Canon: How to compliment a French Woman


Wheat Farm (c) Kristin Espinasse
Forget bluegrass - have you ever listened to a field of wheat? (photo taken in Orange)

le blé (blay)

    : wheat

le blé is also slang for "dough" (cash, moola)

la farine de blé = wheat flour
le blé dur = durum wheat
le champ de blé = wheatfield or cornfield
le blé noir = buckwheat 

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A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

The Sound of Wheat

The morning Mom left I fought the urge to crawl right back into bed. I might have slept all day, behind closed shutters, in a room as dark as a smarting heart. I didn't dare "go there"; instead, there was work to do including stories to write and beds to make. Besides, who could sleep with all the racket outside the bedroom window?

I tuned into the sounds filtering in from the countryside, where the grapevines are so full of leaves you can no longer see the ground beneath their green canopy. Rising from those mysterious depths was a familiar buzz one hears only in summertime: les cigales. They were awake now... only, much too late for Mom to enjoy their song! What should have been an exciting event--the first cicadas of the season!!!--left me feeling even more saddened. What a dirty trick played by the trilling "tree crickets"! They might have had la courtoisie to appear one day earlier in time to tickle a dear mother's ears!

Following Mom's departure, it took a forced change of perspective to set a despondent daughter back on track and, finally, I had an inspiration: Wasn't that, after all, a clever way for Jules to exit: on the wings of cicada song!

In the spirit of changing perspective--and not letting a sunken heart color reality--I headed out to do some errands and discovered that the technicolor world outside my door was still intact.

There was that field of bright yellow tournesols, just outside the town of Orange... yet another first of the season.  I regretted not pulling over to snap a picture of so many sunny faces... perhaps I would get back to it?

And there was that roadside fruit stand--a one-woman show featuring a grandmother, a rickety old bagnole, and a trunk filled with abricots à gogo! It was a little too late to stop for those and so I sped on by....

After finishing errands I found myself rushing home and wondering about that change-of-perspective that I had set out on... what was the good of intention when, in the end, you were not willing to stop, and and look, and taste, and listen! I'd missed the cicadas, I'd missed the sunflowers, I'd missed the rickety trunk of apricots!

In a whirl of regret, I was struck by a brightness entering into my car from the side. I turned to its source... in time to gaze at un champ de blé.

Pulling off the side of the road I lowered the car window and wondered: Have you ever listened to a field of wheat? Stick your ears out now, écoute!, the sound is gloriously "sizzling"!

I sat silently, letting the melody of wheat, along with the lazy, late-spring breeze, envelop me. Earlier, I had rushed right on by the other splendors of the countryside, and here was my chance....


Cars sped by but it was the wheat that now captured my eyes. I could just see the braided wheat tips crowned by those bleached feathery locks. Each blade of wheat might have been a soulful singer and an endless field made for a mesmerizing chorus! I shook my head in appreciation. And I asked once again, Have you never listened to the sound of wheat?


Le Coin Commentaires
Not everyone has the chance to live near a field of grass. But many other mind-altering melodies surround us. Share some of your favorite sounds with us, now. Which are relaxing? Which lift your spirits? Birds or frogs or a streaming river or the bumpings of its traveling logs? A child's sleepy breathing or a co-worker's joyful hum? Thanks for sharing your thoughts here, in the comments box.

Post note: I did go back to that apricot stand, and I regret not taking the time to tell you about the roadside sampling in which strangers stood side-by-side slurping juicy fruit and letting its juices trickle down their forearms - all the way to their elbows and their toes.

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French Vocabulary

la cigale = cicada

la courtoisie = courtesy

le tournesol = sunflower

la bagnole = car (jalopy)

un abricot = apricot

à gogo = galore

un champ = a field

de blé = of wheat

écoute! = listen! 

I meant to record every new flower in the garden... Never too late to pick up here with the first black hollyhock. I had wished for one for a long time! 

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Don't fret about having missed the sunflowers, dear Kristin! I live amidst huge sunflower fields and learned that they no longer are tournesols but just ...sols, once they opened their sunny face they do not longer turn with the sun! Turning has been bred out of the agricultural sunflower so they don't waste their plant energy by turning their head, following the sun... Sad, isn't it! So once you can look into the face of a sunflower in the evening sun you can be sure it is either a brave misfit or sauvage... So take your sunflower picture in the early morning when they all look east, welcoming a new and sunny day!


I just drove back to Provence from the UK and as we came off the motorway and drove through the country roads, I suddenly heard the cicadas and knew that we were close to home!

carol clark

My relatives lived on a 100-year -old wheat farm in North Dakota...acres of waving,golden stalks, making the most delicious sound.
I now live in Los Angeles, but when I return to Minnesota, it's the wind in the tall pine trees that send a chill down my spine...I'm a child again, picking wild berries with my mother on Blueberry Hill.

Diane Samson

The sounds of the ocean are mesmerizing to me. The sound of the waves and surf crashing into the sand or rocks brings me delight.

Alastair Grant

Lovely descriptions of the countryside at this time of year Kristin - that's part of the magic which can best be appreciated cycling. The sounds and smells are missed when motoring. Your life is too hectic for that - but an open top car would be the next best thing. The wind in your hair and the scent of cut grass and wild flowers would not be lost. Then when you stop you will hear the wind in the wheat. Go for it Kristin!
Message from South Africa



Thanks for "les champs de blé" and their sizzling sound - a sound that will amplify as the 'straw' gets riper and drier... and golder! then, the noise of the machines will take over...
~~ talking about fields, "les champs d'orge* et d'avoine**" are also spectacular (but I can't remember 'listening' to their 'Summer song')

* orge = barley
** avoine = oat
(both cereals are fem)

I love the photo of your black hollihock (and I'm thinking of the very precious seeds you'll get!...) - here, hollihock stems and bottom leaves are getting mouldy at the moment ... on the other hand, the little dianthus have never been so prolific!

Flowers play magic with their perfume, shape and colours. What a joy to see them blossoming, attracting dancing butterflies... and how delightful to 'hear' them whispering or rather... 'humming with a chorus of bees'!

I think the song of birds, so full of charm, mystery and JOY, is at the top of my favourite melodies from nature.
I also love the rustling of leaves in trees above my head - so calm and inspiring,
the gentle and soothing sound of trickling water,
but also the 'white noise' of crashing waves, with its tumultuous and liberating exuberance!
I find the visual support of those sounds adds extra dimension to the pleasure - then, I can close my eyes, 'see' the music, smile - and be happy & thankful.

Eileen deCamp

Hi Kristin,
I love the sound of rustling wheat. We were stationed in Kansas several times and lived near some wheat fields. We also would hike in the Konza Prairie and the sound of the prairie grasses swaying in the wind was lovely.


The sound of a baby laughing makes my heart sing ....and for contentment it has to be a cat purring on your lap.....

Jenny Symons

I live in Australia where the drumming of cicadas is also a signal of the arrival of the dry heat of summer. I loved the idea of listening to the sound of wheat. It made wish to be back in south-west France where we have spent so many happy times. But back home here in Sydney one of the most evocative sounds is the screeching of sulphur-crested cockatoos outside our window - a raucous, insistent sshriek that brings the sound of the country to inner city Sydney as they swoop between the gum trees in the streets.

Pat Cargill

I love the sound of wind in the trees. Sitting on the back porch at night the summer evening sounds of the cicadas plus the twinkling lights of fireflies is pure pleasure. And, of course, the crashing waves of the ocean on a sandy beach is divine. I have tried sleeping on the porch, a true down South thing of the past, but the over-powering sounds of air conditioners prevents doing this. I live a block away from a school and that is one big A/C honking 24/7.

I am glad that you found your moment of beauty the day your Mom left.

Sharon - Montague, Michigan

The sound of leaves rustling by the wind is a soothing sound to me. After walking our dog Simon in the early morning, I just have to sit and listen to the natural music that nature brings to us here in the woods. It's so peaceful and calming in this hectic world of life.

Sally Smyth

Dear Kristin.....
Ocala is so far from anything resembling the sights and sounds of Provence. Yes, the champs de blé, les cigales and sunflowers and my personal favorite, the sound of someone sweeping in the very early morning, somewhere outside of my bedroom window - the rhythm of the broom as it gathers small piles of leaves and berries...only in Europe. It is the aromas, however, that evoke the true essence of a life in southern France. For me it is the fragrance of the flower market in winter in the old town of Nice; the damp and salty odor of the Mediterranean as it washes through the pebbles in front of the now obsolete Ruhl Hotel on the Promenade des Anglais, that special fragrance of February's Mimosa in Cannes..... How I long for a month or two in the land of unparalleled beauté. I feel that I am at your side as you write and meander along the old Roman roads that once dazzled the the ancient bystander. Please kiss Smokey on the nose for me.

Lal Minton

When we were children of seven or eight, my older sister and I, outside of Foremost in Southern Alberta, Canada, we played hide and seek in the tall wheat fields. It is one of my best memories. Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing the sound of the wheat stalks blowing in the wind. Lal Minton


My heart goes out to you in the way that you miss your mother after she has left. I remember how empty our house seemed after my mother left after a visit because she seemed to fill the house. However, unlike mine, your mom is still alive. Jules has survived some medical difficulties so that you still hear her in your ear when you chat on the telephone. God has blessed you with her presence a while longer because He knows that you still need her. We all enjoy her comments here in Le Coin Commentaires. For that, we say, "Merci".

Herm in Phoenix, Az

Salut Kristin,

Today’s story reminded me of my early years on a farm in Northern Illinois. We didn’t grow wheat, but did grow lots of corn. On a calm, hot and humid summer evening in August, you could actually hear the corn grow!

Now days in Arizona, I settle for the wind blowing though the ponderosa pines as we summer in Flagstaff.

I hope that Jules in safely home in Mexico and bending John’s ear with stories of her trip and the visit with you and your family.

À bientôt


My favorite sound is my three year-old singing to herself. Everytime she is in her carseat or playing in the playroom and I hear her sweet voice, my heart swells.

Nancy L.

Here in the Northeast US in Spring and summer we have the "peepers"(in some places also called tinkletoes or pinkletinks! I thought the wordsmiths among your readers would enjoy those nicknames) They are small tree frogs that make a high pitched 'peep' at dusk and in the early evening). They remind me of the cigale--although they don't sound anything like them ---except that they herald the warm weather. I love the sound of them. They are the sound of nightfall in Connecticut, just as the cigale is the sound of a Provencal summer.

Mary Anne MacMorran

I live in Austin, Texas where we are in the midst of a drought and daily temperatures already reaching 102F. Cicadas have always signaled the oppressive heat of summer here. It was refreshing to read that they bring excitement to you. From now on, I will work on appreciating them for their songs of summer.

Sophie Day

My spring alarm clock is the cardinal who starts singing at day break. And yes, the peepers peep mightily all night long in the early spring but now we have the bullfrogs and the crickets, like in France. No wheat in Westwood MA but there is the constant chatter of chipmunks of which we have a bumper crop this year!

Helen Ruston

So that is where that delicious French bread is born! And your charming pictures of the tumbledown barns..VanGogh is speaking to you -- wishing he was there with his easel doing his best to capture the feeling and sounds. And making me want to get on the next plane to France!


To add to your word list for today, in Québec blé d'Inde is the expression for sweet corn. During corn season, there will be signs along rural roads when the delicious vegetable is for sale.

Anne Lester

I was in Botswana recently, and drifted off to sleep listening to the bell like call of frogs and the growl of toads, an audio blanket spread from dusk to dawn.

Erin from Canada

Hi Kristin,

Your beautiful photos today remind me of Van Gogh's wheat field paintings and your description of the wheat "sizzling" makes me feel like I'm right there. Thanks for a lovely story!

Polly Adkins

Saint Exupery uses the color of wheat fields to give readers the visual image of the Little Prince's golden hair. I've always loved that image. Thanks for the sound image of wheat fields to add to that lovely picture.

Candy in SW KS (for two more months!)

The "whispering" aspens and the "gurgling" mountain brook! Ah, I will hear them again soon! They speak to my soul and I "need" them for spiritual nourishment.

Bill Facker

Aloha Kristin - This post is a great reminder for all of us to exit the trappings of industrial and electronic "progress" in favor of nature's perfection .. as often as feasible. Mahalo for the reminder. Bill Facker P.S. My favorite is to sit and listen to a field of potatoes screaming to be freed from the earth .. and their collective laughter on harvest day. Ah, the simple pleasures :)

Mary Gouveia

The sounds of mourning doves takes me back to the coolness of early summer mornings from my childhood in Missouri.

Tamra/The Gilded Barn

We live across from a large horse farm and the pasture across from our house is leased out for farming. I love to hear the combines softly in the distance before sunrise as they cut the alfalfa and then the sweet smell of the alfalfa as the sun comes up is delicious!

Marianne Rankin

Bill Facker, I would love to hear those screaming potatoes.

I love all the sounds mentioned in these posts. Another I've noticed outside my window is the "bowing" of tree branches as they occasionally rub against each other.

I love beauty, too, in all its forms. An image that has stayed with me for years is of my then one-year-old son gently reaching for lightning bugs, a few of which landed in his hand. And when he looked at them, he said, "Stars."

Kathy Groves

This is for Blair who loves the sound of her three year old singing to herself. All parents take photos of their children but we seldom think to make a sound recording, don't miss the chance to record your child's songs. My son is 30 years old now and one of my favorite treasures is a tape recording that I made of him singing a song of his own creation (it was carefully hidden when he was a teen-ager).

My favorite nature sound is in the fall when the leaves are deep on the ground and they russle as I walk through them. I also love the smell of those dried leaves

Gayle Markow

I love the sound of rain beating on the roof or the windows. Now, living most of my adult life in San Francisco, where there is sometimes "too much" rain, and not enough sun, I grew up in Phoenix, where rain was always a blessed event. Even though now I am always longing for more sun and more warmth, I still love the sound of rain!


The sounds of two panels of hanging Moire' drapes, blown by the wind of the open window, sizzling, slithering against one another...rustling as the winter wheat on our family's Centennial farm in Colorado...mmm...memories!



What sound do I love? The extraordinarily loud purr of one of my beloved cats (who died last week), and a sound which I still hear. (Phantom purr?)

Your message today is pure art. Wonderful!

Gwyn Ganjeau

for me, any hearty bellylaugh is my favorite sound. that laugh that is so spontaneous it even takes the 'laugher' by surprise. unadulterated glee.

I think those cicadas were the voice of the little part of Jules that I'm sure stays with you every time she kisses your cheek au revoir. she was saying 'good morning'!

Lisa A., CA

I've been lucky. Growing up in Los Angeles, I have had the best of two worlds: the beaches (from Redondo Beach to Malibu Beach) and beautiful Low Sierra Mountains (along the Tule River)...both places have been and still are extremely relaxing to me. Oh...I almost forgot...the sound of the little birds that sing outside my bedroom window every morning. They always make me smile.


Kristin, your words took me to that wheat field and the sound was wonderful. When I first learned about the senses (maybe third grade) decided to make myself aware of the different things they could bring to my life. Using only two senses can take you to worlds most people take for granted. it is easy to think of all the things we can see, as sight is our most utilized sense. I look at flowers, trees, bugs, weeds, children, there are few things we can't see with the naked eye. Our sense of hearing is next for me. I use that sense more than my husband does, ha! But, then smell and taste we don't usually notice unless it is distasteful or especially wonderful. I think touch is overlooked the most. We get so used to touching everyday things that we don't realize that fabrics, leaves, woods, skin, metals, everything has it's own distinct feel. The world really opens up to us when we decide to become aware of our senses. It would hard to say which is my favorite of anything, because they are all so wonderful


I just thought of my most favorite and most missed thing. Before we had lasic surgery, my husband and I used to lay down beneath the Christmas tree and with our glasses off. The blurry lights were magical.


A favorite sound from childhood—my mother was always an early riser and as I lay half asleep in bed I'd listen to the coffee grinder and the kettle as she made her morning coffee. It always made me feel safe, clinking around the kitchen.
This is a smell but makes me feel the way the sound of wind through wheat and trees do. I grew up in Oregon and in the summers they burn their mint fields to kill weeds and disease. The sweet, thick smell of acres of mint burning is something I will always love.

Jackson Dunes, Pug At The Beach

Your description of your mom's leaving on the "wings of a cicada song" was wonderful! They really are the sounds of summer. Glad you love your mom enough to miss her when she leaves! :D

Lee Isbell

A lot of these evoked memories, things I might have listed, but I just remembered the mockingbirds that sang their richly varied songs all night long. Most people would say "I wish that damned bird would shut up," but I never thought that. I don't know how many years it has been since I heard onel

Jennifer in OR

"...braided wheat tips crowned by those bleached feathery locks..."--that was a beautiful description! I can hear the song.


I love the sound of the cicadas. They have not been heard here this year yet. When I was a kid living in the suburbs of Pittsburgh I always looked forward to visiting my grandparents here in Virginia. They retired to the country. We heard cicadas during the day and the crickets at night. I rode a pony bareback, and would go swimming in a fishing hole, swinging from the rope that hung high in the tree...hoping I didn't see a snake. Those were the lazy days before life started moving too fast and responsiblities took hold of my life.

Stacy, Applegate, Oregon

Sweet story, my pleasure to read and relate to you on this spectacular spring evening. Here the sun is still bright and just outside my window the tall pasture grasses are shimmering and dancing in the wind. Your story was made even sweeter by the fact that I heard my first cicada of the season here yesterday afternoon. Also today, as I made my morning rounds visiting my flowers, I looked at my 12 to 18 inch hollyhocks and thought of yours wondering if they were in bloom.

For me the sweetest sounds must be the bubbling, joyous song of the little wren and equally lovely and much more elusive is the exquisite serenade of the dipper bird (or water ouzel). I imagine their song is as enchanting as the songs the Sirens must have sung to lure the ships to their shores. I also love the sound of the mountain brooks and creeks. Just last night I sat alongside mine, breathing in her sweet scent and letting her melody lull my cares away. I’m heading back there now….

Lovely story and photos, I could almost taste the apricot. Hope Jules made it safely home! xoxo

Christine Dashper

Lovely post Kristin. I had been thinking of you, knowing Jules had gone home. I loved the pictures of the wheat and imagining the sounds of the cicadas and the 'mental' pictures of the sunflowers. Then I went back to my own photos of les tournesols taken a couple of years ago in Provence and could almost feel the warmth of that day. Especially good as I sit here in wintry Melbourne studying for exams. xx

joie in Carmel,CA

Yes, I have heard the wheat in a field and the sound of the wind in the pines in the mountains, or the rain on my roof, but most of all I am blessed to be able to go to sleep every night with the sound of the waves a few blocks away. I loved the sound of the cicadas when I was in Provence, but they never stopped. Sort of like the frogs by the river. When one stops to think about our senses I think we first think of sight because it is the most predominent, but hearing the sounds can be wonderful, or how about smells. What wonderful scents abound around you? And then there is touch....think on that. Thank you for reminding me of all these senses.

joie in Carmel,CA

Now you have done it! My mind is conjuring up all sorts of sounds, smells and sights of the past. One that perhaps you encountered growing up. When I was visiting friends in Arizona.....the sound of the coyote at night, the soft desert air in the evening......


I love the way you, Kristin, describe things around you. I said it before, that your story makes me feel I'm there. Your photos are also great.
Hope your mom has had a safe and sound trip home. Last time, I was surprised by Jules' 24-hour long trip to France. My recent return trip from China, including transit and plane delay lasted 22 hours. That was so tiring. Je souffre encore du décalage horaire, sleeping and waking up at odd hours.
I live not far from the ocean, but I wake up, not au chant du coq, but to the sound of birds singing, in the early morning. Each time hearing them, I think of Cendrillon being waken up by the cute little birds in the Disney movie. It's just lovely.
Bonne journée, Kristin!


Thanks for making me work out of my mini-funk to focus on my morning joy--I awaken very early most mornings to hear the sound of that first morning bird awakening all of his (maybe her) friends--I love the sound of their voices telling us mere humans about the excitement of meeting the new day. (Apricots are my favorite fruit I wish I'd been with you eating them fresh from the tree!!) Have a wonderful week-end. Mary

Deborah Auclair

The story I wrote is not a follow up to the magic of sound but rather a follow up to the moments we tend to miss as suggested in your story.

Why is it that we just need to keep learning the same lessons over and over again?

It was a long time ago that I discovered the importance of catching the light, that magical moment when the sun's light cast a warm, almost peach-like glow. It is an ephemeral time that the impressionist artists found which influenced many if not most of their paintings. I simply found it by accident when I took up my amateur photography about 30 years ago.

Last friday that magical moment caught my eye once again. It had been a beautiful sunny day. At the end of the day, I decided to go snip a sprig of lilac in the backyard. All winter long I look out the kitchen window as I do my dishes and dream of the spring day when I will first smell that intoxicating lilac perfum. On my way back into the house, I looked up into a flowering tree. As I did, I could see that magical glow. Experience told me that I had about 5 minutes to get my camera and catch the photo. Dinner preparation was calling me but I just didn't want to lose the moment.

Into the house I went.....grabbed my camera and clicked off a few shots. Then as quickly as it came it was gone. I was pleased with myself but not for long. That is when it hit me. The realization that I had in fact lost a different kind of moment only a few hours earlier.

My day began with office work and errands. The afternoon proceeded with fulfilling a promise to help a friend and lastly to help my daughter move out of her dorm. While I was at my friend's house, I MISSED THE MAGICAL MOMENT.

When I arrived at her house, we said our salutations and immediately began the task we had set out to do. Her concentration was fractured. I tried to remain on task. She was like a bird that just wanted to fly. Under her repeated suggestion we dropped our work and "flew" outside. Once outside, I knew the decision was correct. The week long forecast was for rain. Enjoying the sun and fresh spring air was a commodity we just couldn't pass by. Of course, all perfect moments have to been interrupted by reality. Up the driveway he came. The dumpster man was searching for the spot to place his container that would ultimately be used for the roofing scraps. Me, being the anal helper that I am, just had to access the situation and give a mouthful of advice. In the midst of my verbal garbage I looked over at my friend as she sat in her wheelchair. Her beautiful tiny face was tilted upward and she was smiling with half-closed eyes. All around her and Mr. Dumpster man and I was a flurry of apple blossom petals dancing on the sweet smelling spring-time breeze. "Look look look it is like a wedding" she said with excited joy. Rudely all I could do was chastise her for not paying attention to the problem at hand.

It has been a week now and my mind's eye continues to play the visual of her lovely face at peace among the falling petals.

Forgive me my dear friend for losing that ephemeral moment that I should have shared with you.

Like the peach-glow light that finds it way to me and my camera when I pay attention, I pray that another magical moment will find it's way to us. Hopefully I will be wise enough to see it this time.

Rosalie Hill Isom

I'm looking forward to seeing the names of your new garden blooms. Hollyhock, c'est quoi en francais?


Hi Rosalie,
"rose trémière" = hollyhock

Hi Deborah,
Yes, we do miss some magical moments, but there will always be another day, another time, another Spring and another flurry of apple blossom petals ~~ and still more joy to come our way ... and more surprises!


Hi Kristin,

No FWAD in my inbox today - not yet. Not to worry, as there is no deadline! Besides, you would/should be quite entitled to "faire le pont" and enjoy an extended w/end without your readers.

I hope you are having a great time with your lovely guests.

JOYEUSE FÊTE DES PÈRES à Jean-Marc on Sunday.

away for a week
-> should be back next weekend.
All the very best!

Kristin Espinasse

What poetic descriptions of sights, sounds, touch, and all the sensory delights! Thank you!

Newforest, thanks for answering Rosalies question and, also, so glad you mentioned French fathers day (I had not realized it was this Sunday!!! Now to check and see if it is the same day in the US...)

Deborah, really enjoyed your story - especially the image of your friends lovely face at peace among the falling petals.

Wishing everyone a good weekend. The next word goes out on Monday!

Jacqueline Gill

This time, not only you but all the bloggers have thrilled me with their varied and beautiful remembrances. I found myself nodding "yes!" as I read each one. I lived on a farm for 20 years and came to love each sound. One favorite sound, though it may seem harsh to some of you, was the screech owl that perched on first our barn and then our house's chimney many, many nights. Oh, how the whole family waited and giggled as Old Screech would regale us with his presence!

Andrew M

Hi Kristin
I really enjoy reading your accounts of daily life on a French farm, the chance to live en France vicariously, and the chance to add to my French vocabulary. But, at the risk of being picky, I politely question your translation of "la courtoisie" as "curtesy". I think you meant courtesy.

Merriam-Webster defines "curtesy" as "a husband's interest upon the death of his wife in the real property of an estate that she either solely owned or inherited provided they bore a child capable of inheriting the estate" It's an old-fashioned legal term that is now abolished in most of the U.S., Canada and the UK.

... and thanks again for your wonderful blog.


Je reviens, pour simplement dire à jean-Marc, "Bonne Fête des Pères".
Qu'il soit gâté comme un roi...pour un jour :-)


Et Bonne journée à vous tous!


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