A few years ago my friends found a delightfully unspoilt stone barn in the Auvergne,
the departemente to which Caroline is native.
They have filled it with laughter, good food, interesting conversation and treasure.
It is still rustic and simple. Only a single cold water tap outside for doing the dishes.
The WC, open to the elements, enables one to consider the sky
and the movement of the sun and stars.
Further down the garden they recently investigated a perennial wet patch
and found a little spring which they diverted into a stone trough.
After breakfast we laid a blanket down under the young tree.
We dropped a coin into the muddy pool and said prayers for friends who were not well.
Then looking towards the distant hills where he had walked 130 years earlier, we read aloud from Robert Louis Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes.
Meanwhile, inside the barn, the girls were writing their own pithy messages with pasta letters.
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