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In the Marais poitevin, life is enjoyable

Experience Fabrice - Amoureux du Marais poitevin By Fabrice - Amoureux du Marais poitevin, the 06 June 2014

The smell of the jasmine which escapes from my smoking cup of tea prepared by Françoise, maintains me awakened stretched out in the grass, while the slowness of the end of the afternoon invades me.

The walls of the “Moulin de Mouron” have a reassuring and restful side. My thought wanders and I escape again towards this swamp so close.

In the kitchen where Françoise prepares the dinner, plates bang as cymbals and make echo for the breath of the wind. We consider recognize the notes of Martin's clarinet, with which we spend true moments of funs in the evening.

This music, it is the breath of the “Marais poitevin”, so alive, so close, so attractive. The summits of trees shaken by the wind, seem to applaud in accord this vesperal concert. And the songs of frogs far off carried by this wind, amplify this symphony.

I feel the wind on my cheeks. I am indeed, I am there. And I remember this first time when I saw the “Marais poitevin”. Because it is really beautiful. Then we come to discover it, see it not to be able to any more do without it.

Sat on the boat from Coulon, we are allowed drive by the skipper through the swamp. And he tells us every canal, every ditch which he crosses since his soft childhood, as we took roads and secondary roads of our childhood.

He knows all the trees, and every inhabitant of every tree. He tells us the life of the farmers who concerned their cattle the meadows conquered on this swamp. Hung on the udder of their “maraîchines” mothers, the veals tadpoles delight in their prison of ash trees tadpoles which form a hedged farmland with so squeezed stitches that we feel as Daedalus in its labyrinth.

And the heron seems as the keeper of a school playground where cavorts Kingfisher, ragondins… And if you pay silently attention, a curious then frightened roe deer of which you will eventually see only the mirror of his backside or the towel of his neck.

And when your skipper speaks to you about the History of this region and about this swamp, you become aware that nothing was made without these men's generations who build what you see today. You feel permeate with the songs of the monks of the abbey of Maillezais who still resound in the walls of the abbatial vestiges.

Around the Swamp, in the Swamp, the life is everywhere. And the oar of the skipper which returns us to Coulon, does not soak that in the water but also in the sweat of the generations of people which made this landscape.

Then in the evening at table, listen to Françoise speaking to yourself about her country and his people. Let her lead you with these donors of happiness, who will teach you all the secrets of their region.

By sampling their cheeses, you will re-learn what means drinking a small blow. The conviviality is here the boss word. You feel this kindness and this pleasure which people have to communicate with you, to leave you a part of themselves whom you will take for ever with you.

And in the evening around the dinner, you already know that your wealth of soul is again going to get bigger of these moments so privileged with Françoise, Martin and Colleen. In any simplicity, you are welcomed as friends of the family that you always seem to have been. You feel so well.
Then the first time when you came in the “Marais poitevin”, will have transformed you. And you will return, but for them, all these people there who make that the Swamp remains what it is. You will return for Françoise and her family there, for the pleasure to discover with her its so typical but less tourist places.

The wind still blows. The Swamp breathes. This breath gives me my inspiration. I appear from these delicious moments when I had returned. The dinner arrives. As a child who is going to have his reward, I appear at the kitchen, the temple of the friendship of this Bed and Breakfast, where Françoise quite to smile welcomes me as Colleen throws himself in my neck.

I am indeed. I am there.

"In the Happiness of others, I look for my Happiness". Le Cid. Corneille


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