I hear the guineas calling but it’s way too loud and way too long, so I go down to investigate. With hunters everywhere, I’m not at ease. I find our guineas in the meadow, calling from joy to anyone who’s interested while grazing near the sheep. I can’t help but smile at their happiness.

I obviously didn’t close their pen door properly, and there they are, free as the wind, about fifty meters from their home.

The fox will get them tonight… they’re doomed I thought. The memory of a little pile of pretty feathers, three years ago, at the very top of the meadow, haunts me all day. I concoct a plan to bring them back in at nightfall.

 But in the evening, when I go down to feed the sheep, I hear them, and the sound comes from… their pen. All I have to do is close their door. They simply went home, bless them.

 Thank you, girls, for this gift. It obviously wasn’t your time to die. I promise myself I’ll bring them clumps of grass every day. It’s easy with the garden getting ready to be planted; there are beautiful, juicy clumps everywhere.

And then it’s our gray hen who discovered how to squeeze herself into the vegetable garden between the holes in the fence I had built with so much care: the two-meter-tall bamboo sticks, inserted vertically in and out between the squares of the sheep fence didn’t stop her… the intelligence of our animals is always surprising. I can relate to their need of freedom and adventure. I think about how to give them all, chickens and guineas, more space…

Using old bits of chicken wire, I spend two hours securing it along the bottom of their fence. The four chickens are at my feet, hoping I’ll find some tasty morsels for them. I only find a walnut; a mouse probably dropped it as it ran away. I bite into it to open it, and, oh my! It’s a good one. We share it.

Brownie, the little redhead, is very affectionate; she stays with me and we talk while I work. I tell her the story of Mr. Seguin’s goat*, and she seems to understand every word…

Geoff is fetching the donkeys this morning and they are very patient with him. I’m going away for two days soon, and Geoff has to learn how to put on halters and open and close fences properly. Learning is difficult. Animals are definitely more accommodating than husbands!

The south wind is blowing like crazy, and we’re having trouble making our way along the road to the top field, and the promised rain doesn’t seem to be coming. Shame, we need it. On our way back, we collect the beautiful, fine, fresh soil that a mole has created on the verge of the road. We’ll use to transplant the tomato seedlings.

I’m now going to plant the lily of the valley that Serge gave me, who also needs space.

*From Alphonse Daudet “ lettres de mon moulin”: Mr Seguin’s goat had everything to be happy in her yard at the bottom of the mountain but she was dreaming of the top of the mountain. The tale of the previous goats being eaten by the wolf way up there didn’t stop her, and she met with her fate after fighting the wolf all night.