We live in the village of Le Grand-Pressigny, in the Southern Touraine region of the Loire Valley. With a population of just about 1,000 people, we are fortunate to have a few shops and services that remain open, something for which we are so thankful in this current situation.

France has been in lockdown mode since March 17th. We had been planning to fly to California a few days before that, and decided at the last minute (literally, just two hours before our flight was scheduled to depart Paris), that we wouldn’t go. It was a good decision. We might have been put into quarantine in California for two weeks, and if we’re going to be in lockdown somewhere, I’d rather it be in a little French village than a hotel in California.

So, here we are, three weeks later, sequestered in the house we’ve been renting for the past year (this week marks one year living in France) while our own house is being renovated. As most of our possessions are in storage, we are living with other people’s things, a small kitchen with basic cookware, knives that really need sharpening, and a typically small French-style refrigerator. We do have our own living room furniture here, and our big US king-sized bed, thank goodness. Everything else we own is in storage, where it has been since it was shipped from California last year. Optimistically, even with the delays this all is causing to our renovations, we are hoping to move into our house in late summer.

The self-isolation rules here in France are fairly strict. We are supposed to stay home as much as possible, and if we must go out we have to carry a form called “Attestation de Déplacement Dérogatoire,” signed and dated for that day, even including the hour we left the house, and indicating the reason we are out. We can go out to exercise, but be away only an hour, and must stay within 1km of our house. No bicycles. We must stay on roads and off hiking trails. We’ve been stopped by the gendarmes (police) three times to check for our Attestations. There are hefty fines for not carrying the form.

I’m not complaining about any of it. We feel fortunate to be holed up in this part of the French countryside, which ::: pausing to knock on wood ::: has so far seen a fairly low COVID-19 incidence rate compared to much of France. It’s surreal, isn’t it? The birds are chirping, the spring bulbs are blooming, everything looks the same as always this time of year. But there is an invisible force out there that we must protect ourselves from. So instead of planning which brocante (flea market) we’ll be going to this weekend, I’m looking forward to my next Zoom knitting group session with my California friends. And instead of making reservations for dinner out with local pals, we are enjoying some pretty great meals at home delivered to us a few times a week from the one restaurant in town.

We have a spacious and comfortable balcony on which to hang out on sunny afternoons.

On Thursdays, dutifully armed with my Attestation, I walk down the street to our village market, which at this time of year consists of only two things: a fruit and veg table, and a butcher’s truck. Last week I stood in an appropriately-spaced line for about 20 minutes, waiting for my turn to point at the things I wanted from the required distance. Everyone is following the rules.

After I fill my basket from the market, I walk back down the street to the Épi, our small grocery store. Along the way, I pass lines of people waiting for their turns at the pharmacy and the boulangerie. The Épi allows only four people in the store at a time, so I join the line there and wait. Once inside, and aware of the line of people waiting outside, I quickly make my purchases. The Épi is surprisingly well-stocked for its size, with a good selection of meats and cheeses in a deli case, a dairy case with our favorite local yogurt, and a section with liquor, cleaning and household items. There is also a small stand with seeds and bulbs from the garden shop a few doors down, since that shop must remain closed for now. Merchants looking out for each other.

Life here in our isolation is simple and contemplative. We can spend hours together without speaking, each immersed in our own chosen activity. We like being outside in the garden, enjoying the spring flowers. We spend much of our days here like a lot of people are doing anywhere else, reading, taking walks, watching Netflix and Amazon Prime, cooking, catching up with our friends and family near and far, and just biding our time while the world self-destructs.

From our quiet corner of France, I wish everyone good health, and know that we all wish an end to this global pandemic soon. I think life will never be the same after this.