The Dubois family bought a country house a year ago. After turning fifty, Pierre felt a strong urge to own a second home. His rural childhood reminded him of his family house and of gardening.
The modest cottage had been well kept. Pierre repainted the wooden chalet, fixed the fence and replaced the gate.
There was enough soil for potatoes and a few vegetables, but the orchard left much to be desired: few trees, no shrubs, only a small patch of raspberry bushes.
Dont worry, sweetheart, well equip it over time, Pierre said as he got to work.
Sophie wandered among the flowerbeds, approving her husbands plans.
On one side the neighbours were friendly; they rarely visited but looked after their property. On the other side the land was completely abandoned. The fence was leaning and tall grass had taken over everything.
That grass became a real nightmare for the Dubois throughout the summer.
Pierre, this grass is unbearableits spilling into our garden, it looks like it will swallow the whole plot, Sophie complained.
Pierre grabbed his garden fork and attacked the weeds with vigor, yet they seemed endless, always returning.
Look, Sophie, their pear trees will be good this year, Pierre remarked, pointing at the neighbours garden overrun with grass.
And that apricot tree is exceptional, Sophie replied, showing a promising tree whose branches even reached into their own garden.
I wish we could see those owners at least once, Pierre said sadly. Maybe theyll come just to harvest.
In spring Pierre couldnt resist and watered the neighbours trees with his hosehe felt sorry to watch them suffer the heat.
But the relentless grass gave no relief.
They could have mowed at least once during the summer, Sophie grumbled.
The next time they arrived, the Dubois were amazed by the apricot harvest. In that region many people grow apricots, but rarely on a neglected property.
No, Im going to cut their grass, Pierre declared. I cant stand seeing that place choke on weeds.
Look, Pierre, Sophie said, pointing to the heavy apricot branches hanging over their garden.
Pierre fetched a small ladder. Lets harvest at least this before it rots; no one has claimed it here.
It belongs to the others, Sophie warned cautiously.
They would get lost anyway, he replied, beginning to pick the ripe fruit first.
Then lets pick raspberries for the grandchildren, Sophie suggested. Youve mowed the grass, so its a fair trade for the work.
It seems we could harvest everythingno one tends this place, its attached to our plot like an orphan, and nobody worries about it.
(inspired by artist JeanPierre Martin)
During a break at work, Pierre joined a conversation among delivery drivers who were sharing life stories in a circle.
Theres someone sneaking into my garden whenever I turn my back; theyve already shaken my trees twice, lamented Nicolas Giraud, who was nearing retirement.
Hearing that, Pierre felt sweat bead on his forehead, remembering how he and his wife had just picked apricots and that the pears also promised a good yield.
Wheres your country house? Pierre asked, nervous about the answer.
Its over there, in the SaintÉtienne garden association, Nicolas replied.
Oh, Pierre sighed. I see. Ours is a bit higher up.
Your fruits ripen a little earlier, Nicolas admitted. Here everything comes later, but they still come to pillagethey even dug up some potato plants and are thinking of setting a trap.
Setting a trap could get you into trouble, one of the men warned. It could land you in prison.
But stealing is allowed? Nicolas protested.
Back home, Pierre was flooded with nostalgic, guilty memories of the day they harvested from the neighbours. Even though it wasnt his colleagues house, remorse gnawed at him.
As a child he had occasionally run through other peoples gardens, but only a few times and just for fun.
Now they had taken part of the neighbours apricot harvest and still coveted the pears.
Sure, Pierre had planted young trees that would grow later, but that neighbours apricot treeletting it die was a shame.
No one will come, Sophie tried to console him. If they didnt show up this year, they wont now.
But I feel like a thief, Pierre moaned.
Do you want me to throw away the apricots? his wife asked. Ive already given half to the kids, she added.
Leave it; its too late now.
Thus the Dubois spent the summer tending the neighbouring plot, clearing the weeds. They watched the pears, hoping the real owners would appear.
When the fruit finally fell, Sophie collected a few in her apron.
In autumn, after tidying their own plot, they cast one last glance at the neighbours land. Even the fence seemed to sigh, as if begging for its leaning boards to be straightened.
Near the gate lay debris from a temporary structurerotted wood, broken glass, torn fabricbut despite the rubbish, a few lateblooming flowers tried to push up.
__________
That winter, recalling the summer days, Pierre felt a gentle nostalgia for their country house.
When spring returned and the first blades of grass appeared, the Dubois went back out.
Do you think the owners will return this year? Sophie asked, referring to the abandoned plot.
Pierre sighed sadly. Poor garden, and those treeswhat a waste
When it was time to turn the soil, Pierre called a contractor to plow the field.
All the while he couldnt stop glancing at the neighbours land. He and Sophie had already cleared the tall grass to keep it from spreading, but the adjoining soil also needed work.
Listen, my friend, if we also plow the adjacent plot Ill pay you, Pierre offered.
But Pierre, what are you doing? Sophie asked. Thats someone elses property.
I cant stand seeing that field lie fallow
And what, well tend other peoples land forever? his wife reasoned.
After lunch lets go to the garden association to find out who owns that lot. This weed is driving me crazy, and the garden sits abandoned
__________
At the garden association, a woman with glasses perched on her nose flipped through a ledger full of notes. Whats the address againRue des Cerisiers, 45?
Yes, thats it, Sophie replied. They should at least cut the grass and harvest their fruit; its a shame to see such a beautiful orchard falling apart.
Now its over, the woman said. The owners abandoned it; its become public property.
So it has no owner now? Pierre asked.
It appears so. The previous owners were elderly and have passed away. Their nearest relative, a nephew, refused the inheritancehe has no time, she explained, looking at them. Are you interested in acquiring it?
You mean the land? Pierre clarified.
Yes. You could buy it; its inexpensive and all the paperwork is in order.
What do you think, Sophie? Should we take it, since its legal?
Do you think we could manage it?
Well develop it and give it to the kids, so our grandchildren can enjoy it.
____________
Mountains of trouble, as they say, Sophie joked when they arrived at the lot.
It feels like weve taken this garden under our wingits now ours, Pierre said.
Ill clear the rubbish myself; thankfully I have a trailer. Well pull the weeds, free the orchard, and then Ill replace the fence, he added.
__________
In summer, Pierre admired the crowns of the trees and the flowers his wife had planted. The soil of the former neighbours garden seemed to breathe again, eagerly soaking up each rain drop.
Look, our little garden is coming back to life, Pierre exclaimed.
One weekend the family visited: daughter Liliane, soninlaw Jacques, and the grandchildren. The older boys, Michel and Charles, ran to the car, while little Anne paused, fascinated by the flowerbed; Pierre snapped a photo of her.
I like it, Jacques said, unrolling a hose to water the potatoes. We could plant gooseberries next year, he suggested.
Thatll be up to you then, Pierre replied. Here we could leave a lawn for the kids to play on.
Ill buy them a pool, Jacques promised, eyeing the fence. Shall we replace it?
Lets go, Pierre agreed. After all, the property is ours now. Its as if it invited itself into our lives, and look how its thriving there will be plenty of raspberries this year.
