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The great goat war of southern France
New York Times
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SAINT-ANDRÉ-DE-ROQUELONGUE, France — Valérie Corbeaux
lives on a rocky hilltop in the dry southwest part of France with her herd of
goats.اضافة اعلان
She does not butcher them or use their milk for cheese. Instead, the former Parisian walks with them, feeds them hay, and stays up all night in an ancient stone barn to comfort them when they are sick. They are living creatures, she says, no less worthy of love or freedom than humans.
The problem is the goats keep breeding.
And roaming farther afield, scrambling up onto regional highways and into distant vineyards, where they have been known to nibble on the leaves of vines that form the region’s economic lifeline — Corbières wine.
Valérie Corbeaux in her sheepfold in the French commune of Saint-André-de-Roquelongue, on March 31, 2023.
After they munched through two hectares of Julie Rolland’s Vermentino vines in 2020, she called Corbeaux and tried to resolve the issue the country way — woman to woman, agriculturalist to agriculturalist, enthusiast to enthusiast.
Rolland is a former optometrist who took over her parents’ vineyard soon after her mother died. For her, the vines offer more than a vocation — they pulse with personal history.
That first year, Corbeaux’s insurance paid for her goats’ damage. Since then, Corbeaux lost her insurance and the problem has grown.
“We are trapped in a pathetic caricature of French administration,” Rolland said. “I want to scream all the time. There are laws! What are they waiting for?”
Now that spring has arrived, her calls have become more urgent. If the goats eat her vineyards’ tender buds, Rolland will lose more income and more heritage.
“I’m alone. I can’t patrol all the land,” she said. “Should I buy a gun and take care of it myself? You start thinking crazy things.”
600 goatsThis is a story about French liberty and bureaucracy. It is about different visions of the countryside and nature. It is about fire management, fights between neighbors, and Brigitte Bardot. But mostly, it is about goats.
Valérie Corbeaux’s goats.
No one knows exactly how many goats are in Corbeaux’s herd. From atop her homestead, which is about 20 miles from Narbonne, Corbeaux says there are 500.
Down in the vineyards below, her neighbors say many have gone wild and multiplied. A recent weekend survey estimated “at least 600”, said Stéphane Villarubias, director of the region’s national forestry office. The problem is they are hard to count — “they pass like clouds and disappear into the woods,” he added. “We aren’t sure if there are many herds now.”
One thing everyone agrees on: There are too many for one person to control.
“It’s too much work,” said Corbeaux, calling even 500 “enormous”. At 55 years old, she said, she has heart problems from exhaustion.
“For three years, I’ve been asking for help for my billy goats.”
Vintners complainThe first complaints from local vintners came in 2019.
“They came more and more regularly, in bigger and bigger groups,” said Philippe Montanié, a vintner, peering through a scope at a group of 10 goats meandering along a row of sauvignon blanc vines near his home.
“It’s been five years we’ve chased them. My employees, that’s all they did in the afternoon. Two just quit. Their profession is wine, not goats.”
Others, including the owners of Château de Lastours, simply absorbed their losses. “I would rather spend my time selling wine,” said winery manager Thibault de Braquilanges, who paid 6,000 euros to enclose a vineyard inside a fence.
Corbeaux said she offered to pay for a similar fence to enclose both Montanié and Rolland’s nearby fields. That would be cheaper than enclosing all 680 hectares she rents. But they refused.
“Should we put up walls to keep ourselves safe from gangsters, or put them in jail?” says Rolland.
Goat encountersThese past few months, the goats have become the main topic of discussion in the cafes and restaurants in the nearby terra-cotta roofed villages. Almost everyone has a story.
Anaïs Barthas was dozing as she rode in the car on the way home from her mother’s house one night when her boyfriend braked suddenly and jolted her awake. “There was a billy goat in the middle of the road,” she said. “It had huge horns.”
Valérie Corbeaux counting her goats.
Catherine Maître, mayor of Villesèque-des-Corbières, was roused by a panicked call one recent Sunday morning. A herd was not just on the nearby two-lane highway that clings to the edge of a winding gorge, but inside the small tunnel cut into the rock. She sped there in her car and honked manically until they scuttled away.
“I haven’t been sleeping at night,” said Maître, a retired vintner. “I’m so anxious there will be a fatal accident.”
In the end, someone who could relate to Corbeaux’s love for her animals came to the rescue. The foundation of Brigitte Bardot, a movie star turned animal welfare activist, offered a solution in the form of 40,000 euros to build a fence around 160 hectares of the area Corbeaux rents, to keep the goats in. It also pledged to pay for a team of veterinarians to castrate her male goats, so they stop propagating.
Two local villages have built pens, filled with hay, to lure any vagrants. Those that Corbeaux does not claim — and pay for — will be sold or given away, said Maître, adding that she has a healthy waiting list.
Up atop her rocky perch, Corbeaux said she hoped the truth about how much damage her goats really caused would emerge in court. She is grateful that a solution was found, but it brings her to tears.
“I’m in love with my billy goats, frankly. I don’t think we have the right to do whatever we want — not to kill them, nor to castrate them,” she said. “We should respect them more than that.”
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She does not butcher them or use their milk for cheese. Instead, the former Parisian walks with them, feeds them hay, and stays up all night in an ancient stone barn to comfort them when they are sick. They are living creatures, she says, no less worthy of love or freedom than humans.
The problem is the goats keep breeding.
And roaming farther afield, scrambling up onto regional highways and into distant vineyards, where they have been known to nibble on the leaves of vines that form the region’s economic lifeline — Corbières wine.
Valérie Corbeaux in her sheepfold in the French commune of Saint-André-de-Roquelongue, on March 31, 2023.
After they munched through two hectares of Julie Rolland’s Vermentino vines in 2020, she called Corbeaux and tried to resolve the issue the country way — woman to woman, agriculturalist to agriculturalist, enthusiast to enthusiast.
Rolland is a former optometrist who took over her parents’ vineyard soon after her mother died. For her, the vines offer more than a vocation — they pulse with personal history.
That first year, Corbeaux’s insurance paid for her goats’ damage. Since then, Corbeaux lost her insurance and the problem has grown.
“I’m alone. I can’t patrol all the land,” she said. “Should I buy a gun and take care of it myself? You start thinking crazy things.”“The problem isn’t the goats; the problem is the person who doesn’t oversee them,” said Rolland, 42, who compares her daily ritual of phoning one local authority after another to an issue of the French comic book series “Astérix”.
“We are trapped in a pathetic caricature of French administration,” Rolland said. “I want to scream all the time. There are laws! What are they waiting for?”
Now that spring has arrived, her calls have become more urgent. If the goats eat her vineyards’ tender buds, Rolland will lose more income and more heritage.
“I’m alone. I can’t patrol all the land,” she said. “Should I buy a gun and take care of it myself? You start thinking crazy things.”
600 goatsThis is a story about French liberty and bureaucracy. It is about different visions of the countryside and nature. It is about fire management, fights between neighbors, and Brigitte Bardot. But mostly, it is about goats.
Valérie Corbeaux’s goats.
No one knows exactly how many goats are in Corbeaux’s herd. From atop her homestead, which is about 20 miles from Narbonne, Corbeaux says there are 500.
Down in the vineyards below, her neighbors say many have gone wild and multiplied. A recent weekend survey estimated “at least 600”, said Stéphane Villarubias, director of the region’s national forestry office. The problem is they are hard to count — “they pass like clouds and disappear into the woods,” he added. “We aren’t sure if there are many herds now.”
One thing everyone agrees on: There are too many for one person to control.
“It’s too much work,” said Corbeaux, calling even 500 “enormous”. At 55 years old, she said, she has heart problems from exhaustion.
“For three years, I’ve been asking for help for my billy goats.”
Vintners complainThe first complaints from local vintners came in 2019.
“They came more and more regularly, in bigger and bigger groups,” said Philippe Montanié, a vintner, peering through a scope at a group of 10 goats meandering along a row of sauvignon blanc vines near his home.
“It’s been five years we’ve chased them. My employees, that’s all they did in the afternoon. Two just quit. Their profession is wine, not goats.”
“It’s been five years we’ve chased them. My employees, that’s all they did in the afternoon. Two just quit. Their profession is wine, not goats.”At least 10 vintners have made formal complaints to police about damage to their property by Corbeaux’s goats, according to the local subprefect, or state official overseeing the Narbonne area.
Others, including the owners of Château de Lastours, simply absorbed their losses. “I would rather spend my time selling wine,” said winery manager Thibault de Braquilanges, who paid 6,000 euros to enclose a vineyard inside a fence.
Corbeaux said she offered to pay for a similar fence to enclose both Montanié and Rolland’s nearby fields. That would be cheaper than enclosing all 680 hectares she rents. But they refused.
“Should we put up walls to keep ourselves safe from gangsters, or put them in jail?” says Rolland.
Goat encountersThese past few months, the goats have become the main topic of discussion in the cafes and restaurants in the nearby terra-cotta roofed villages. Almost everyone has a story.
Anaïs Barthas was dozing as she rode in the car on the way home from her mother’s house one night when her boyfriend braked suddenly and jolted her awake. “There was a billy goat in the middle of the road,” she said. “It had huge horns.”
Valérie Corbeaux counting her goats.
Catherine Maître, mayor of Villesèque-des-Corbières, was roused by a panicked call one recent Sunday morning. A herd was not just on the nearby two-lane highway that clings to the edge of a winding gorge, but inside the small tunnel cut into the rock. She sped there in her car and honked manically until they scuttled away.
“I haven’t been sleeping at night,” said Maître, a retired vintner. “I’m so anxious there will be a fatal accident.”
In the end, someone who could relate to Corbeaux’s love for her animals came to the rescue. The foundation of Brigitte Bardot, a movie star turned animal welfare activist, offered a solution in the form of 40,000 euros to build a fence around 160 hectares of the area Corbeaux rents, to keep the goats in. It also pledged to pay for a team of veterinarians to castrate her male goats, so they stop propagating.
“I’m in love with my billy goats, frankly. I don’t think we have the right to do whatever we want — not to kill them, nor to castrate them,” she said. “We should respect them more than that.”Corbeaux is facing at least three court hearings in May and June over complaints of damage from vintners, allegations of mistreatment from state veterinarians, and charges related to her goats being on the highways.
Two local villages have built pens, filled with hay, to lure any vagrants. Those that Corbeaux does not claim — and pay for — will be sold or given away, said Maître, adding that she has a healthy waiting list.
Up atop her rocky perch, Corbeaux said she hoped the truth about how much damage her goats really caused would emerge in court. She is grateful that a solution was found, but it brings her to tears.
“I’m in love with my billy goats, frankly. I don’t think we have the right to do whatever we want — not to kill them, nor to castrate them,” she said. “We should respect them more than that.”
Read more Odd and Bizarre
Jordan News
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