Port de Cheffes

The people of the land meet the people of the water: a fine river port is a vast, gentle slope, solidly paved with stones, that can safely support horse-drawn carriages without turning into a quagmire, and allows the wooden hulls of barges to dock without danger.

Can't you hear it?
The cadence of the beaters hitting the soaking wet linen on the edge of the boat wash; the washerwomen calling out to each other and the boatmen interfering. Sheets hanging from the line of the dryer, flapping in the valley wind.

The cart driver calms his impatient horse with a word while he loads up; the tiles and slates pile up on the cart. Shovels slip in the sand, pitchforks prick the pile of stone. Wooden clogs and wheelbarrows make the plank resonate, an unstable bridge between the boat deck and the shore. The irons of the hooped wheels crush the gravel as they travel up the path.
The young apprentice, with his wooden shovel, throws the water overboard, emptying the hold that is always ready to drink the river. The saw cuts back and forth, the adze resaws, the mallet and hammer pegs and nails. The carpenter adjusts the edges of the tired barge, which needs a little care to remain almost watertight. The rope-maker stretches out his wire, a patient walker who whistles as he walks back and forth; he twists the sailor's log without splicing or joining. Stretched between the horse and the boat, the rope glides smoothly over the tall grass of the towpath, all the way to Angers, Sablé or Le Mans.