An orange shirted figure plies, what looks like, a swimming pool skimmer, in the midst of Noirmoutier's flat, grassy, fields.
A creosoted shack, the colours of the Vendee fluttering proudly above it, explains what he is about. The legend 'SEL' (sic) daubed, in uneven white letters, upon its weathered sides.
A saltmaker is working his pans. Controlling the water level, with wooden sluices. Tending to the brine. As it thickens, in the heat of the midday sun.
Half a mile on, Noirmoutier potatoes are being harvested. Small waxy and flavoursome, not unlike the UK's Charlotte potatoes, they are a sought after delicacy. All over France. Grown in the sandy soil, and benign climate, of the Vendee.
On the land not occupied, by either salt pans or potato husbandry, horses graze.
Tomorrow, the breeze is forecast to blow from the west. A direction beneficial to boats bound south.
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