Farmers and Fishermen: In the Sweat of Their Brow
I tried to put my finger on the pulse of the world in order to understand what ties these farmers to their land and these fishermen to the sea. I went wherever life erupts: to a pasture where a farmer slowly prods his cattle along, into the shade of a stable… 3PM. I embark for the first time on board of the trawler Alcyon 2. Cézembre and Samy are mending the fish nets, while Thierry begins to maneuver. The anchor is raised. The lights of the port fade away little by little. In the cabin, Samy is brewing 
coffee. The down comforters are laid out for the night. 3AM. The sound of metal clanking under the chains. Samy and Cézembre take a few seconds to slip on their fishing gear before heading back to the stern. Back on land, at the La Vallée café in Quintin. The oldest of the farmers is leaning against the counter, a scarf pulled over his head. He is a regular. This is the local watering hole. The morning light timidly pierces the mist. Photos, >click to read< 17:54
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