There is an old *bastide that I pass by when I go to the grocery store. A bastide, that takes my imagination for a ride, and has me dreaming of opening its closed shutters, and peeking inside. Often when I pass by the bastide it tempts me to stop, and knock on its door, and become friends with it.
Yesterday, I finally caved to the temptation, and pulled into the drive way.
As I opened my car door to get out, the dialog started to run in my head:
"Your nuts!"
"No, I am not, I am curious."
"Curious? Curious! What the hell, get back into your car! Corey, Corey, Corey, you just can't pull up uninvited, unknown to someone's home, just because you are curious!! "
"Stop fretting, I am just going to… I do not know…. introduce myself to this house."
"Someone crazy could live here, and come out and scream at you."
Fortunately, that reasoning did not bother me, nor make me get back into my car and go.
Though the nervousness kept chatting away in my mind, while the curiosity in me walked up to the locked door and knocked. I didn't know what I was going to say or do… but I knocked anyway.
Nobody answered. Though strangely enough one of the shutters was open, none of the shutters are ever opened, or at least I have never noticed any of them opened before… I took that as a sign and tapped on it, tack tack, tack.
As I tapped, I imagined if someone I didn't know tapping on my window… I probably would jump out of my skin with fright. I felt sort of bad after that thought crossed my mind.
Nobody answered. I turned around and looked out across the garden. Behind the enormous *Plane trees a clothesline stretched across, drying some men's work clothes. In the near distance I noticed a wood pile and an ax. Firewood was being cut.
The inner voice whispered, "Ax, (with an exclamation at the end.)"
I walked around to the side of the house and noticed a brass bell, green with age, I pulled the porcelain handle, ringing it.
As if it were a magic wand, the sound seem to wake up the house.
A very frail, elderly woman opened the window, and asked, "Who is there?"
I noticed her before she noticed me. I hoped I would not scare her. I walked up to her window, her frail hand reached out.
"Bonjour Madame," I said.
She looked at me, though she seemed blind. She asked, "I don't know you, do I?"
I told her that she did not know me. That I often drove by her house and found it so lovely. That today I had to stop and introduce myself to it. I had to repeat myself several times because- my accent, her hard-of-hearing, and mainly, the oddity of introduction confused her. I felt awkward. Because she was so old and frail, my inner voice of reason pounded, "Okay, now look, you have got to give her a sense of your kindness! You are crazy to be here… this poor, dear, little lady you have probably frightened her."
I told her that her garden was enchanting. That her glass house was full of pretty blossoms. Her tired eyes twinkled, and with that she said, "My name is Lucienne. I am 96 years old."
I gave her my name and age too. She added, "I live alone. I have never been married and I don't have any children."
I wanted to ask her to adopt me, but my better judgment covered my mouth, and kicked me in the behind. So I didn't say anything. She added, "I have lived her all my life. My home is enchanting isn't it?" I wanted to hug her, a million times, instead I said, "Yes it is."
Lucienne talked some more, and I asked her if I could take a photo of her home. "As you like, but not of me." I nodded, then asked if she needed anything? She smiled and said no.
As I walked by to my car I felt a warm, tenderness swell inside of me. What a welcoming, gentle soul I had encountered.
I noticed the well, the zinc bucket, the white blossoms and Saint Baume mountain in the distant.
What a gift to live in such a place. I am glad I dared to greet it.
Leave a Reply