No more wine at the picnic: My year in France is over
KATE WILEY Contributed to The Globe and Mail Published Monday, Jul. 18, 2016 3:04PM EDT Last updated Monday, Jul. 18, 2016 4:09PM EDT Facts & Arguments is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide. ‘Cette grotte est l’œuvre finale de Frère Barthelemy,” reads an engraved marble slab adorning the grotto beside which I have propped my bike. The grotto is carved out of the forest by a diverging stream and shelters a wooden sculpture of the Virgin Mary. She is surrounded by bouquets of fresh flowers. It appears this grotto is the main attraction in Roseires d’Amont, a quiet village perched in the foothills of the French Alps near the border with Switzerland. Aside from a mother and baby out for a walk, the streets are empty. My husband wrestles our sandwiches out of the panniers on his bike. The baguette is loaded with rosette, a type of salami particular to Lyon, and Comté, the local version of Gruyère. Next, he produces a Thermos filled with red wine. Our children are safely lunching at school. Life doesn’t get much more idyllic. “Oh no, I forgot the GoPro,” comments my husband. I shrug. Between his video footage and my photographs and blog posts, almost every moment of our year in France has been documented – a year that fell into place thanks to the progressive benefits afforded public service employees in British Columbia. The experience has been transformative for every member of our family, aged 4 to 44. Travel has moulded our children so thoroughly that I can see in their baby blues the glimmer of globally aware citizens.