruminants, Mr G’s t shirt was nibbled, number four son bonded with one particular wee goat, I tried to avoid treading in the abundance of goat droppings.
And the tiger…well, number two son turned 18 and received the gift of a tiger “onesie”. The perfect outfit for watching 44 episodes in 6 days.





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