La Poule.

In another form.

et son copain...

Gaby Joly

We headed off through the night, up the mountainous path past Grenoble to Entrevaux, where Gaby (Xavier's aunt) lives. Gaby has nothing of value. Nothing. This fact is clear when you approach her tiny and distressed bungalow of a house, high in the mountains of Southern France (above). She sits there, at her ramshackle table, in that picturesque place, with her nothing that is so much - with her smile and her laughter (she is constantly the source of raucous laughter - she is currently in pursuit of a career as a clown). Gaby may have nothing, but she takes nothing and makes it beautiful. Look.



It is like a perfectly styled "shabby chic," French Provence catalogue spread, except this is real and made from the remnants of other people's unwanted things. Throughout the year, she collects all the scraps of left-over candle wax and then at Christmas, melts it all together and creates strange-shaped candles in half-tipped over glasses (to dry crooked) as presents.

While at her house, we had two great meals at tables full of people Gaby loves - her children and grandchildren, all there to visit, to sleep in tents where the house was too full and to soak in Gaby.



The morning we left, Gaby woke up early to offer us breakfast (the traditional simple French breakfast of bread with jam - homemade by Gaby, hot chocolate, coffee) and to be with us before we took off. We spoke about the members of Xavier's family, her animals (cats and kittens all over, and her rooster who thinks that she is his mother hen and needs to be tucked in at night in order to sleep), about how she loves winter in the mountains of Provence at her little house, heated only by a wood stove and the crunch of the snow under her feet outside. And then, as we were leaving, Gaby wanted to give us something. She told me to follow her out to her field of lavender, and she cut an entire plant's blooming stocks for us to take, wrapped in newspaper and twine.





Here is the original "La Poule," Matao, who comes from Gaby.



Here are Laetitia (Gaby's daughter) and her boyfriend, Sylvain.



In his little chair positioned behind Gaby's house, Sylvain played his guitar to the mountains.

La Poule

I love la Poule. Xavier introduced me to her. She has been a big part of my life and amusement since we met. La Poule is a very large – larger than life – hen, well, kinda. She is a metaphysical sort-of hen with a killer personality: she is self-important, prideful, genial, ready to lend a (useless) hand, and really, she is always putting on airs. She is totally unacquainted with the size of her own body; she has a complete lack of proprioception. (I can really relate to la Poule in that sense – I don’t do a good job of knowing where my body parts are in relation to things – la Poule and I are completely maladroite (clumsy).)

La Poule has always traveled with Xavier and me – she follows us on any voyage, short or long, and usually spends the length of the trip riding around the baggage claim carousel. One of her classic traits is embodying, actually appropriating (in her psyche), the objects around her. While riding endlessly on the baggage carousel, she roosts on the paneled rubber she sits on and psychologically becomes a suitcase. She actually thinks she is the larger version of the ruby red trunk revolving to her right.

When La Poule skis, she wears oven mits for gloves.

Xavier is close to la Poule – it was a couple of his older cousins (Icar et Matao, below) who initially introduced him to her. She was constantly popping up in their lives (sort of like Shannon and Tiffany for those of you who know about them). But she’s been hanging around Xavier a lot since then.



La Poule is usually seen wearing underwear on her head, thinking it is a hat, making this face:



(and yes, those are my ribs.lungs.xray up there in those first pictures. You see, the frenchies want a picture of any foreign person's ribs before they can start working here. Good idea, if you ask me...and they even let you take the x-ray home afterward to hang above your stove. Cool. And no, neither Xavier nor la Poule can cook.)