Fricassée

We were in the woods on Saturday; Mu and I and a bunch of hunters.
We have to signal are presence to avoid being shot.  This is OK when Nico is with us because he's got a sport teacher's voice and is French.
Hunters tend not to embrace multiculturalism and, being English in rural France, I tread as softly and quietly through the woods as I do in the streets of Newry or Belfast.
Although I'm not responsible for the death of Jeanne d'arc nor the occupation of Northern Ireland, the weight of Englishness makes me keep my head down and literally so on hunting days when I crawl through the woods amidst the sound of dogs barking and gunfire.

Claude From The Black Mountains once told me that true hunters are rare. The real ones go into the hills alone, dressed in earthy colours, stay upwind of their prey and only catch what they need to eat.  Hunters these days wear florescent coats and little microphones on a chord round their necks to ensure effective communication with their army.  One thing they no doubt have in common is a flask of pastis to keep the cold (for the former) and boredom (for the latter) at bay.
I am rightfully scared of them.  Their crossfire accidentally kills their dogs, walkers, people driving down the little lanes, people working in their gardens. 
My ploy at signalling our presence is to affect an Ariège accent.  Mu says it sounds like a parody and will incite them all the more to pull their triggers. Mu, who grew up here, naturally flattens her vowels and trills her R's and so she takes over, calling the dog in a way that would make Parisians laugh but helps us stay alive, so.....
As we crawled through the woods we passed large patches of cèpes.  Mu pulled me passed them and said that we should perhaps come back another day.
Today seemed right and provided an excuse to procrastinate on the work front.  
For twenty years of living here I have admired those who can read the land and the winds and the constellations.  Often in the car with Yves, he would point out the tracks of boar and deer across the fields and banks propitious to the growth of wild asparagus and garlic. As he was at the wheel it was a bit perilous but i still listened in awe.
I have learnt slowly.  Nico has taught me that cèpes prefer north facing slopes, that altitude is important, that once you climb to the point where the large white mushrooms grow, you've gone too far.
The hunter's four by fours had mashed up the tracks, but they'd left us some mushrooms and we didn't have to think about what to have for lunch.