The Age of Uncertainty

These are uncertain times.

Two months ago we signed the 'compromis de vente' for the 8 hectares of land around the village, that we are hoping to buy for our llamas to graze. When we first discussed the possible purchase with the present owner, we were aware that that much of the land was currently being used by a local wine-maker (who also grows wheat and sunflowers on a big scale), who would therefore have first option to buy the land. However, when he was offered the possibility of buying the land he was using, he said he didn't want to.

Even so, we knew that that any sale of agricultural land in France would be subject to a complex bureaucratic system designed to prevent the break-up of viable farms, to protect the rights of tenant farmers, and to ensure that such land remains in agricultural use, within the terms of the local agricultural 'development plan'. So, after our visit to the Notaire to sign the pre-purchase contract, the paperwork was duly sent off to SAFER (Societe d'Amenagement Foncier et Etablissement Rural), who then had two months within which to decide whether to exercise their 'Droit de Preemption' to intervene in the sale and buy the land themeselves, before either selling it or renting it to a farmer of their choice. Obviously that description is a massive simplification of what seems to be an enormously complex and much misunderstood process. (Needless to say, this has providied Simon with an opportunity to utilise his famous and well-developed internet searching/legal-document-small-print reading skills). But the long and the short of it all is that our purchase of the land is not guaranteed until the two month deadline has passed, without such an intervention occurring.

Well now, that all sounds very dull and boring I know. But the situation it has stirred up in our sleepy little village is far from dull!

The first inkling we had that things would not be as straightforward as the Notaire had implied they would be, was when we were out on the Rough Land busy erecting fencing, in those hot and strenuous days a few weeks back, before we moved Duc and Valentine. A nice guy called Remy, turned up out of the blue in his 4x4 Pick-Up, to introduce himself to us as the village representative on SAFER. He came to suggest that we might not want to do too much work on the land, as it was by far from certain that we would be able to buy it. In fact, he told us, he had met with all the local 'agriculteurs', and they had raised objections to us buying the land, on the grounds that it would split up the land that is already being worked by one of them.

Despite all the work we had already put in on the Rough Land, and all the mental planning we had done about how we would use the rest of the land when the purchase was complete, our response was admirably laid back. 'Yes, we understood', we said. 'Yes, we'd happily come to a meeting, and present our 'Project''. 'Thanks for letting us know' etc etc. And when he'd gone, we carried on with the fencing. After all, we had no choice at that point. We simply had to move Duc and Valentine, regardless of how things might turn out in the future.

Since then we have waited. We have waited and listened to the angry outpourings of the son of the current land owner, who has regaled us with tales of the extensive history of village, inter-family disputes over land, and unpaid rent, and boundaries, and rights of way. We have waited and been friendly to everyone we have met, regardless of which side of the dispute they occupied. We have waited quietly, without taking any pre-emptive action whatsoever, to see what will happen. Apparently, the wine-maker who uses the land has decided he does now want to buy the land. Apparently, the village welcomes our llamas and wants to make sure we'll be alright, even if we can't buy the land. Apparently, the wine-maker can't raise the money to buy the land. Apparently SAFER will buy it. Apparently SAFER won't buy it.

Rumours and speculation abound. The days pass. We visit the llamas. We take them hay, and water, and collect their poo. We walk up and down the hill, Bonjouring and Bonsoiring to all and sundry. We wait. We notice that the Mr Winemaker and his father are becoming more expansive in their greetings and more frequent in their Bonjours. We wonder what they are thinking. We wait some more.

Then last Friday, when we were unloading shopping from the car, Mr Winemaker approached Simon. 'About the land..... , I'm sorry but I don't speak English, you understand yes? About the land....I have a proposal for you.....' He went on to explain that he wanted to buy the land, and although nothing was certain, if he did buy it, he realised we would be left with nothing for the llamas. In that case, he could lend us 6 hectares of land that he owns but is not using. He gestured across the valley to a wild hillside about a kilometre distant. We could use it free, for a number of years. He may wish to put a horse on it later when his daughter grows up. He would give us a year's notice if he needed us to move off it. We could go and have a look at it with his father.

And so the next day we duly went for a long land rover drive to reach the land, and have a long walk around it. We learnt a lot about the history of the village and the guy's family, and about the soil and the vegetation. We thought the land was lovely in many ways (a beautiful remote spot with larks singing and just the sort of land llamas would be happy to roam), but very hard to get to, with no water supply, and no obvious level spaces for building shelters. We said we'd need to think about it.

And we have thought about it, and waited. We wait for the postlady every day. Will a letter from SAFER arrive today? No, not yet. Will Mr Winemaker tell us he can buy the land? No, not yet. The landowner's son - our friend and neighbour - waits with us. He pops over every other day to see if we have heard anything. He really does not want Mr Winemaker to buy the land. We count the days. SAFER's two month slot started from the date they received the paperwork, but we don't know when exactly that was.

Two months have passed since we signed the contract. Surely it can only be a few more days now. But there is still nothing we can do except wait. Wait and See.

Of course, if we do end up buying the land, does this mean that Mr Winemaker won't like us any more? How can we make him feel OK about us taking some of his livelihood away from him? And if he buys the land, will our friend and neighbour ever forgive us for not putting up more of a fight to ensure his father's land didn't fall into enemy hands?

As always, Life is Uncertain. The future remains a mystery. I wonder what we'll be doing a month from now. I guess we'll just have to Wait and See.