Letter from Brittany

Buckwheat, birdsong, and the secret beauty in rejection

We’re in Brittany, France’s Atlantic peninsula, although there’s no obvious way to tell. The stone farmhouse where we’re staying is inland, somewhere between Brest and Guingamp, and the only clue to our location is the particular blue of all the fenceposts and doors, hinting at the proximity of the sea. The others are plotting to drive out to the coast …