La Rentrée

The French have an expression “la rentrée”, which literally means “the return”.  When people leave for vacation, people call out to them “À la rentrée!” (Until you return!).  When they come back again, there are many well wishes of, “Ah ouais…bonne rentrée”.  

In France, most of the country goes on summer vacation during August.  Well, most of the inland, more northern parts of France, that is.  Not so the stalwart business owners of the French Riviera…where the money made from August tourism trumps anything they earn the rest of the year. 

Anyway, most people extol the mythical wonders of la rentrée as it is seen as the return to normal living.  Pretty much the same way parents look forward to the day after Labor Day in the US.  Schools restart, after-school activities restart.  Friends and family return from vacations.  Laundry gets done, vacation items are stored back in their places.  Things are as you expect them to be.  Predictable. 

There is a feeling of anticipation in la rentrée, but there is also a knowing.  A knowing that with this transition to another fall, life is also a bit upended.  We all walk around with a little less sleep than we might like – after all, it is still 80+ degrees and the sun is out at 8 or 9pm.  The standard routines of commutes, after school activities, and weekend plans are not yet embodied. 

There is discomfort as we re-start the spinning of all the plates we juggle. 

We are caterpillars in the cocoon during la rentrée.  We have the promise of something lovely and worthwhile, but darn if we aren’t a complete mess at this time. 

This is our deuxieme rentrée here in France.  And I admit it has been a bumpy ride. 

Luckily, our family avoided illnesses during our insane summer schedule, but notre premier jour en France, COVID struck and took out half of our house.  Then we stumbled upon a few parts of our villa that were not functioning and needed immediate attention.  A host of repairmen, plumbers, electricians, and masons descended on our house.  This only added to the chaos of our children starting two new schools and readjusting to Central European Time. 

But what really capped off la rentrée was the slow, yet persistent unveiling of many unwelcomed guests.  A stray poop here, a scratching there, and finally the consumption of a huge chunk of a cantaloupe on the kitchen counter that confirmed that we had furry friends among us. 

Our younger son mused that it was Remy from Ratatouille.  Friendly rats who would cook for us and clean up our messes.  But alas, no such luck.  Our rat tribe, which we now estimate to be in the 20s, are the thieving, poop-leaving kind. 

Now, this is my first go with rats.  Sure, we had little field mice in the hay or a stray mouse nibbling on the cow’s oats when I was growing up on the farm.  But a full-blown rat infestation is a first. 

Being sick with COVID, I was relegated to the couch for nearly a week.  And it was during this time that the rat tribe’s nocturnal activities became my scientific study.  Starting about 3:25am they run races from one end of the walls to the other.  Every third night or so around 4:15am, a few will drop out of the bushes outside with a cascading thud onto the roof – and make their way down the chimney.  Within 20 minutes, they find their way into the kitchen to forage.  A cupboard opens and closes.  They are crafty little guys!

We are not messy people as it is.  Ants, unfortunately, are not foreign to my experience and I have an unusual phobia of cockroaches, so I’m gnarly tidy.  I always leave a clean counter with food items stored properly away, and trash and recycling are dutifully placed in the bins outside each night.  So, other than our fruit basket which artfully displays the week’s beautiful local produce, there has been little to reward our friends’ exploration. 

And yet, they bustle inside each night just to see what they can find. 

Typically, these guys live outside in the garden and don’t bother people.  Yet over the summer, our clan moved indoors and their numbers swelled to well outnumber the humans.  Our pest expert, Frédéric, says that we have many vermin of different sizes and species.  Despite our plugging of various holes around the house and in the basement, they refuse to stay outside. 

Sadly, their little intrusions create a toxic space in the kitchen where I prepare nourishment for this human family that I love. 

So, it is apparent that one of us must go. 

I have to say that I am saddened by this turn of events.  I don’t blame them for coming here.  I am merely an animal as well, and I too have been scratching around trying to find a comfortable place to call home.  I have nested with my small tribe in this beautiful French countryside, and I set about adorning our surroundings with little findings that bring us delight and joy.  I wander into nearby markets to scour for the best produce and choose the freshest breads to share with my growing brood. 

Ok, I don’t share the whole pooping-on-the-counter habit with them. So that’s a plus.

But we race, dance, and play.  We squeak and squeal in our own ways late into the day.  And when I am faced with a barrier that stands in my way, I will gnaw and prod until I can make a hole big enough to get through.  

Who am I to claim ownership to this space that heretofore was amid their wild spaces? 

Alas, it is with a heavy heart that tonight we must pack our bags and move out of this beautiful home for a while.  We leave the job of removing these creatures to the professionals.  While we wish them no harm, the sad truth is that this is impossible. 

And as I turn off the light and lock the door, I honor each of my furry co-habitants.  I wish them all well and hope that one day in the future, balance will return and we can again coexist happily on opposite sides of these walls. 

Bisous,
Hanna