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across the Maginot Line. We were incorporated into a "Regional Regiment"
and sent to a "training" camp at Chambaran, not far from Grenoble in the
French Alps. The training, however, did not materialize. There
were not enough uniforms to go around and we were given World-War-I guns
and horizon-blue uniforms of the same vintage. Ammunition was at
a premium and drills were few and far between. We were manifestly
useless as soldiers, forgotten in the hinterland.
So my brother and I were sent presently to help with spring plowing on a neighboring farm. Elated, we made our apprenticeship as farmers in a region of large walnut trees and small farms, each with four or five cows and twice as many goats. The village of Chevrières, whose name means "Goat-hamlet," was located in the hills just a few miles above Saint Marcelin, a town well known in France for its fresh walnuts and delicious goat's cheese. Monsieur Argoud, whose only son was in the army somewhere near the front, had sixty acres of land on a hilly slope, which we were to till. Every morning we were up before dawn, downed a bowl of slices of rye bread swimming in hot onion soup, and went to the stable to milk the cows. Madame Argoud, in the meantime, took care of the goats, which are quite a bit more difficult to deal with, as they require much stronger hands for their milking. We then took out the two teams of large mules, to work the fields. Anyone who has not worked with mules will little understand how much easier horses are to handle. Horses are stupid. They follow orders without protest. Mules are very intelligent; they posses a phenomenal memory, are contrary in the extreme, and they have an innate sense of justice. When tied to a load, these fiendish animals will try to convince you that they cannot possibly move it, by pulling, each one, alternately, in a different direction. If you apply the whip to get them into line, they will pull as straight as a tram, and respect you for it. If, however, you have given them the whip when they really were working their best, woe unto you in the stable that evening, the next morning, or even a week later. They will get you with their powerful hooves, which they apply in your direction when you are at a distance of five feet behind them, when they can do the most damage - and they know it. Before they retaliate in this way, they will, however, look to see whether you are the guilty party. So when you see a mule looking at you with his long ears close to his head, you would be well advised to approach the stall with caution. Monsieur Argoud's mules, resenting our novice mule driving, tried more than once to get rid of us by sending us to Pampérigouste, as Alphonse Daudet called it in his "Lettres de Mon Moulins." Monsieur Argoud's advice saved us from such a fate. He taught us mule psychology and advised us to stay very close to the hind legs of our animals Madame Argoud would always
cook hearty meals, mostly with produce from her well-kept garden.
She particularly excelled in Gratin Dauphinois, a local delicacy
of
potato slices with cream and eggs cooked in the oven au gratin with a crisp
cheese crust on top. The ultimate treats at the Argoud farm, however,
were the goat cheeses which, every Thursday, Madame Argoud took to market
at Saint |
