Noisy neighbours

Here in Brunnen, the hills are alive with the sound of sheep bells. The tinkle and cling of their bells is much prettier and more musical to my ears than the clang of cow bells. These freshly shorn sheep are our nearest neighbours right now to the west of our apartment building. They are a curious and sometimes noisy lot who seem to enjoy staring at me when I go by with the dogs.

We are gradually discovering the burgeoning spring season here in Central Switzerland. It’s a lovely time of year as the grasslands get greener each day while the mountains still have quite a lot of snow. The temperatures are up and down — hot in the sun while still near zero in the early mornings and evenings. Wild flowers are out in force yet snow is called for early next week.

On the downside, some of the more surprising and far less pleasant noises than these nosey neighbours include the constant roar of motorcycles going by on the road below. It seems that the Swiss are big bikers, and all it takes is a holiday and a bit of sun to bring them out in force around the lake.

There are also church bells — not too near, thankfully, but still within hearing range of us every hour and on 15-minute intervals, 24 hours a day. The jury is still out as to whether I will get used to them enough to be able to sleep with the windows open. Air conditioning may yet be my saviour.

And in the meantime, I decided if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Meet our newest resident, the Koo Koo clock. I’ve almost got used to his hourly chirping (a sensor ensures he is quiet when the lights go out).

The noisiest of all our neighbours are the helicopters that are often put to work clearing dead trees off the mountains above. They also serve to transport patients to hospital in case of medical emergencies. One happened just this week and I found myself glued to the balcony watching the mesmerizing spectacle of the chopper landing, waiting for the ambulance, loading the stretcher and flying off again. I don’t know what the unfortunate neighbour had, or why he couldn’t have gone to the local hospital in Schwyz. It may be that Covid cases were out of control or that a more complicated medical speciality was needed in Zurich, which is an hour away.

I hope I never need them, but I’m sure glad they’re around just in case! (Also glad I picked up the dog’s poop right there in that field an hour earlier!)

Easter seems to be a big thing where we live now. Much to my delight, the tradition here is the Easter bunny, not those silly ‘cloches’ they have in France. This post from the early days of my blog tells the story of the French Easter bells if you’re interested: https://francesays.com/2013/03/31/quelque-chose-qui-cloche/

Wherever you are, may the Easter bells ring for you in the kindest of ways. Here’s to rebirth, renewal and the joy of a new season!

Eulogy for the Easter Bunny

(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

By Véronique PAGNIER (Own work) CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0

What a fine fellow was Peter Cottontail, that fluffy little bunny who delighted us as children by bringing chocolate Easter eggs. Hoppin’ down the bunny trail…Shame he decided to hop across the pond to France. Perhaps he didn’t speak the local lingo? When he said he was delivering Easter candy, perhaps something got lost in translation? It must have sounded like “chop off my head and put it in the frying pan.”

The first time I ever ate rabbit was at Easter Sunday lunch chez my beaux-parents. Seeing those little body parts floating in wine sauce was a little shocking to my anglophone sensibilities: not that I object to eating our furry friends on principle, just that rabbit had never been on the menu before.

Rabbit is traditionally eaten not just at Easter (when lamb is the more traditional dish) but all year long in France. It is appreciated for its lean white meat and good value — rabbit can be bought very cheaply and served in dozens of ways.

The French have no notion of the Easter bunny. The tradition in France is that the church bells, les cloches, fly off to Rome and return for Pâques with chocolates for the children.

And when the French sit down to Sunday lunch, with the Easter bunny as the guest of honor, no effort is made to soften the blow for those with finer sentiments. I remember that Beau-père served up the dish on a lovely platter, the tiny head one of several parts. My mother-in-law had a penchant for la tête. It was finicky, so she picked it up and ate it with her fingers, finely picking the bones with her teeth.

He was a good rabbit. May his memory live on in our hearts.

Bon appétit et Joyeuses Pâques!

Quelque chose qui cloche

shutterstock_26340932The French expression “quelque chose qui cloche” (literally: something is off) describes a situation that doesn’t quite add up. A cloche is also a bell, and Easter tradition has it that the church bells (“les cloches”) fly away to Rome and return at Pâques full of chocolate eggs which they hide in the gardens for children to collect.

When I first heard that story, I scoffed. Flying bells bringing Easter eggs? How far-fetched can you get?

But upon reflection, is it any more ridiculous than the idea of a bunny bringing Easter eggs? Or of Santa bringing presents to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus? While we’re at it, what have chocolate eggs got to do with the resurrection of Christ? Isn’t there “quelque chose qui cloche” in that whole story?

The fact is that the pagan festival of “Eostre” was conscripted by the Catholic church for its own purposes. Eggs, like rabbits, are fertility symbols.

Today, Easter is celebrated in France, as in many countries of Christian culture and tradition, primarily as a chocolate fest. Children hunt in the garden for chocolate bunnies and hens and eggs. People sit down for a traditional meal of roast leg of lamb. The whole thing coincides with the coming of spring and the rebirth of nature.

And it’s just as well that the bells are the hero of the story in France, where the Easter rabbit may just as well end up on the menu.