I moved to the French countryside long before I left my suburban home

I moved to the French countryside long before my husband and I left our suburban home or bought a cottage there.

At the time of the vicarious move, we were raising a brood of four boys, a daughter, and a gofer-chasing dog. Physically uprooting our clan for life in l'Hexagon was out of the option. So, we saved up and settled for summers with Grand-Mère in Paris. And with a bounty of new ideas, we slowly began to re-create an Acadian corner of France in the heart of our home.

Back then, I poured over Bible-thick cookbooks and coffee table books written by French-style authorities, mostly Americans whose take on the Good Life seemed approachable; "foreign enough, but not too much," joked a friend. My favorites were Georgeanne Brennan's Savoring France and Anne Willan's The Country Cooking of France. The seductive photos of markets en plein-air, villages, fields, and country kitchens guided my imagination and goût (taste).

Over a span, I crammed our house with inexpensive Old World antiques lugged back across "the pond" from flea markets, including a soup terrine that I carried on my lap in the airplane. At that time, all white walls and decorating in modern farmhouse style were de rigueur, but I gravitated towards rural decorating traditions. Copper pots and wicker baskets hung from the kitchen ceiling, creating the illusion of country simplicity and rural craftsmanship, all while the world outside was growing more chaotic.