Finally

Montbel was where my children's feet touched water beyond the bath and the puddles. They lost their jelly shoes in the clay and dried clay-crustily in the sun.  They learnt to swim and row the little boat, diving off its cracked edges.  They momentarily feared the giant catfish which lurk deep down, then forgot all about them and jumped back in. 
For summers they camped on the hill above L'écume des jours where we drank beers and watched their twiggy outlines in the water.
We finally walked its 16 km, stopping on the hill above the salmon farm for a too meager lunch and there on round its twists and turns.
Sacré Montbel.