It was necessary to climb across a meadow overrun by brambles in order to arrive at the large house. When we had untangled the barbed wire which held the old door shut, we were able to go into a darkness which seemed like the blackness of a chimney. The planks of the ceiling tilted. Generations of worms had almost succeeded in transforming it into dust. There were holes in the boards and we could see into the room above. In the corner there was a pile of paper, which began the slow descend towards the cellar.

Then we climbed up a steep, narrow staircase to the first floor. We entered a large room where the walls were blackened with the smoke of years gone by hit, which was suddenly Illuminated by a shaft of light which came through the two dilapidated shutters. In the corner there was a large old bed. Its mattress was stained by rain which had found its way through the roof slates. Under the bed there was a pile of papers which we began to gather in order to examine them more closely.

We found a packet of letters, Requisition Bonds from the First World War, and some extracts from legal documents and deeds. We searched through everything. We discovered names: Alexina Dubuc, Jean-Marie or Joseph, known as 'Le Pourtérés'.

We found out later that in this region each house has a name. When referring to people it is usual to name them after their house because, often, members of the same family carry the same prename and surname. In this way there was no need to revise the deeds of inheritance purposes.

After being deserted for two generations the house seemed to be crying out for deliverance 'save me from this fate'. We should not prolong its agony. We put all the papers and photos into a box to attend to later.

And so we began….

There were 22 hectares of land which needed to be cleared of its thick covering of ferns and brambles. The house must be made habitable without delay for ourselves and our two children. Our first animals were bought immediately.

One lovely afternoon, an old lady climbed up to pay us a visit. She had retired from service with the Post Office. She was 75 years old and had often spent her holidays around here with her grandparents. She had grown up in Paris where her mother entrusted her to the care of somebody who had no children of her own. Her mother had left for America soon after, where she married a candle maker. Her aunt read aloud the letters which arrived from time to time and she also wrote the replies as she was the only one able to write. At this time there was much work, and the sons were kept at home because their labour was needed. It was the daughter who went to school or to catechism classes.

Her grandfather who had gone blind, finished his days in an institution. At home, there was nobody left to look after him. Wars and illness had killed off many people and, furthermore the old man had made his sons swear that they would never marry. And, at that time, one obeyed.

A short time before the grandfather died a cattle dealer came to him and persuaded him into putting his cross at the bottom of a document which he was unable to read. Thus it came about that the farm became the property of the dealer. The dealer put some of his animals there in order to economise on the expense of the grazing or maybe to hide them, since their origins did not bear scrutiny. This dealer had, so they say, a 'hen' who liked to scratch……certainly the money from others!

So the farm, already quite run-down, had found a new owner at the cost of 5000 Francs or twenty ewes, as confirmed by some of the older residents of the village.

Time passed quickly until, one day, the 'good lady' decided to place it all in the hands of an estate agent in order to finance her retirement. Following the Renault of the agent on a track which seemed more to be a river bed we arrived at the end of the track. It was now necessary to continue on foot.

The estate agent had chosen a good moment. Everything was bathed in the rays of the sunset. Beside the house there were cows almost up to their knees in sludge. At least there must be water somewhere!

My wife and the two children had stayed in the meadow in front of the house and I climbed up the side. The higher I went the more beautiful it became. When I finally reached the top, breathless, I observed the mountain tops and wooden valleys in the vicinity, dotted with the clearings of meadows. The forests were ablaze with autumn colours and the peaks carried a covering of the first snows of winter.

I had fallen for the charms of the place and felt great happiness. I had fallen in love with it. Furthermore, I had found some mushrooms in the brambles and heather. We ate them, that evening, in our small caravan at Luzenac.

It was necessary to begin work everywhere at once. There was no road. Materials were carried up using a which with 300 m of cable and a wagon guided by a person. We needed to start up the motor mower, changed by the addition of tackle, into a winch. One needed to hold on very strongly to the guide handle in order not to reverse the load.

Sometimes people visited us. They told us of other Germans who had settled in other valleys. So, we were not the only foreigners. There was a wave of hippies, of 'neo-ruraux', as we were called.

The first cows were bought at the cattle fair in Saint-Girons. The fox who gobbled the guinea fowl. The cows who used the geese as pillows…..the ducks who went down to the river and found themselves snatched by some 'merciful' neighbours….the goats who scaled Moussaou…

Twenty five years of apprenticeship had begun. Everything had to be done and sometimes re-done. Little by little we tamed the wilderness by enclosure, cutting and fertilising.

In the beginning we wanted to do all by hand. We had only a second-hand motor mower and a horse. Now we have an abundance of machinery. We noticed that the 'simple life' is sometimes very complicated.

Time is not counted in hours. The year is the unit. It is in this rhythm that everything repeats itself or changes. We wish to live in harmony with the land, with the animals and with nature. Nature has taught us to perceive things in a different way. It is possible to live with the land with the animals and with nature. But it is necessary to re-enter the 'grand jeu', to be a participant and not a spectator.

The neighbours opposite, who spied on all our movements with their binoculars, reported that we had transformed the land. But, in truth, it was the land which had changed us, which had helped us to become ourselves and to find our place in the great cosmos.

We began to make cheese. Somebody sold us some old beehives. We displayed for sale the produce from 'Pourtérés'. We sold at the local markets.

The first gîte was built from a ruin behind the farm. People had come to share in the farming life with us .We had revived the work there which had been abandoned by our predecessors forty years earlier.

During our third year Lucie was born, the first birth at Las Piasseres for sixty years. Eliane, the midwife, who was the good angel for all the 'neo' babies arrived on foot, as her car was blocked by snow.

Since then the children have grown up and gone their way. Grandchildren have arrived. 'Le Pourtérés' has become a meeting place - meetings with people, but also with nature. Those who have been shown it once, come back again.

Here one is close to the source. Here one can hear, once again, the silence.

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