Critters

You have to click on this photo to get the full effect of a field of donkies. They live not far from us, on the main road to Tertre. We see lots of farms and farmettes with one or two donkies but not usually this many. I have to wonder why one has donkies, and especially why this many.

On another critter subject, 'tis the season for babies. I've already shown you our baby goat neighbors, who are growing and getting fat (but still cute as can be). We've also seen several sets of new lambs along our walking routes. Once the cows come out we'll probably see new calves too. Never a country-loving girl (I much prefer the suburbs and Target), I nevertheless delight in seeing all these new babies arriving around me.

Sarah thinks this means I need a pet. Hmm...going home next year...

Kitchen centerpiece

This is my friteuse, or deep-fat fryer. Note that it's built in. I've been using it since we got here to make french fries (frites), but I've been cheating and buying frozen fries. Last night, though, I made fresh frites, using Belgian potatoes labeled as special for frites.

Frites are a very big deal in Belgium, which is probably where they originated. While there is another story that they were invented in Paris, that's probably just the French being French. (One of my junior year abroad French friends once claimed that turkeys were French.) Interestingly, though, even most of the French credit Belgium with having invented the frite. The french in french fries was probably a reference to the way they're cut into long thin strips, known as frenching. It was originally frenched fries and simplified into french fries, just like iced tea is now ice tea and tossed salad is becoming toss salad and cole slaw is…well cole was always cole slaw.

Armistice Day

I promised this shot a while back. It's our village's memorial to the Great War. It sits on the Grand' Place and is decked out for 11 November. The names of everyone in the village who died in that war are carved into the sides, including the poor guy who died the summer after the armistice. Gustave was a very popular name for boys in the 1890s.

Belgium had it rough during this war (the second war wasn't much better). Not only was a significant portion of the front on Belgian soil, but the Germans were playing by old-school rules: to the victor the spoils. They took everything of value, packing up whole factories--roofs, walls, machinery. But what goes around comes around: Belgium was an exceedingly wealthy country before the war in large measure because it was taking everything of value out of the Congo (Kinshasa).

The flags, left to right, are Wallonia, Belgium, and Saint-Ghislain.

My new best friend

I've been spending a lot of time with the plumber lately, as he chases the source of a big wet spot in the garage. He and I are about to conclude that it's just water oozing up though a weak or thin spot in the concrete slab. We're actually below the water level of the canal, and you can't walk in our yard without wellies until about May. You may remember the first lawn mowing last year.

The slogan on the side of the plumber's van says, complete with Belgian accent, "Who's there? It's the plumber." Only it rhymes in French. If you're not interested in a brief linguistic discourse, stop reading now.

"Qui c'est?" is the Belgicism. The French would say, "Qui est-ce? meaning "Who is it?" The Belgian is more like "Who's that?" And l'plombier, rather than the complete and written (in both Belgium and France) le plombier, is how it's actually pronounced--in both Belgium and France. So the rhyme sounds like ki say? say luh plohmbee-ay. Hilarious, n'est-ce pas?

And then there were four

Those of you who have been here know that our neighbors have goats. David, being the country boy he is, realized that the black goat is a female and the spotted one a male.

We hadn't seen the goats for a few weeks and hoped that didn't bode ill for the animals. Those of you who have been here know why we were concerned. But a couple weeks ago we walked by and noticed the two new additions. They are about the cutest thing ever and are very attached to Momma. Yesterday Momma and Papa came running over to the fence - accompanied by the babies - and I even got to pet Papa.

More like it

Now this is the way to do a steeple. It's ours here in Hautrage. It's nice and straight, unlike that raggedy butt ol' thing built by those…those…crooked-steeple builders in Pommerœul. Although it has its uses. Rachel and Stephan navigated their way home from a bike ride using the crooked steeple as a reference point.

I wrote the paragraph above months ago but for some reason never got around to posting it. It probably just dropped below the horizon of the computer screen, at which point things cease to exist in the 21st century. I was reminded to come back to it when Rita saw a notice in one of our community newspapers for a nature walk (a little boost for the authentic voice of the people for you there, Marge). The walk was to begin in Pommerœul at the clocher penché--the leaning steeple. Obviously we aren't the only ones to have noticed. I figure we don't even need to go to Pisa. We've got the leaning tower of Pommerœul

There IS a difference

Ever since we got here I've been telling people that Belgian chocolate is so superior to US chocolate that you can't distinguish between good Belgian chocolate and bad Belgian chocolate. I've discovered that's not true.

We spent Valentine's Day weekend in Bruges, where there is a chocolatier on every corner and some in between too. Several of them were advertising a kilo of chocolate for from 12 to 15 euros. We thought, "Wow, what a deal!" So we bought some of the sale chocolate - but fortunately not a kilo of it! It's not that it's bad; it's just...well, tasteless. It's missing that rich, dark chocolaty taste and rich full butterfat sensation that give dark chocolate its mood-enhancing qualities. 

It being Valentine's Day and all, we (ok, I) needed some REAL chocolate. So we went to the Leonidas and bought another box. Heaven.