Fools Gush In

It was summer 1991 in the Gers region of southwest France. I had invited myself to stay at a farm that had just been acquired by some friends of friends. It was a big undertaking for the new owners and any helping hand was warmly welcomed in return for bed and board. The house and barns stood next to a small refreshing lake in the middle of a shallow valley. It turned out to be a great holiday. A bit of work followed by a swim in the lake each day; and what’s more the isolated fields around the farm were an ideal opportunity to improve my burgeoning dowsing skills.