Foreign Country Cottage
A year ago the Dubois family bought a rural house. Having reached fifty, Pierre felt a strong urge to own a second home. His childhood in the countryside reminded him of his family house and of gardening.
The modest cottage was in good shape. Pierre repainted the wooden chalet, repaired the fence and replaced the gate.
There was enough soil for potatoes and a few vegetables, but the orchard was lacking: few trees, no shrubs, only a small patch of raspberry bushes.
Dont worry, my dear, well equip it over time, Pierre said as he got to work.
Sophie moved briskly among the flowerbeds, approving her husbands plans.
On one side the neighbors were friendly; they rarely visited but tended their own property. On the other side lay complete neglect. The fence leaned, and tall grasses had taken over everything.
That grass became a real nightmare for the Dubois throughout the summer.
Pierre, its unbearablethis grass is spilling into our garden, it looks like it will swallow the whole plot, Sophie complained.
Pierre grabbed his hoe and attacked the weeds with vigor, yet they seemed endless, always returning.
Look, Sophie, their pear trees will be good this year, Pierre said, glancing at the neighbors garden overrun with grass.
And that apricot tree is exceptional, Sophie replied, pointing to a promising tree whose branches even reached into their own garden.
Id like to see those owners at least once, Pierre remarked wistfully. Maybe theyll come just to harvest.
In spring Pierre could not resist and watered the neighbors trees with his hose, fearing they would suffer the heat.
Now the relentless grass offered no respite.
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 seeing them on an abandoned property was a surprise.
No, Im going to cut their grass, Pierre declared. I cant stand watching that place choke on weeds.
Look, Pierre, Sophie said, showing the heavy apricotladen branches hanging over their garden.
Pierre fetched a small ladder. Lets pick at least this before it rots; nobody seems to be here.
Its theirs, Sophie cautioned.
Theyd get lost anyway, Pierre replied, beginning to harvest 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 everything; no one tends that spot, it sits beside our plot like an orphan, and no one worries about it.
(inspired by artist JeanPierre Martin)
During a break at work, Pierre joined a chat among delivery drivers who were sharing life stories.
Theres someone sneaking into my garden whenever I turn my back; theyve already shaken my trees twice, lamented Nicolas Giraud, near retirement.
Hearing this, Pierre felt sweat bead on his forehead, remembering that he and his wife had just picked apricots and that the pears promised a good yield.
Wheres your country cottage? Pierre ventured, fearing the answer.
Its over there, in the SaintÉtienne garden association.
Oh, Pierre sighed. Our place is a bit higher up.
True, yours ripens a little earlier, Nicolas admitted. Here everything comes later, but they still come to loot; they even unearthed some potato plants, trying to set a trap.
Setting a trap could get you into trouble, one man warned. It could land you in prison.
But stealing is allowed? Nicolas protested.
Back home, Pierre was haunted by nostalgic and guilty memories of the day they harvested from the neighbors. Even if it wasnt the colleagues house, remorse gnawed at him.
As a child hed occasionally run through other peoples gardens, but only a few times and just for fun.
Now they had taken part of the neighbors apricot yield, still eyeing the pears.
Of course Pierre had planted young trees that would eventually grow, but letting that neighbors apricot tree die felt wasteful.
No one will come, Sophie tried to calm him. If they didnt show up this year, they wont now.
But I feel like a thief, Pierre confessed.
Do you want me to throw away the apricots? his wife asked. Ive already given half to the children, she added in defense.
Leave it; its too late now.
Thus the Dubois spent the summer tending the adjacent plot, clearing the weeds. They watched the pears, hoping the real owners would eventually appear.
When the fruits finally fell, Sophie collected a few in her apron.
In autumn, after tidying their own land, they cast one last glance at the neighbors plot. Even the fence seemed to sigh, as if asking for its leaning boards to be straightened.
Near the gate lay debris from a temporary structure: rotten wood, broken glass, torn fabric yet a few lateblooming flowers tried to push through the waste.
__________
That winter, remembering the summer days, Pierre felt a gentle nostalgia for the cottage.
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 about the abandoned parcel.
Pierre sighed. Poor garden, and the treesa real waste.
When it was time to turn the garden over, Pierre called a contractor to plow the soil.
All the while he couldnt stop looking at the neighboring land. They had already cleared the tall grass with Sophie to keep it from spreading, but he wished they could also turn that piece of earth.
Listen, my friend, what if we plow the adjacent lot too? Ill pay, Pierre proposed.
But Pierre, what are you doing? Sophie asked. Its someone elses land.
I cant stand seeing that field lie fallow.
And what, well be taking care of other peoples properties forever? she reasoned.
After lunch, lets go to the garden association to find out who owns that plot. This weed is bothering me, and the abandoned garden needs attention.
__________
At the garden association, a woman with glasses flipped through a ledger thick with notes.
Whats the address againRue des Cerisiers, 45?
Yes, thats it, Sophie replied. They should at least mow the grass and harvest their fruit; its a shame to let that beautiful orchard go to waste.
Its over now, the woman said. The owners abandoned it; its become public domain.
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 doesnt have the time, the woman explained, looking at them. Would you like to acquire it?
Acquire what? The land?
Yes. You could buy it; it isnt expensive, and all the paperwork is in order.
What do you think, Sophie? Should we take the land since its legal?
Do you think we can manage it?
Well develop it and give it to the children, bring our grandchildren here.
____________
Mountains of trouble, as they say, Sophie joked when they arrived on the site.
It feels like weve taken this garden under our wing; its now our child, Pierre said.
Fine, Ill clear the trash myself; luckily I have a trailer. Well pull out the weeds, free the orchard, and then Ill replace the fence.
__________
In summer, Pierre admired the tree crowns and the flowers Sophie had planted. The soil of the former neighbors garden seemed to breathe again, eagerly soaking up the rain.
Look, our little garden has grown a new coat of hair, Pierre exclaimed.
One weekend the family visited: daughterinlaw Liliane, soninlaw Jacques, and the grandchildren. The two older grandsons, Michel and Charles, ran to the car while little Anne paused, fascinated by a flower bed, and Pierre snapped a picture of her.
I like it, Jacques said, unrolling a hose to water the potatoes. We could plant gooseberries.
Thatll be up to you next year, Pierre replied. Here we could leave a lawn for the kids to play on.
Ill buy them a pool, Jacques promised, then examined the fence. Shall we go? Replace this fence?
Lets do it, Pierre agreed. After all, the property is ours now. Its as if it invited itself in, and look how it has blossomed therell be plenty of raspberries this year.
