The kitchen was huge, an enormous stove in one corner, our large table looking out on the grand courtyard off the horse stables (an aside, I didn’t realise at the time but in my horse photo, the other horse and driver were blocked out by the other). Another table was by the stove. In between there was yet another table for our hosts’ children and grandchild.
The hosts joined us for dinner and English was the chosen language. Their horses were used to take visitors on carriage rides. They had learnt to kayak so they also took people on kayak rides on a variety of rivers around La Somme, a name synonymous with all those battles and resultant graveyards. People like us stayed with them as well.
Over our huge dinner of special cheese pie, chicken and beans with mushroom sauce, lovely apple pie, we drank local beer and red wine. He said that white wine and champagne was the main choice of those in the north, while red was preferred in the south. Though she cooked our dinner with wine, they (in the north), mostly used beer.
We talked about the ubiquitous barking dogs, who apparently were there for a purpose. It goes back to, I think, the 18th century, when the Spanish were causing trouble in France. The locals saw a need to protect themselves, thus one of the many useful roles of our walking poles. Their dog, like Jamila’s dog yesterday, after initially appearing as though they want to eat you, become very friendly, nuzzling up.
Lilly arrived and leant on the glass door, wanting to come inside and not just to see us. It so happens that cats appear in the horse stables for an evening meal of rats and mice. She doesn’t like cats, but instead of having cat stew, her appearance was for other delicacies. We did have more in depth discussions however, talking about a wait and see approach to whether Macron can deliver on his promises; why the predominantly older French people have some misgivings about the English; and the Germans’ response to the French when challenged about the war – very interesting but not for this blog.
Our persistent companion met us at the door, left us for a while as the trees and houses blocked it’s way, joined us on open plains, sometimes coming from the side, meeting us at the front and then helping us along as we turned corners. It’s other companions continue on their multiple cycles, while unusually, the fine recently ploughed soil between the fields of yellow and green, doesn’t seemed to be moved at all by it.
In Australia, it causes huge dust storms, carrying soil sometimes from one state to another. But today here in the region of Haut de France, the region stretching all the way from the coast of Calais and hosting our presence, it is more of a cooling agent as the days get warmer, and the paths have less shade.
Crossing the river Somme once more, it is a “chalet” by a small tributary of the Somme that is calling us, a quiet camping ground with no barking dogs, just blackbirds.

Our little Chalet