Yes, I'm still obsessed with France, even though my most recent novel takes place in the U.S.
Here's a novel by P.G. Wodehouse called French Leave about 3 American sisters who go on vacation in France, leaving behind their chicken farm on Long Island.
A chicken farm on Long Island?
The print in this book is really small, though, so I might have to break out my reading glasses for the first time for this one. Here's the intro:
If you search that portion of the state of New York known as Long Island with a sufficiently powerful magnifying glass, you will find, tucked away on the shore of the Great South Bay, the tiny village of Bensonburg. Its air is bracing, its scenery picturesque, its society mixed. You get all sorts there -- the rich in their summer homes -- men like Russell Clutterbuck, the publisher -- and mingled with them the dregs or proletariat, the all-the-year-rounder-ers who have to scrape for a living. The Trent girls, daughters of the late Edgar Trent, the playwright, did their scraping in a small farm at the bottom of one of the lanes that led down to the water.