Harvesting Golden Moments

Caramelized Calvados Apple Galette w/Homemade Puff Pastry Recipe

Writing has taken many new, more enjoyable forms over the years since reporting for a news station (a small stint), research writing for an investment-relations company, or writing copy for my chocolate shop. Although coming up with compelling verbiage to entice people to nibble on chocolates hasn't lost its charm.

Une semaine en septembre (a week in September)

Lundi/Monday

Bernadette, an 80-ish-year-old villager, waves, eager for conversation as she pushes a wheelbarrow across her garden. Her broad smile reminds me of my late mother’s. Instantly, I like her. "Bonne promenade," her voice rustles through the apple boughs as my dog and I walk past. Bernadette's house sits on a hilltop hamlet outside my village, her garden flanked by the road. All the ground is covered with rich Burgundian black soil, soil that could grow most anything. A longère farmhouse and barn with barky hunting dogs face it. I walk there every day around six p.m. "Merci! Bonne soirée!" I reply, self-conscious of my thick American accent.

With my phone, I photograph the dappled light, luminous, around her apple tree. I'd love to ask permission to pick some of her apples, the Reinette variety because I've got her attention, but I can't conjure the nerve to ask in French. Not yet. Her smile fades a little as she returns to her chores because I haven't participated in the conversation besides two words. And I have learned far more than two words! Couldn't I at least elaborate and tell her that walking to this hamlet makes my day? Or compliment the Cinderella-carriage-like pumpkins that fill her garden?

Despite my embarrassment, I continue to try to show friendliness and interest in this dance of neighborly civility. But it's as if I forgot to pack French vocabulary flashcards in my backpack along with the water bottle and phone. The absence of the French language creates a far greater distance than this walk up to her hamlet.

The opportunity for friendship is here: in Bernadette's unwavering kindness, always waving with long arms from her garden or wherever she happens to be; acknowledging and listening; in her remarks, which notice how quickly we march by in such brisk weather. The opportunity for friendship is in her ability to connect despite language barriers.