The village fête

Regardless of the overcast weather, the village held its annual fête yesterday.  It’s a block party of sorts where old and new village residents get together, share a drink, and a bite to eat.  It starts with a mass in the centuries old church and then rolls out into the square where fresh peach wine is poured abundantly.  Years ago, inhabitants of nearby villages would take the fading footpaths across the mountain to attend the party and leave at first light to attend to their livestock in the morning.  The fête does not have the mythic proportions it used to, but each year I’ve seen it grown in popularity.  More old residents are coming back to share their stories which is slowly reviving the history of the village. 

I look forward to this event each year because I learn more about this village that I now call home.  I am also given the chance to be part of its history.  I get to be involved in the stories that are retold year after year, like when a farmer parked a tractor full of manure in the square in protest of the party, or when a priest refused to say the mass until the flowers were removed from the alter for fear of wasps.  What I like the most though is the positive energy it gives the village, a rallying point for everyone to get behind so it’s a success and one that gives everyone a happy feeling at the end of the day.  I feel like I’m carving out my place, even though I am a foreigner.  It makes me remember my old neighborhood block parties where everyone pulled up a chair, grabbed a glass, and a plate to eat.  The village fête is the equivalent of that, minus the egg toss.  Which has given me an idea, I might try to introduce it next year and then see if anyone is up for a cake walk.