Raoul Troyès - Journal

Since we decided to publish our respective journals with Artus on Instagram almost daily, several hundred people have started to follow us and comment on our texts. Our story is, however, quite banal. We are an artist / journalist couple who like many have decided to leave Paris to settle in the countryside with our two children. And then, we met Marla and Raoul, a couple of committed peasants, close to the Anthoposophy movement, fervently practicing biodynamics, potentially destroying 5G antennas and much more ... We had fallen madly in love with them, and them with us and then everything had accelerated... An editor in a big house wanted to publish us, a literary agent swore to us that she could carry our story to the big names prize where she had hoisted several authors. But we only dreamed of one thing, to tell the story of Marla and Troyès in the form of a novel, to continue to bring our story to life but also and above all to share with as many people as possible what we were going to do. discover.


Tuesday September 1

“Marla was in a strange mood when we arrived with our luggage on the farm in Héry. She had asked us to arrive at 6 am because that was the time to get to work. We had not discussed his orders with Artus. We had let the children sleep in the big house and it was agreed that the newly hired nanny would sleep with us and take matters in hand as soon as they woke up. In two days it would be the start of the school year. Anatole was going to go back to the small village school that we had abandoned to move back to Paris, and Haydée would go two days a week to the nursery in the neighboring village. Perhaps it had been a mistake moving to the 6th arrondissement last year? Staying there would have saved us considerable money, if we take into account the price of renting an apartment, its layout, and especially given the crisis which had a significant impact on our respective incomes. This is what I was thinking of as we entered through the little door that leads into the kitchen of Marla and Troyès' farm. The piece is identical to the memory I kept of it on our first visit a few months earlier. Without charm, cluttered. Marla offers us a cold coffee and invites us to put our things in a corner "We'll see that later, the rooms are not ready yet, and I thought you would be better off writing each in different rooms in the evening" . So that was what it was all about, we had to tell her story and the one of Raoul, understand how the farm works and start to decipher the reasons for their commitments.
I quickly drank the cold coffee without looking at Artus. I was no longer sure what had brought us here. Boredom? Desire ? Or a real curiosity that we could no longer satisfy in our daily lives, in this family life which now formed a closed and perfect square. To the magic of our successive birthdays, 20, 21, 22 and 23, was now added a riddle. Wasn't there something missing from this impeccable bob? I was sketching for a moment the lines crossing it and cutting it in its center at a nerve point… Then, I thought to myself that we did not yet know Marla's date of birth. And that was the first question I asked her during this day spent by her side, in her life as a young woman in revolt or resigned, I was not sure. There in the barn where she tended the calves at 6:15 am "What's your date of birth?" "

Marla was born on… "