A Fortuitous Encounter in the Forest...or...

Earlier this morning , the phone rang. It was the secretary of our village Mairie. She spoke of hunters and mentioned the word "permettez" (permit.) As I often do, I jumped to conclusions before fully understanding her request. "Oh no ," I said. "Do you mean, would we permit the hunters to come onto our land to shoot sanglier?" The secretary laughed kindly. "No not at all," she explained. The mairie would like to deliver some sanglier meat to you. If you are there to receive it, please could you leave your gates open." I confess it didn't take me long to accept the offer. "You will be very welcome to deliver sanglier. Thank you so much," I said, feeling rather foolish. Thirty minutes later the said sanglier was delivered in two neatly labelled packages: a haunche de sanglier ( a leg) and some filet.

"Hypocrite!" I hear you accuse. For you may well know from previous blogs that I detest the hunters . However, you may also already know that we do enjoy our yearly feast of sanglier on Bastille Day, when it is often spit roasted, or served as a daube(stew.)

It's all B.'s fault really. On Sunday we were returning from our walk at Gourgas just as the day's hunting had ended and a convoy of vehicles was descending the forest road at speed. I mainly resent the hunters for the danger which they impose, forcing us to walk elsewhere on hunting days. And so I urged B., who was driving, not to give way, and continued to scowl as they were forced to slow down and edge carefully past us. But the final car in the convoy semed to recognise us , and the driver wound down his window say 'Bonjour.' It was the 'adjoint,' one of our maire's assistants. 'Pas mal du tout,' he said cheerily (Not bad at all .) They had bagged six sanglier that day, and yesterday five. Now B. , and I well remember the day when a local hunter (our builder at the time) once brought us a bucket full of sanglier meat. But that was a long time ago. "It would be nice to have a piece of sanglier," he suggested cheekily. "Certainly," the adjoint said, and with a big smile he waved us off, promising to arrange it. And , as you will have already gathered, he kept his promise.

Stéphan, our part time gardener, happened to be helping B. this very morning. He is a great help to us, and prone to rather dry wit. I asked him if he liked to eat sanglier. He remained noncommittal, but did admit to having some sanglier meat in his freezer. He then gave me some timely advice. You can detest the hunt, he said, but it would be best to like the hunters. I shall remember those words, and fix a smile next time that we pass them in the forest .