The Dubois family bought a countryside house a year ago. Now in his fifties, Pierre felt a strong urge to own a second home, recalling the rural childhood that kept the memory of his family house and gardening alive.
Although modest, the little 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 was lacking: only a handful of trees, no bushes, and a small patch of raspberries.
Dont worry, dear, well equip it over time, Pierre said as he got to work.
Sophie wandered among the beds, approving her husbands plans.
On one side the neighbours were friendly; they seldom visited but tended their own property. On the other side, the plot was completely abandoned. The fence leaned, 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 overrun the whole land, Sophie complained.
Pierre grabbed his hoe and started hacking at the weeds with vigor, but they seemed endless and kept returning.
Look, Sophie, their pear trees should be good this year, Pierre said, glancing at the neighbours garden, now choked with grass.
And that apricot tree looks excellent, Sophie replied, pointing at a tree promising a rich harvest, its branches even reaching into their garden.
I wish we could see those owners at least once, Pierre remarked wistfully. Maybe theyll come to harvest.
In spring Pierre couldnt resist and watered the neighbours trees with his hosehed feel sorry to watch them suffer the heat.
Now that relentless grass gave no respite.
They could have mowed at least once during the summer, Sophie grumbled.
The next time the Dubois arrived, they were amazed by the apricot crop. In that region many people grow apricots, but seeing it on a neglected property was unexpected.
No, Im going to cut their grass, Pierre declared. I cant stand watching this place choke on weeds.
Look, Pierre, Sophie said, showing the heavy apricot branches hanging over their garden.
Pierre fetched a small ladder. Lets harvest at least this before it rots; nobodys been here.
It belongs to the others, Sophie warned cautiously.
Theyd get lost anyway, he replied, beginning to pick the ripe fruit first.
How about we pick some raspberries for the grandchildren? Sophie suggested. Youve mowed the grass, so its a fair exchange for the work.
It seems we could harvest everythingno one tends that spot; its attached to our plot like an orphan, and nobody worries about it.
(inspired by the artist JeanPierre Martin)
During a break at work, Pierre joined a chat among delivery drivers who were sharing life stories.
Theres someone who keeps breaking into my garden when Im not looking; theyve already shaken my trees twice, sighed Nicolas Giraud, who was nearing retirement.
Hearing that, Pierre felt sweat bead on his forehead, remembering he had just harvested apricots with his wife and that the pears also promised a good yield.
Wheres your country house? Pierre asked, hesitant about the answer.
Its over there, in the SaintÉtienne garden association, Nicolas replied.
Oh, Pierre sighed, ours is on higher ground.
Its true that things ripen a bit earlier for you, Nicolas admitted. For us everything comes later, but they still come to loot; they even unearthed some potato plants, trying to set a trap.
Setting a trap could land you in trouble, one of the men warned. It could land you in jail.
Is stealing allowed? Nicolas protested.
Back home, Pierre was flooded with nostalgic and guilty memories of the day they harvested from the neighbours. Even though it wasnt his colleagues house, the remorse gnawed at him.
As a child he had occasionally run through other peoples gardens, but only a few times and just for fun.
Here, however, they had taken part of the neighbours apricot harvest and still coveted the pears.
Sure, Pierre had planted young trees that would eventually grow, but that neighbours apricot treeletting it die was a shame.
No one will come, Sophie tried to reassure 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. I already gave half to the kids, she added defensively.
Leave it; its too late now.
Thus the Dubois spent the summer tending the neighbours plot, clearing the weeds. They watched the pears, hoping the real owners would appear.
When the fruit finally fell, Sophie gathered a few into her apron.
In autumn, after tidying their own plot, they gave one last look at the neighbours land. Even the fence seemed to sigh, as if pleading for its leaning boards to be straightened.
Near the gate lay a pile of debrisremnants of a temporary structure: rotten wood, broken glass, torn fabric Yet among the junk, a few lateblooming flowers tried to push through.
That winter, recalling the summer days, Pierre felt a gentle nostalgia for the 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. What a waste of garden and trees
When it was time to turn the soil, Pierre called a contractor to plow the field.
He kept glancing at the neighbours land. They had already cleared the tall grass with Sophie to stop it spreading, but he wished they could also restore that corner.
Listen, my friend, what if we plow the adjacent plot too? Ill pay, Pierre suggested.
But Pierre, what are you doing? Sophie asked. Its someone elses property.
I cant stand seeing that field go to waste
And what, well be caring for other peoples lands forever? his wife reasoned.
After lunch, lets go to the garden association to find out who owns that lot. This weed is driving me nuts, and the abandoned garden needs attention
At the garden association, a woman with glasses perched on her nose flipped through a register full of notes.
Whats the address againRue des Cerisiers, 45?
Yes, thats the one, Sophie answered. At least they should cut the grass and harvest their fruit; its a shame to lose such a beautiful orchard.
Its over now, the woman assured. The owners abandoned it; its become public property.
So it has no owner now? Pierre asked.
It appears so. The former owners were elderly and have passed away. Their closest relative, a nephew, refused the inheritancehe has no time, the woman explained, looking at them. Would you like to acquire it?
You mean the land? Pierre clarified.
Yes. You could buy it; its not expensive, and all the paperwork is in order.
What do you think, Sophie? Should we take it, since its legal?
Do you think we can manage it?
Well develop it and give it to the kids, for our grandchildren.
Like they say, a mountain of worries, Sophie joked when they arrived at the site.
It feels like weve taken this garden under our wing; its now our child, Pierre said.
Ill clear the rubbish myself; luckily 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 rain.
Look, our little garden has sprouted new life, Pierre cheered.
One weekend the family came: daughter Liliane, soninlaw Jacques, and the grandchildren. The older boys, Michel and Charles, ran to the car, while little Anne stopped, fascinated by the flower beds, and Pierre photographed her.
I like it, Jacques said, unrolling a hose to water the potatoes. We could plant gooseberries, he suggested.
Thatll be for 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 eyed the fence. Shall we replace it?
Lets do it, Pierre agreed. After all, the property is ours now. Its as if it invited itself into our home, and look how its thriving well have plenty of raspberries this year.
The Enigmatic Country House Abroad
