LAVAUR, FRANCE The train ride to get here from the coast of Italy, I remember, was very long, dirty and hot. Charlie was a good sport, and so was Emily, though she didn’t feel well by the end of it. Charlie’s Aunt and Uncle lived on what looked like a sunflower farm in the country side outside of the small town where the train stopped. There were a lot of buddhists around, and a temple with a peacock, and the Roman road from the third, or some early century, went through the forest on the edge of the sunflower field. Maybe around eight centuries after the Romans built the road, some early Christian enthusiasts built a Stations of the Cross exhibit. It was all delightfully over grown by the time Charlie, Emily and I arrived. The family had an intelligent dog and some young sons that liked soccer out in the yard where clothes dried on a line in the sun. They also had a swimming pool and delicious food that was grown by people who knew what they were doing. They lived slow and talked a long time at the picnic table drinking wine after dark in the summer time when the crickets sang. I slept in a single bed in one of the children’s rooms.