Excuse me if I daydream here, but I always think of France when I pass this spot. It’s less than a mile from our house, along a route we sometimes walk, a unique remnant…or better, a legacy left by a neighbor who died a decade ago. She was born in France, and when her husband retired they moved onto several acres and created an eclectic mix of buildings surrounded by pastures filled with geese and llamas. Lots of llamas. I remember her working outside most days, the wide smile she offered anyone who stopped to chat, and especially this short stretch of rural wildness, where spring commences every year with the first bright daffodils.