I went to school in New England for years, but it wasn't until I was living in New York that I decided to take a nostalgic trip back through New England and went to visit Walden Pond. While there I danced with the sculpture of Henry David Thoreau and thought, "no, it's not the life for me. I'll never leave the big city."
I left New York and made a temporary home between my native France, London, and Amsterdam. It was Amsterdam that first started to change my attitude towards the big city. Less cars, less pollution, and Amsterdam is simply a beautiful city full of charm.
Yes I live in Paris, and at the time I am writing this I am in my flat with car horns blaring and the hustle and bustle like ambient background noise. I still see what makes Paris a beautiful city, but I also felt myself longing for something else. A garden. Fresh air. Something was missing.
I took a peek on Craigslist Paris and spotted a little house. I didn't imagine it hadn't been rented yet, but I crossed my fingers and sure enough it was still available. Somehow I knew the moment I saw the trees and the garden and was told not to walk in the forest at night because there are wild boar (called sangliers in French). I had visited Fontainebleau before, as had La Chienne, who had a joyous day of running in the forest pestering chipmunks and sniffing everything, but this was different. I was actually thinking about taking a weekend place in the country.
The supermarket is 3 km away or in another town. There are buses to Fontainebleau's city center and trains to Paris, but it will be difficult without a car. I am resolved to not get a car just to do the grocery shopping on the weekends. I am out of shape, a 6km bicycle trek sounds like torture, but I will presumably only buy exactly what I need under these limitations. While candy bars and cookies remain rather light when walking from the store across the street, after biking 3 km maybe I will be less inclined to chuck those types of things into the grocery cart when I realise it's still another 3 km home. At least that's what I'm hoping.
I have a picture of me dancing with the statue of Thoreau and now I am preparing to move a part of my life to the woods. I will bring some furniture (nothing says I have to rough it like Thoreau did), half of the books (over 1,000), and my dreams.
What I really, really want to do with my life is write books for children. Amazing books full of adventure, similiar to the books that made me believe I had that spark of magic inside of me that you fan into a fire.
So in August I will take the keys to a little house on the edge of a dark and mysterious forest that once belonged to the kings and queens of France and if that's not a real life fairy tale, then nothing is.
I left New York and made a temporary home between my native France, London, and Amsterdam. It was Amsterdam that first started to change my attitude towards the big city. Less cars, less pollution, and Amsterdam is simply a beautiful city full of charm.
Yes I live in Paris, and at the time I am writing this I am in my flat with car horns blaring and the hustle and bustle like ambient background noise. I still see what makes Paris a beautiful city, but I also felt myself longing for something else. A garden. Fresh air. Something was missing.
I took a peek on Craigslist Paris and spotted a little house. I didn't imagine it hadn't been rented yet, but I crossed my fingers and sure enough it was still available. Somehow I knew the moment I saw the trees and the garden and was told not to walk in the forest at night because there are wild boar (called sangliers in French). I had visited Fontainebleau before, as had La Chienne, who had a joyous day of running in the forest pestering chipmunks and sniffing everything, but this was different. I was actually thinking about taking a weekend place in the country.
The supermarket is 3 km away or in another town. There are buses to Fontainebleau's city center and trains to Paris, but it will be difficult without a car. I am resolved to not get a car just to do the grocery shopping on the weekends. I am out of shape, a 6km bicycle trek sounds like torture, but I will presumably only buy exactly what I need under these limitations. While candy bars and cookies remain rather light when walking from the store across the street, after biking 3 km maybe I will be less inclined to chuck those types of things into the grocery cart when I realise it's still another 3 km home. At least that's what I'm hoping.
I have a picture of me dancing with the statue of Thoreau and now I am preparing to move a part of my life to the woods. I will bring some furniture (nothing says I have to rough it like Thoreau did), half of the books (over 1,000), and my dreams.
What I really, really want to do with my life is write books for children. Amazing books full of adventure, similiar to the books that made me believe I had that spark of magic inside of me that you fan into a fire.
So in August I will take the keys to a little house on the edge of a dark and mysterious forest that once belonged to the kings and queens of France and if that's not a real life fairy tale, then nothing is.
