Minty: Wait, what year where you born?
Me: 1972
Minty: 19-something!?
Me: yep
Minty: WOW! 19 hundreds

No, but it’s true. When I hear about someone who lived in the 18-hundreds … I’m like WOW!! Did they have running water? How did they communicate long distances? Pigeons? Two thousand is her game. I grew up without cell-phones. I somehow survived without seat belts and 300 dollar carseats. My Mom’s arm was the only line of defence between a hard stop and that windshield.

We are hitting that moment when vacation is still very real, but school and September is very close.  The light is different.  The smell is different.  We are preparing for fall.  Brent’s “shut the chicken’s in” alarm is now ringing in the dark.

So many ideas for summer.  We ticked off a bunch, but sometimes it’s nice to grab downtime.  We are in France, time off is but weeks away after school starts.  Next up, a trip to the mall.  An hour drive to show the girls what a mall is and grab some supplies for school.  Then a meal at La Pataterie … a restaurant dedicated and motivated to serve  potato dish variations direct to you.  Should be fun.  I like that a trip to the mall is a thing.  19 – hundreds … 18 – hundreds … call me old fashioned, but I enjoy the heartbeat of the farm.


Grasspunks On The Moon Mall


They built a mall about an hour away from us.  It is in the shape of a crescent moon.  Lucy and Otto have forgotten memories of mall adventures in America.  Here in Kentucky France, there are no malls.  With Nana in town, we decided to pack up and see what this “moon mall” was all about.

After a long drive, we made it inside.  The girls were very loud and full of commentary.  “SSsshhh, not so loud,” I’d say.  I felt very country-in-the-city and that maybe I should get them out more.   I looked at the pasture.  I found a sign “Entree Troupeau” – “herd entry.”  Aaaah, very funny.


It was all clean and sparkle-arkle.  Bouncy castles, shops, lights, camera, action. Nowhere for cows to graze.   The girls bought lipgloss and shoes and dresses.


Lucy’s friend recommended the potato restaurant.  A tractor was parked out front.  That should be interesting.  Google translate will tell you that the French word for “potato” is “pomme de terre,” but they are wrong.  Pomme de terre is the French word for potato, but the real French word for potato is “patate.”  Tomato – Tomate.  Potato – Patate.  Let’s call the whole thing spud.

IMG_3142Doing the obligatory here’s-what-I-ate shot, I was loving the simplicity of melted chocolate with marshmallows.  A dessert I pull out when I’ve got nothing for dessert.  We enjoyed our meal and trooped back in for more shopping.

I had to teach Minty how to shop.  Sometimes you go to a shop and like something, then you leave and go to another shop to like something.  Then you go back to the original shop and buy it or leave it … rinse and repeat.  Minty cried.  It’s all too much.  She got the hang of it.  It didn’t come naturally.