Deep in a quaint hamlet in the region of Dordogne, centered on the Dordogne River, an English woman named Kathy sits at her desk in a loft above the kitchen of her 1740s French farmhouse. Her Internet travels take her to places like Bayou Country in south Louisiana, and eventually to this blog via my…
It’s fig-picking time down the bayou, and as the comments on the fig recipe post show, lots of other places, too. So, guess what I’ve been doing? So far, I think we’ve picked about five gallons off the tree, about that many have hit the ground during the torrential rains, and about that many have…
This morning, I rushed to the fig tree to see if there were any left for me. While picking yesterday morning, my crazy neighbor from the back street called my cell phone and told me how good my figs are. Say what? Between him and the birds, there might not be enough to make my…
It’s that time again . . . The figs are ripe up at Camp Dularge and I am battling the birds for them. I’m sure the guests in the camp thought I was crazy this morning while I was picking figs. I was fussing at the birds to stay up in the top of the…
Living in the lap of luxury at LilSis’ home, with electricity, TV, and high-speed internet has me spoiled and feeling somewhat guilty, since many of my friends are stuck in homes off the grid with generators running their box fans and refrigerators–local stores closed until further notice. And so as not to feel like a…