Living in France

During Summer 1969, I was staying with the Nicholas family in Wihr-en-Plaine, near Colmar, in Alsace, France.What a summer of excitement, adventure and unpredictability for a 16 year old, naive girl whose dream of being an exchange student was being realized."Firsts" abounded: flying, traveling outside the U.S.,and, most significantly, traveling alone.I thought I had sufficiently prepared for the language challenge, having taken classroom French since 8th grade.Wrong. French people spoke fast, slurring words and using lots of slang, compounded by the German influence found in the Alsatian region.Once, I thought I was ordering raspberry ice cream at a local restaurant, but I got a glass of very strong Framboise liquor instead. I had pronounced "glace" ( accent mark needed here) incorrectly. I was too embarrassed to send it back, so I drank it.Ooh la la.( legal drinking at 14, apparently).The Nicholas home had been in their family over 100 years, and was in actuality, an estate.In fact, it had been a Nazi headquarters during the French occupation.There were 10 bedrooms in 3 wings, a wine cellar, a bomb shelter, a vineyard, large garden, courtyard, a 5 car garage which used to be a horse stable, and - another first for me- I had my own bedroom and my own bed. This, in itself, was a big deal for me, because I had always shared a small bedroom and bed with my sister. They had a couple of workers come to the house every day,a man to work outside, and his wife who helped clean and cook. It felt like a resort to me, and without a lot of chores, a real vacation. I did help in the garden and with the grape vines, but that was fun to me , since I had never done that in Michigan.Also, I had two jobs every day. I would go across the road to the closest neighbor, about a half mile walk, and get 2 large buckets of fresh milk, by milking a dairy cow. The first time I milked a cow, I was totally inept, and frankly weirded out. The Nicholas household used a lot of milk,cream and cheese , and it was all unpasteurized. My second daily task was to walk about a mile to the bread shop and get the daily supply of assorted breads that my "French" mother, Nanette,wanted. Eventually, I was allowed to drive one of the cars (I crashed one of their Porsches once). This was a relief to my legs and arms.Many weekends, Nanette would take me to different local places to " sightsee". I even got to see other parts of France as well as Germany and Switzerland. All in all , I had a remarkable, unforgettable, life-changing experience. I had tea time every afternoon ( Nan was part British), and drank wine with our evening meal. The only time I watched TV was when we went to a party at one of their friend's home to watch the U.S. Moon landing. I have left out a very important detail , which could be a post unto itself.I experienced that feeling of first love, young love. Jean- Marc Nicholas, Nanette's son, was twenty at the time, and we became inseparable.He made hand carved furniture, loved making wine, and he had a true joie de vivre. He would try to speak English; I would speak French as best I could.I would watch him passionately work at times, and marveled at his skill. I , who had initially been quite homesick, didn't want to go back to the States, because I truly was extraordinarily happy. But, eventually,I did go back home, and I was sad for quite a while. I realized that I had romanticized all of my time in France, and although I corresponded with Jean- Marc for months,I never saw him again. It has been 44 years, but that time in France left an indelible mark on my development: my love of French food and wine, my love of traveling and seeing other cultures,my love of trying new things, being independent and self- reliant, and loving and being loved. That's a lot for a short time,and I haven't told the half of it.