cook the freshly picked bounty right where they had found it. “Can’t get any fresher than that. We will go next year.”
He had also told her of the number of fatal accidents that occured because many varieties were poisonous. “You can take your basket of mushrooms into almost any pharmacy and they will be able to tell you whether yours are edible. Most French mushroom lovers are well educated about them, but accidents do happen.”
“Mushrooms are definitely an art here,” she mentioned to Andrea one day on Skype. “I basically thought that if you’ve tasted one mushroom, you’ve tasted them all. I thought they were all like the portobello and those little button ones. I mean, even I knew those. But they’re just the tip of the iceberg.”
Andrea had laughed. She ran an organic farm, so she knew a lot about mushrooms. “When Terrence and I visit you the next time, we’ll spend a lot more time at the markets. I want to take a look at those fungi.”
Now, as Kat stepped closer to the mushrooms in the ditch, adjusting her camera lens, she became aware of a faint snuffling coming from behind the tall hedge. When she heard it again, she carefully picked her way through the ditch to peer between the bushes.
She jumped back in surprise, swallowing a squeal, as a pair of deep, dark eyes rimmed by long, thick lashes peered back. A mottled coat of varied shades of gray mixed with white came into view, followed by the creature’s square-jawed head, which sported two enormous ears separated by a thick black Mohawk-like mane. The animal emitted a loud, nasal bray.
An old donkey, only slightly disheveled, was staring at her through the bushes and twitching its ears at the flies buzzing around.
She reached her hand across the wire fence behind the hedge and held it there for the dappled critter to sniff. After a moment, a silky, moist nose shyly and hesitantly nuzzled her fingers. After pulling back a few times and then quickly returning, it allowed her to lightly rub its velvety muzzle. There was an inquisitive look in its eyes that seemed to invite more communication.
Kat had been holding her breath, but she slowly realized the air held only a hint of an offensive smell. This was a well-cared-for animal.
“ Salut , little fellow. Petit ami. ” She snapped a few shots, zooming in on the coarse texture of its coat, as the donkey slowly backed away and calmly began grazing.
“Parlez-vous anglais ou français?” she asked with a grin.
She could see no sign of anyone as she leaned through the hedge to look at the property. Beyond the paddock where the donkey stood, she could see a garden that appeared moderately tended and, beyond it, a somewhat neglected-looking cottage that seemed to be inhabited. Its shutters were open and a few items of clothing hung on a line.
Philippe was surprised when she told him about it that evening and said, “ Un petit âne? I thought that property was abandoned like mine.”
“The donkey seems well fed and surprisingly clean, and it’s not very smelly, either. So someone obviously is there caring for it. But the place feels kind of mysterious. I may try to find out more about it one of these days.”
He gave her a nudge and grinned. “There you go, Minou, starting another adventure and discovering things around you that most of us simply pass by.”
She had to admit this seemed to be part of her new persona. It made her wonder how she could ever have been happy, so confined in her marriage for all those years. Why had she never considered making a change? Why had she simply turned a blind eye to James’s controlling ways and carried on? Better the devil you know. How often had she said that to herself?
At the time, she thought she was content, that their marriage was how things were supposed to be, even as she felt her spirit weakened by his bullying. It had seemed easier to stay than to go. Now she knew just how wrong she had been all those years. Philippe had shown her
He had also told her of the number of fatal accidents that occured because many varieties were poisonous. “You can take your basket of mushrooms into almost any pharmacy and they will be able to tell you whether yours are edible. Most French mushroom lovers are well educated about them, but accidents do happen.”
“Mushrooms are definitely an art here,” she mentioned to Andrea one day on Skype. “I basically thought that if you’ve tasted one mushroom, you’ve tasted them all. I thought they were all like the portobello and those little button ones. I mean, even I knew those. But they’re just the tip of the iceberg.”
Andrea had laughed. She ran an organic farm, so she knew a lot about mushrooms. “When Terrence and I visit you the next time, we’ll spend a lot more time at the markets. I want to take a look at those fungi.”
Now, as Kat stepped closer to the mushrooms in the ditch, adjusting her camera lens, she became aware of a faint snuffling coming from behind the tall hedge. When she heard it again, she carefully picked her way through the ditch to peer between the bushes.
She jumped back in surprise, swallowing a squeal, as a pair of deep, dark eyes rimmed by long, thick lashes peered back. A mottled coat of varied shades of gray mixed with white came into view, followed by the creature’s square-jawed head, which sported two enormous ears separated by a thick black Mohawk-like mane. The animal emitted a loud, nasal bray.
An old donkey, only slightly disheveled, was staring at her through the bushes and twitching its ears at the flies buzzing around.
She reached her hand across the wire fence behind the hedge and held it there for the dappled critter to sniff. After a moment, a silky, moist nose shyly and hesitantly nuzzled her fingers. After pulling back a few times and then quickly returning, it allowed her to lightly rub its velvety muzzle. There was an inquisitive look in its eyes that seemed to invite more communication.
Kat had been holding her breath, but she slowly realized the air held only a hint of an offensive smell. This was a well-cared-for animal.
“ Salut , little fellow. Petit ami. ” She snapped a few shots, zooming in on the coarse texture of its coat, as the donkey slowly backed away and calmly began grazing.
“Parlez-vous anglais ou français?” she asked with a grin.
She could see no sign of anyone as she leaned through the hedge to look at the property. Beyond the paddock where the donkey stood, she could see a garden that appeared moderately tended and, beyond it, a somewhat neglected-looking cottage that seemed to be inhabited. Its shutters were open and a few items of clothing hung on a line.
Philippe was surprised when she told him about it that evening and said, “ Un petit âne? I thought that property was abandoned like mine.”
“The donkey seems well fed and surprisingly clean, and it’s not very smelly, either. So someone obviously is there caring for it. But the place feels kind of mysterious. I may try to find out more about it one of these days.”
He gave her a nudge and grinned. “There you go, Minou, starting another adventure and discovering things around you that most of us simply pass by.”
She had to admit this seemed to be part of her new persona. It made her wonder how she could ever have been happy, so confined in her marriage for all those years. Why had she never considered making a change? Why had she simply turned a blind eye to James’s controlling ways and carried on? Better the devil you know. How often had she said that to herself?
At the time, she thought she was content, that their marriage was how things were supposed to be, even as she felt her spirit weakened by his bullying. It had seemed easier to stay than to go. Now she knew just how wrong she had been all those years. Philippe had shown her
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