25th July 2010 – Kira and Josefien

It was a time of change at Fontsoleil. I was two thirds of my way through my stay, but Kelsey and Goedele were leaving. We vowed to stay in touch, and I felt that we probably would. We had formed a strong bond over that short period of time. I wanted to know what they would make of their lives, or what their lives would make of them. Straight into their beds came Kira and Josefien.

Kira – full name Kiralyn – was just a couple of months older than me and also studying languages at university. She had spent the rest of her year abroad on the tiny French island of La Réunion, and was full of tales to tell about her time there. She had also spent a few summers working at Yosemite National Park, her stories of which were fascinating. I could listen to her talking of mountains and tigers for hours. Like Kelsey she was American – this time from Oregon – but she was quieter and more mellow. Although Kira and I were more alike and had more in common, I found that I missed Kelsey’s bounce and vigour. Josefien was older and at first a little more reserved. Coming from the Netherlands, the level of her English induced jealousy in my inner linguist, although still we spoke in French. She had WWOOFed several times before, mostly in New Zealand, where I learned that the WWOOFing community was one of the most active in the world. All three of us being fairly similar in our comparative reticence, it was a more awkward first few days than I had had previously, but we would turn out to be a good trio: talkative, with a shared sense of humour and never short of an anecdote to tell.

The weather did nothing to help the initial awkwardness. The storm that had been predicted by Xavier and the biting flies came upon us. Or perhaps it was a different storm, it was hard to tell. There had been others down the valley, but these were the first droplets to quench the parched throats of the plants at Fontsoleil since the day of the flies. In any case, the water came down in a torrent, the sound amplified by the drops bouncing off the broad-leaved foliage surrounding the house. Feeling quite at home, I ran outside barefoot and danced in the cool deluge, allowing the rain to drench my clothes. I was sure Michelle would have approved, and besides, I hadn’t realised before how much I would miss the British rain when faced with drought. Rivulets ran from my shoulders down my back and droplets obscured the vision through my glasses and rested like silver beads on my eyelashes.

The rain pattered on, slowing from a tango to a steaming lovers’ dance as the sun tried to creep out. There was no work to be done outside, and no jam to be made. We found a stack of DVDs and got to know each other as we watched them, laughing together and talking over the parts we couldn’t follow, alternately stroking Bali and chasing him away when his capriciousness got the better of us.