Leaving Rennes

Before there was le Maffay, there was rue Frédéric Sacher. We lived there from 15 November 2001- 16 November 2007. Frédéric Sacher, according to the street sign, was a bienfaiteur des humbles, (helper of humble people) but in google i was never able to find out more about him. To leave no trace in google is the sign of a humble modest man, but the street named after him was one of the best in Rennes – Gabriel took his first trip to SuperU in the stroller just after leaving the hospital with aunty sin-day to go get magnum ice cream bars; he was carried down it kicking and screaming countless times by a frustrated mama; he rode his bike down it, after learning how to ride in the Jardin St-Cyr that was our front yard. We walked it or rode it every day to get to school and get home. It’s a short street, peopled mostly by parked cars, and anonymous-looking apartment buildings whose only distinguishing feature is the fact that they look exactly like they were built in the 1970s, which is entirely true. Our building was called ‘Bréhat,’ an island off the coast to the north of Rennes. In front of the door, there was an enormous ash tree; from the third floor, with all the windows, it felt like you were living in the treetop, in a sort of tree-house with a parking garage and a garbage chute and neighbors up and down. You could be at the marché de Lices in five minutes on foot, less time than it takes to wait your turn in line to be served a galette saucisse at the best vendor there. Anne and Elliott lived around the block. Anaïs lived down the street. The nuns were a short bike ride from us across the river. Our beach was 42 minutes away. And SuperU, was our daily delight and source of everything good (consumable goods, of course) in the universe. Gabriel grew up in the dust of construction, the shadows of the light moving through the leaves of the yggdrasil outside our door, and the good smells drifting down from the neighbors kitchen, upstairs.

Leaving there was hard.

It took the combined efforts of: all the friends who came to our going-away party on September 22, and everyone who couldn’t come too but who were there in spirit; our lovely Nicky who had our first picnic at Maffay with us and completely redesigned our house and brought more light into everything and lots of good luck too; Marie-Laure who very patiently put up with all this Maffay nonsense and diligently poked holes and bound calendars while getting emails from me that read ‘promise will check email again soon, am mired down in (insert: work, moving, home improvements, mud); Karin who procured the very best boxes that Fly had to offer, several times over, as it became clear that the books in the shelves had somehow multiplied and borne new generations, like rabbits, in their little warrens; Isabella and Tiny Mo, who came over and visited and kicked things off with the first truckload, a complete redesign of Gabriel’s wardrobe, moral support in the form of margaritas (we know where to find the best one in Rennes, along with a cajeta sundae) and a great Halloween party at Malin and Simon and Anton’s where the two Boyer sisters did the dishes and giggled and snuck glasses of port after all the other revelers went up to bed; of Jacqueline and Jean-Pierre, our upstairs neighbors, who provided babysitting, invaluable packing expertise, many trips up and down stairs and out to maffay with heavy objects, great lunch (homemade choucroute and pâté de grives!), medical advice and plants from their garden in talensac; Connie, who came early, left late, scrubbed, encouraged, consoled, baked quiche, provided a plethora of wool socks and didn’t say anything discouraging or negative even when we came out with the second truckload to maffay in the pouring, freezing rain, and there was no power in the mobile home; Willy and his friend Polo, who carried approximately 2000 kg. of furniture that i didn’t realize we had, down the stairs and then suffered in the freezing rain at maffay unloading it; our new neighbors Sandra and Jean-Luc, and Gaël, Romain and Emilie, and Ollia the dog, who have, in no specific order: sold us a great mobile-home, tractored it onto our property, plugged all the various mysterious parts together (like electricity, water, hot water heaters, gas tubes), let us cook grandma’s rolls for Thanksgiving in their kitchen, and always very nice about coming over to jack up the mobile home when it starts to slip down into the trench behind the house due to the sheer weight of all the books and legos crammed into the back room, who have been very patient with neophyte questions about pouring concrete, who have given us plants and great apple crumble with grapes, who have helped patch holes in the cable that connects us to the ‘fée électricité’, pots and pots of tea, meals and soothing words about everything working out just when i was sure that it wouldn’t; to the three sisters who were the original owners of the property, with a special note of thanks to Marcelle, who we would have liked very much to meet, and Pierrette who with her husband has been so very kind in allowing us to put the three thousand kilos of furniture that i was sure we didn’t have, in temporary storage in the manor house while our farm is torn apart; and to Pierre-Yvès who is the kind of neighbor who will bring over a tractor scoop of fresh horse manure exactly at the moment when you need it for the flower bed, or will drop by one horribly rainy day and leave a pathway of plastic mats so that we can walk through the mud to our mobile home with almost-dry feet (without them and him, the gentle slope leading up to our château on wheels would be rendered inaccessible, and we would be living in our car). He has five tractors. This point has not been lost on Gabriel. Also Malin and Simon and Anton who we love and will do dishes for for the rest of our lives in thanks for the generous sharing of their house, their washing-machine, their bathtub, their wine, their excellent food and elevation of perspective and have patiently given construction advice and wise words on every other various subject on which they’ve been questioned. And who braved the very first cold night to come with heaters, warm soup, great bread and kalles kaviar to celebrate in the mobile home with us (they were the very first ones to see it with us, with Simon’s business partner Olivier, in early July when we came to Maffay with Elodie our wonderful and very very patient real-estate agent). And our parents (financial and emotional support via telephone, email, Tuscan advice sessions over roasted pig and gardening expertise in the muddy months of winter) and our great family and friends in the States and Ireland and Sweden and France and Italy and Switzerland who have been so patient and supportive.

Welcome to Maffay.