Features
Milking goats in Normandy
Having a very limited grasp of the French language, and no experience with either goats or cheese my first two weeks spent WWOOFing at a goat cheese farm in Northern France was, to say the least, challenging. As washing up however is quite a universal activity any misunderstandings were short-lived.
We agreed, on my arrival, on a trial period of one week and I was to find that this arrangement is (although somewhat less formal at other places) employed by many hosts. The important thing is that it applies equally to both WWOOFer and host as neither is under any (formal) obligation. After seven exhausting days of living in cheese I became a fully fledged member of the operation and despite the hard work, I felt that I could manage another week at the farm as it was good craic and, as it happened, I had nowhere else to go.
Nonetheless these two weeks were not without further debate. As is the case with such an open arrangement as WWOOF people can easily feel exploited and it is a good idea to be clear (without resorting to being a control freak) about what is expected. The arrangement can be easily mediated between willing and open parties. Here it was very much a team effort and pre-debate, there were no 'hours' as such. Post-debate however, we agreed on six "effective" hours, five days per week.
During my stay I was provided with a small caravan at the end of the garden, where I slept until an unidentified visitor turned up in the dead of night wandering (stomping) around in search of, to this day I know not what. So despite the rain, I re-located, pitching my tent a little closer to the house where I was no longer disturbed!
Cheesed off
This was very important as sleep was precious. Every morning we began at 7.30 at which time I set up the machine and begin milking the goats. Meanwhile the host wandered across the fields to find the cows and return with them to be milked also. Though the milking took less than an hour the washing-up that it generated each time did not, to my eyes, make the machine a particularly labour saving method.
The goats' milk was made into soft cheeses which I strained, turned, and salted before another round of washing up. When I was given charge of the whole milking operation after just a few days at the farm there appeared to be an extra goat on stage. Nevertheless the show had to go on and so, despite some confusion among the players who were generally impressively co-operative, I couldn't identify the infiltrator and so, milked them all.
Fattening on the discarded whey was a rowdy group of bonhams. My four years of university did not stand to me when struggling to push a wheelbarrow full of milky slops to the top of a very steep hill where their trough was stationed. My intention of getting most of it in to the trough by throwing it over a single strand of sagging electric wire was not aided by the assault of four unruly pigs well aware of the erratic nature of the power supply.
I was not much surprised therefore to hear that my own personal project (whenever I squeezed a minute out of thin air) would be to re-erect and extend this fence. This was not to be a straightforward task on a slope of 45 degrees. The main part of the farm takes in a tiny valley the sides of which are overgrown with woods and bush wherein the bonhams dwelled. As it had been raining incessantly since I arrived, I was driven to borrowing an oversized pair of wellies with which to accomplish the task. More than once that I dragged myself back up the slope after tripping or slipping on some unmerciful creeper lying in wait under a mudslide. For anyone looking to get fit, forget the gym, go WWOOFing - if you can resist gorging on the good food.
General chaos
In this case, the 'animal farm' was partnered with a 'community permaculture garden' around the corner so there was a constant supply of weeding available to the WWOOFer. Added to this honour of course was the luxury of having plenty of fresh weird and wonderful vegetables and herbs to accompany the meat, cheese and milk.
Cooking at the farm was done on a (quite irregular) rota basis as, although one could never be sure how many people would be present, it was certain that there would be more than were ordinarily resident.
During my stay there were three other WWOOFer's who worked in the garden, plus a variety of characters of whose purpose I never fully discerned. One evening I was presented and abandoned with a bag of pigeons which I prepared by pure instinct having little experience of evisceration.
The general chaos and pace of life at the farm was excused by the anticipated 'fete de bien-etre' (fair of well being) which I arrived in the midst of the preparations for. This is a project still in its infancy which invited the public to the farm, in particular the garden, for a day of information, demonstrations, music, food, drink, relaxation, massages, even cinema. In preparation for this event it was all hands on deck for the construction of a basic compost toilet, and the assembly of a yurt which although claimed to require only two people and half an hour, in fact demanded about ten chiefs, a severe lack of Indians and half the day.
Seasonal celebrations
I found it a more relaxing experience spending one evening under the open sky to celebrate the summer solstice. Undeterred by the increasing drizzle and gradual dimming of light rather than the spectacular sunset which would have been ideal, we sat, meditating, in a circle of incense, didgeridoo music and Tibetan chants until it was too cold and wet to appreciate the beauty of the universe and hot whiskeys were called for!
At the weekends the WWOOFers were left up to their own devices so together we went hitchhiking around the bay. Hitching in France seems to be quite popular so we had no problem getting lifts to and from the beaches. On my second weekend I took a guided tour across the bay to visit the Mont Saint Michel where wading through freezing currents on a bed of quicksand made an exciting close to my stay at the farm.
