I grew up in abandoned salt marshes, my playground. Running for hours amongst the Statice Sea Lavender, on mud levees and embankments, pole vaulting old sea channels to the sounds of Blue Throats and Avocets; what else would a boy want? I spent hours by a Fort-like salt loft, stone ruins and last landmark of a once prosperous time. I’ve often wondered what it must have been like, 1750 to 1950, when the last “Paludier”( from Latin Paludis meaning Marsh, hence the word Paludism), the last salt harvester finally retired. Decades later, this land once reclaimed was being called back by nature, leaving echoes to the imagination, patrolled by marsh harriers as lonesome shepherds.
Hungry Breton 