Mowing the Fields

I am really behind on yard work and when I say yard work, I mean really field work. When we arrived this weekend at Balmont, I was flabbergasted by how high the grass had grown (and is it really grass?) Surrounding our house, all the way up to the front steps was knee-high green. "Je dois tondre les prés," I say to the farmer next door, who looks at me like I am absolutely out of my mind, images of Carrie and "Sex and the City" flashing through his head. My daughter, Abbie, asked me if I had ever owned a pair of Manolo Blahniks. I must draw the line somewhere. These days, I can be found exclusively on the weekends in my old pair of leather Vejas, painty, ripped pants and comfy "le love" shirt {a Basic French exclusive,} cutting down les lilas to offer in bouquets to my neighbors, pulling up the endless mauvaise herbes, and mowing the fields...