How it Was When I First Arrived to Our French Village

 

Our street was narrow, unpaved, and flanked by two large stone walls. This was before the joli maisons; homes sprang up like mushrooms all around us, replacing the vineyards with their knobby trunks that had been toiled by hand and ancient olive trees. This was before the new families arrived, who would never know that their home replaced a fading lifestyle and land that sang for centuries. This was before we had to say goodbye to those who had lived on Rue du Moulin all their lives and made it a street that embraced you with a sense of history.

Since the construction trucks couldn't pass on our narrow street, those stone walls that had been there longer than anyone living in the village had to come down. The tumbling of those walls ended the life that used to trespass on either side.

Daily, I strolled down the unpaved rue with my children; I embraced the local color of our village every step of the way. I loved those afternoon walks where it felt like I slipped back in time, seeing the France of movie sets that had become my life.

 

 

"Monsieur Gaston!" I greeted as he called in his strong Provençal accent, waving with his cap, "Come see!" In the middle of the vineyard, at the foot of the mountain, he was gathering wild asparagus. "Here, taste it, and you can eat them raw," he said with a joyful beam as his weathered hands handed us the asparagus. We sat in the vineyard, eating from his basket, while my baby son entwined his tiny fingers with the vines, making Monsieur Gaston laugh.

"This asparagus is my secret. I've been coming to this spot for years; aren't they delicious?" Mr. Gaston winked and added a few more wrinkles to his beautifully aged face.

 

 

After the impromptu picnic, we continued on our way along the unpaved road to where the road ends and a trail into the forest begins. In the forest, we met our older neighbor Ylonde with sweet smiling eyes who rode a bicyclette. That day attached to her bicyclette was a large basket. As we grew closer, we could see the purpose of that basket. Ylonde was gathering twigs. She shyly smiled as being caught doing something sneaky, "I can never be too early, little by little; I need to amass twigs for the winter; I can only carry so much at a time in my basket." My children scurried about, making a game out of gathering a few dry twigs, and eventually handed them to her, and we were on our way.

Michel walks with a slight limp from childhood, and his left hand always hides in his pocket. However, that has never stopped him from collecting fennel in the fields to sell at the local marché. Michel pulls me aside and says, "Do you think we should dig up all the wild tulip bulbs? The new houses will stand right on top of them." He is right; I hadn't thought about that. I gazed upon the open field and realized that instead of seeing wild red tulips with yellow stripes, I would see paved driveways next year.

 

 

Not so far after, we saw Annie tenderly picking sage. After kissing the children bonjour, she said, "Il vaut mieux avoir la sauge dans son jardin que d'avoir un frère médecin" (It is better to have sage growing in your garden than to have a brother as a doctor.) "...This is my garden," she spread out her arms. Annie invited us to her house, where she prepared fresh sage tea, which we ate with some of her black olives from the olive trees she picked on the rue du Moulin and dry bread.

 

 

 

Lining both sides of the river are ancient plantain trees. Crossing the river was always a highlight of our promenade. First, we had to find footing; if too deep, piggyback rides were in order. Next to the river is the laverie, le nettoyage à l'ancienne, where long ago, the community gathered to wash clothes. Sure enough, as if time had not moved on, there was Marie, washing her clothes, scrubbing them on the washboard made of stone. "Bonjour, Madame," she nervously adds, "I know! I know! I'm crazy! But the clothes smell so naturally fresh, like when my mother washed our clothes. Plus, I have time; I can do what I want at my age, Non?" Looking at this 85-year-old woman who had lived her entire life in the village I called home, I had to agree, but I doubted if I could sit on my knees that long.

 

 

This daily walk down our street was real and happened just like I said, but when the stone walls came tumbling down, homes sprang up like mushrooms; this way of life went back in memory, in a spirit that made my village change; only those who encountered these old souls can recall how it was, and now rest inside those who shared France of another generation.

 

 

Photos from Pexel as I do not have any photos from 1994

Comments

[Jeanne]

How I love to read your words
I especially love the references to Annie and your life in France
Blessings

[g]

i felt as if i were walking with you! I love your description of this life ....

[marilyn]

Beautiful memories and the stories you tell are beautiful too.
It is a lovely way to capture time in a capsule. Thank you!!!

[Kate GUMBLEY]

Oh how I love so much reading about your memories of these days, I really felt like I was walking with you and i felt a sadness at such a lost world. Corey you must write a book about your move to France and all these wonderful stories. A best seller it would definitely be. ❤️

[Donna Whiteside]

Beautiful memories beautifully told….💕…you have such an incredible way of describing everything that touches your life …and we are lucky to be able to read about them…Thank you Corey! 🎈💕

[carol]

I went on your walk with you when I read this. Beautiful words, beautiful memories. I’m afraid I do not handle progress well sometimes. The place I grew up in was once a beautiful cove with pastures and fields of cotton. It is now a suburb, with house upon house. I have no pictures either, just my memories. Thank you for these beautiful words today, Corey.

[Anne @annemusicmarkets]

Your memories, and your amazing ability to recall these details, are such a gift to us all!

[Alan]

Reminds me of the town I grew up in. A population of 2,700 back then. Now 50,000. All the corn fields, cabbage patches, and open land is gone now. The town that was mostly of German immigrants with many German names is much different now. It turns out that we were part of that loss of country charm. We moved into the first of many housing subdivisions after the war. It was 1949, but at least I got to experience that rural town for about ten years before the population exploded.

[Teddee Grace]

So much change, in my opinion, is not improvement. In Boulder, Colorado, we have some huge modern homes and commercial buildings being constructed on the rubble of the old that do not fit the environment at all. Now all we have are our memories.

[Darles]

What beautiful memories! It is this way in my home state of Wisconsin as well as my adopted state of Texas. Now and through history, developers have had little regard for what they're destroying.

[Myra Koch]

Once again, you have touched a universal nerve. This seems to be the topic of those of us of a certain age. I have been fortunate to have traveled extensively thru the US. As I have returned to my fav places, I find they no longer exist. If you haven't visited a place in the last decade...you wouldn't recognize it now. So so sad. My gratitude is that I saw it then & that those who go now for the first time, have no reference to what has been lost. Ignorance is bliss, familiarity is a gift. Thank you, Corey!

[jenifer Delson]

What a magnificent gift you have given me, your reader. I could smell the fragrant countryside. I who have lived long enough to have "olden days" am grateful for your remembrance of your "before" village. My home town in Eastern Washington State no longer exists as in my memories, but it does provide new different memories for children who live there now. Thank you Corey for this lovely reminder of what was.

[Kathy]

Oh, Corey! What a gift you have been given-to live in a time gone by, blessed by those you remember with great affection. As always, thank you, dear heart. for sharing.