Drawing Lessons

by Patricia Sands

  “Not every visitor gets to ride a true Camargue horse,” Jacques told them. “But we have a few horses here that the children rode growing up.”

  He spoke in a most reassuring way. “As Madame LeClerc mentioned earlier, these are very special horses. Their calm temperament gives them a great affinity for their riders. You will have absolutely nothing to worry about. Do you trust me on this?”

  “Implicitly, monsieur!” Bertram said. “Ladies, don’t worry. A true horseman would never mislead you.”

  Arianna and Barbara hung back and talked quietly about whether they were really up to this. Overhearing their concerns, Jacques asked if they would like to have one of the ranch hands stay with them, and they both agreed that might be wise.

  He led them past a barnlike wooden structure, open at the front and stacked with equipment, where he introduced the group to two ranch hands, Marie and Lucille. The women said they would be happy to give Arianna and Barbara some assistance with the horses.

  Barbara said, “I have a spirit of adventure, but this might be pushing things. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  “Ditto,” Arianna agreed. She couldn’t believe she was getting caught up in this Camargue adventure. Her family wouldn’t believe their eyes when she sent them a photo of this. She chuckled to herself.

  They walked through a field to where they could see some white horses among the tall grasses, and Jacques repeated some of their history. “We learn so much from these horses. As Madame explained, they do not fear the bulls and the bulls sense this. There’s a mutual respect and it almost appears playful as the animals interact instinctively.”

  He answered many more questions as they walked toward a marshy area. Madame LeClerc had said working in the Camargue was “a passion.” Jacques made that clear with the emotion they could all hear in his voice.

  As they drew closer, several of the horses approached without any trepidation. Shorter than most horses, their compact bodies appeared strong and muscular. Deep, dark eyes with long lashes gazed at them with a calm intelligence.

  Once the horses had their halters on, the ranch hands led them to the barn. Jacques said, “They will just follow along with you. Pas de problème. If we didn’t do this, they would simply wander off again to continue grazing. I assure you, we are not putting you on wild stallions!”

  Barbara and Arianna expressed their exaggerated thanks for that clarification. “I think we can handle this,” Arianna said.

  The grins were wide as they led the cream-colored horses along, turning to admire their broad expressive faces as they walked. Marie and Lucille walked with them, answering questions.

  Jacques explained that the horses were accustomed to this, as guests were welcome on the manade. “It helps with expenses and also educates visitors about life here.”

  “I’ve never been this close to a horse before,” Barbara said. “Can you believe that? Eighty-two years and never even petted a horse’s nose or offered one a carrot. I wonder what that says about me?”

  “Are you certain you don’t suffer from equinophobia?” Bertram asked.

  “It means it’s never too late to try something new,” Arianna said, surprising herself at the suggestion.

  Barbara laughed. “I may need a boost getting on, though.”

  As they waited at the barn for the horses to be saddled, Jacques explained a bit more history.

  “In Paris in 1905, the Marquis Folco de Baroncelli-Javon was inspired by ‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody’s Wild West spectacle. France was fascinated by it all. It motivated Marquis, as he was affectionately known, to create La Nacioun Gardiano. This order is dedicated to preserving the traditions of the Camargue. He revived rituals established as far back as the 1500s that had been prohibited during the Revolution.”

  Then Jacques went on to describe more of the American connection. “Marquis invited Buffalo Bill and his Dakota Sioux to bring their show to his estate here. Through their legends, he helped reshape bull and horse breeding in the Camargue.”

  “Who would ever have guessed there’d be that kind of American connection in this little corner of France?” Cecilia asked. “This is going to make a good story.”

  “My cabane is nearby. You can see it,” Jacques said, pointing across the field as he whistled for his horse. “He tends to hang around there when I am on the manade. Being a gardian is no longer a full-time job for me. I want to let younger men take over, so I am back and forth.”

  Jacques indicated they should mount their horses. He offered his assistance to Cecilia, who was next to him. As he held the reins, the horse stood quietly waiting. Cecilia put her left foot in the stirrup and after a few hops, she sprung lightly up onto the saddle.

  “Oh to be young,” Barbara murmured, with admiration.

  With surprising agility and obvious familiarity with a horse, Bertram easily mounted and encouraged the others. “Trust your steed, ladies. Trust your steed.”

  Marie and Lucille placed wooden stools on the ground to make things easier for Arianna and Barbara, who expressed their embarrassment but also their gratitude.

  The group set off at a slow walk. Barbara and Arianna both acknowledged relief at having a “minder” beside them.

  “I can honestly say I’m feeling a bit nervous about this,” Arianna admitted to Barbara. “I hope my horse is as docile as was promised.”

  Barbara gave her a supportive look. “We can do this, Arianna.”

  They first passed by the one-story structure where Jacques lived, similar to others they had passed on the drive earlier. “This was my father’s cabane in the old days, and I still stay in it when I am working here. As you can see, it is rather basic.”

  He described how originally the walls were built of clay.

  “The thatched roof is made using the reeds—sagno—that line the canals. There are far fewer cabanes now, and most newer ones are built with brick and cement. However, the thatched roof is still used today. Historically, it has held up well against the onslaught of the mistral.”

  Bertram spoke up. “It also retains the special charm of the gardians, and, with all due respect, it enhances the romantic notion of the cowboys of the Camargue.”

  Jacques’s face became slightly flushed. He brushed the remark away with a wave of his hand and a somewhat bemused expression.

  Arianna was startled at her strong attraction to his modest response. He was a handsome man who definitely had an air of romance about him as he led them through this unique environment. She had to admit she was enjoying his company.

  “It looks like such a simple abode,” Barbara observed, changing the subject. “Is it one big room inside?”

  Jacques rode to the wide front door and pulled a rope to open it, without dismounting. “Yes, it is one room with a bed, chair, bookcase, and desk—quite bare, and with a chemical toilet, in case you are wondering. Ultrabasic, you might say. You can have a look, if you wish.”

  They all graciously declined.

  Bertram had been scrutinizing the structure. “This is pure geometry: a polyhedron of parallelograms plus a cylinder, a cone, and a prism.”

  Jacques studied the Englishman for a moment before he smiled broadly and said, “Monsieur, of all the people who have visited my cabane with me, you are the first to make such an observation. An accurate observation, I might add.”

  Cecilia, Barbara, and Arianna looked at each other and rolled their eyes, but not without admiration.

  “Who says things like that?” Barbara asked.

  Cecilia and Arianna answered in unison, “Bertie.”

  Bertram chuckled and puffed up, as he did when he was immensely pleased with himself.

  The horses sauntered along a comfortable, well-worn path that went briefly through an herb-scented grove of trees. After rounding a corner about fifteen minutes from their starting point, they found themselves on the sandy shore of a large body of water. There was a sudden collective gasp.

  Grazing on a grassy field that bordered wi
ndswept dunes was a small herd of bulls. Some stared intently at the riders. Others ignored them. Ten intimidating, broad-shouldered, dark-black bulls with long pointed horns and smoldering eyes.

  “Mes amis—my friends,” Jacques said, admiration obvious in his eyes and voice. “Voilà le biou. This is our legendary bull. He’s quite a specimen, n’est-ce pas?”

  They quietly stared at the magnificent beasts.

  “They are even more impressive in real life than in their photos,” Arianna said.

  “They exude power and are rather handsome,” Bertram observed.

  “Their horns are so graceful, like a lyre,” Barbara said.

  Cecilia was taking photos from every angle. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll take pictures for all of us. You ladies concentrate on staying upright.”

  Bertram’s face shone with glee. “This breed is mentioned in writings dating from the Gallo-Roman era! I’ve hoped to see them in this setting for a very long time.”

  Jacques looked on proudly. “‘All nature is but art unknown to thee.’ Thank you, Alexander Pope.”

  His love and understanding of this area were apparent in the stories he told them. Arianna admired the combination of his sensitive artistic side and strong gardian image that included a passion for nature and, in particular, the unique environment of the Camargue.

  “We won’t disturb the bulls now,” Jacques said. “But if you have an opportunity to return and see them herded by gardians on these horses, it is something to behold. It’s also important to remember they are powerful and dangerous.”

  As the trail turned through marshy wetlands, Barbara began to swat at mosquitoes. “They aren’t landing on me, though! That repellant is very effective. But they are enormous!”

  Jacques laughed and agreed. “Let’s head back to the house. I believe we will be feasting soon. We don’t want them to!”

  When they arrived back at the barn, Jacques indicated that Bertram should stay on his horse.

  When the women were standing, he pointed to Madame LeClerc on the porch waving to them. “On y va, mesdames. Madame LeClerc is waiting for you.” Turning to Bertram, he said, “And you, monsieur, would you care to take your steed for a gallop?”

  Bertram looked like a young boy who had just seen Santa Claus. “With immense pleasure, I would love to. Many thanks, kind sir.”

  Jacques motioned for him to follow and whistled at his horse. They shot off across the field, hooves thundering, Bertram whooping with excitement at the top of his lungs.

  As they washed their hands in the barn, the women exchanged thoughts about how certain muscles might be rather sore in the morning.

  Barbara’s eyes sparkled. “It was so worth it, wasn’t it?”

  Arianna and Cecilia nodded their agreement as Barbara continued, a bit breathlessly. “It was so exciting, and I must say I loved the feeling. There’s a horse park not far from our home, and I might just sign up for lessons. What do you think, Ceci?”

  “I think that’s a fabulous idea, Gran. You should definitely look into it.”

  “I’ll see if they have a ‘sauntering for seniors’ program,” Barbara said with a chuckle. “I don’t want to go any faster, but that walk was perfect. Those horses are so beautiful. I can’t wait to try and capture their image and spirit in paintings.”

  Arianna agreed that the ride was pleasurable, thanks to Marie and Lucille being there. “I feel the same, Barbara. Well, not about taking riding lessons, but I want to draw those horses too. I’m sure we all have some excellent photos.”

  Arianna felt grateful to her kids for pushing her to get the new phone and showing her how to use the camera. She had taken thirty-seven photos so far that day. She smiled as she scrolled through a few now.

  Who knew? How else would I ever remember all of the wonderful experiences I’ve had this week—and so many today!

  After her momentary elation, Arianna suddenly felt her heart drop. It was something she’d been struggling with all week. As much as she had opened herself to loving the highs of this adventure, she was still being hit by the lows of her soul as well. She felt conflicted about the happiness, laughter, and, yes, hope she had begun to feel in this little cocoon at the mas with her new friends.

  Barbara and Cecilia noticed Arianna’s change of expression.

  “Arianna, did something upsetting just happen?”

  “I’m sorry,” Arianna replied. “I didn’t realize it was obvious. I had a little relapse into the reality of my life at home. Sometimes when I’m caught up in the amazing experiences I am having with all of you, I hit a bit of a wall. Really, I’m okay. It was just a moment.”

  Barbara and Cecilia both hugged her.

  “Thanks,” Arianna said. She wasn’t really a hugger, except with her family. But she had to admit these hugs did help her feel better. “I just have to keep working through it . . . and I will. I’ve come a long way this week, and I have to keep believing I’m on a path to a good place.”

  “Well, you certainly made a breakthrough with your painting. I took that as a good sign,” Barbara agreed.

  Just then, they heard a loud clanging and turned to see Madame LeClerc standing on the porch with a large bell and a wide grin.

  “Venez, s’il vous plaît! Le dîner va commencer. We are ready to begin the dinner! Please join us!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Madame was eager to hear of their day and to answer the many questions they had brought back with them. After having seen the horses, bulls, and flamingos in real life, they studied the photos on the walls of the main room with renewed interest.

  A short while later, a smiling Jacques and a flustered but happy Bertram came into the house. Arianna, Barbara, and Cecilia stared at them in amused surprise.

  Bertram was no long wearing his long-sleeved dress shirt, always primly buttoned to the neck. It had been replaced by a bright-red paisley shirt that was obviously not his. A colored scarf sat tied around his neck at a jaunty angle.

  “We stopped at the barn to wash up,” Jacques explained.

  “An absolute necessity,” Bertram piped in, barely able to contain his elation and still breathing heavily. “I was soaked in sweat! Jacques borrowed this shirt from another gardian who was more or less my size. Sorry, that may be too much information, but, seriously, that was the most excitement I’ve had in ages!”

  Bertram received congratulations on taking his first step to becoming a gardian. “You are wearing the outfit well, monsieur!” Madame complimented him.

  The room filled with laughter and bonhomie as introductions were made. Monsieur LeClerc; their daughter, Danielle; and her husband, Michel, had joined them for dinner.

  The entire family wore the traditional shirts, vests, and scarves of the gardians. The men wore leather pants, and Danielle and her mother wore elegant, long soft-leather skirts. “We wanted to wear these outfits for you this evening,” Danielle told them. “You have no doubt gathered we have a strong commitment to preserving our traditions in the Camargue.”

  The long dining table was set up in an enormous room that Arianna was certain had seen its share of festivities. The walls were covered with spectacular, massive photos of horses and bulls that were obvious works of art. The effect was stunning and captured the beauty and power of this wild area.

  Monsieur LeClerc explained that photographers from all over the world came to their manade for photo shoots. “They often express their thanks by gifting us photos. We are extremely proud of our animals, and these photos honor them.”

  Michel brought a tray around with small, narrow glasses. “L’apèritif this evening is the pastis Le Camarguaise. It’s a liquor produced from anise, licorice, and forty other plants. Some people find it kind of strong, so you always add water to suit your taste. It’s produced at Distillerie A. Blachère, which was founded in 1835.”

  Everyone added water and then raised their glass to toast. “Santé.”

  After taking a long sip, Bertram sighed lo
udly. “Ahhhh, I do love pastis. This is a fine degustation indeed!”

  The taste and smell reminded Arianna of the Greek ouzo that Nikos loved dearly. He used to let her have a sip when she was a child. She put more water in her drink than the others and quite enjoyed it. Memories of her baba, Nikos, her childhood, and black licorice filtered back. Silently she toasted all that and felt happy that she was welcoming these memories and not keeping them buried. Rather, she was mixing them with the new ones she was making.

  Danielle passed a platter with toothpicks stuck into small chunks of sausage. “Our own recipe, courtesy of our bulls.”

  Monsieur LeClerc and Michel had been pointing to some of the bulls in the photos. “The bull is both respected and promoted here. We want to raise bulls that are winners in the Camarguais bullring, where no blood is shed.”

  “No blood from the bull, at least,” Michel said with a laugh.

  “That’s right,” Monsieur LeClerc continued. “The bulls are the stars of the posters advertising the course camarguaise. With each course, the bull becomes more shrewd. They are incredibly smart, and we can see they like to win. Not many are taken to the kitchen.”

  “Eh bien,” Madame LeClerc said, “let’s go and enjoy one of our boys who did end up there.”

  Dinner was delicious. The meal began with an entrée of tellines. Jacques asked if their guests were familiar with the dish.

  Bertram spoke up immediately. “They are delicious! I’ve eaten them on a previous visit to the area.” Turning to Barbara, Cecilia, and Arianna, he said, “They are edible mollusks that resemble small clams, native to this area. Each morning they are traditionally gathered by dragging nets through the sand. In my humble opinion, they are beyond delicious.”

  The tellines were served en persillade, in a simple parsley and garlic sauce, and the women murmured their appreciation as they ate. Conversation flowed easily, with the LeClerc family equally interested in their guests’ stories.