…and another rock. The name literally means “between the rocks” (or actually now that I think about it, maybe it’s just – in the middle of two guys named Pierre
) – but for our family it means a lot more.
If our time in France this summer was a chance to be in places we love, and a chance to spend time with dear friends – then it’s hard to beat our time in this mediaeval village just outside of the town of Sisteron, where provence meets the alps.
Entrepierres is where we were when we started to think and dream for the very first time about something like moving to Africa to do the kind of work we’re doing now. In fact – we were thinking of places to investigate -and realized that collectively our African geography was so bad we required the aid of a beachball-globe from the pool for us to even know where some countries were in relation to each other.
As always – there was lots of biking, running, hiking, scootering, swimming etc – which perhaps explains why we ate so much.
And we did what we do whenever we’re together in Southern France: WE. ATE. SO. WELL.
You see, when you have two families with 4 kids growing kids each, plus adults – who all used to live in France and very much miss eating real French food – you get a bit of a binge-mentality. We would go into town to buy bread only every other day or so (I know – really not French…but hey…we never said we were) – but even then we would very often have to buy 18 (or more) baguette at a time! Once we sent a couple of the kids into the boulangerie to buy the bread – and they weren’t too eager to give the kids that much – I think they thought they were being pranked. Nope – just a lot of people who apparently haven’t yet read Wheat Belly. (in our defence – we do try to limit our bread intake to 1 baguette per person per day)
buying chevre directly from the farm
fresh veg from the market
yeah…that’s how we roll
a typical cheese board
We (the Dad’s) also decided to take 8 kids (our three oldest, their 4 + a friend who was vacationing with them) for an overnight campout (the day after I attempted a 40km trail race…so at least I had a good warm-up). So we saddled up everyone’s backpacks with tents and sleeping bags, and water and food (and tried to limit the boys to 1 knife each) and headed right up the small mountain directly in front of the house.
Uncle Rob’s infamous “Hot Dog Soup.” I don’t want to give away the secret recipe – but it does involve cooking cut-up hotdogs in the broth of Raman noodles. 1 pot=so much goodness. Pro Tip: rinse out the pot well before heating water for coffee.
I get the feeling that these are the kinds of trips, and the kinds of times that our kids will be talking about 40 years from now.