Under the Harvest Moon

It is vacation time in Europe. Parisians who like many of their French and European Union counterparts take advantage of a portion of their mandated 5 weeks (minimum) paid vacation sometime between July 14th and August 20th. There is a frequently circulated cartoon about Parisians and their summer vacation habits: in panel one labeled July 15 you see crowds of Parisians shoulder to shoulder marching along the sidewalks of Paris; panel two labeled July 17, one observes same said Parisians bumper to bumper on the highways out of Paris and in panel three, labeled July 18 there on the beaches of France you see thousands of Parisians on every available square inch of sand, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying “their” vacation. Très drôle, oui?


This past weekend, we didn’t hit the beaches but we did opt to get away from the crowds of tourists and the incessant city noise, in favor of the peace and quiet of a friend’s family home outside of Lyon. The famille Barbo, little dog included, boarded the TGV (high speed train) and a little more than 2 hours later, we were on our way to the bucolic countryside.

Our friend picked us up at the train station, tossed our overnight bags in the back of his car and off we went...passing fields of corn, sunflowers, rapeseed (canola) flowers and rows upon rows of lavender. Just gorgeous.

We pulled into the driveway of his 200+ year old farmhouse and longingly gazed at the pool in the side yard. I brought two books to read for the two day respite. I scoped out the lounge chair that would soon have an extended affair with my backside! But first, we put our stuff away in the guest rooms and took Reilly for a walk outside the fenced yard in an area just yards away from acres of wheat, waiting for harvest.

As we waited for the rest of our host’s family to return from the market, Cyril opened a bottle of wine and we sat around a large stone table in the courtyard next to the house. We relished the quiet. No busses, no sirens, no hollering...just quiet. We toasted the day and settled in to catching up since our last visit in March.

I cannot tell you how quickly the tension melted from my neck, shoulders and back. I hadn’t realized that I had been “carrying” the stress of city life there. I think I actually restored an inch to my height in those moments, letting the tension go and releasing the muscles in my upper body which for months have been clenched in some sort of protective, defensive posture against city life!

As we gazed into the bright, blue sky over the Rhone valley, a small, aircraft buzzed through the sky and for a brief moment, I was transported to my Groton backyard, hearing the drone of the small craft engine as it performed aerial acrobatics over our home...it was great.

Within the hour, the rest of the family returned from a trip to town and the boulangerie. Kisses, first one cheek and then the other were offered and our hosts’ two young boys scrounged through Reilly’s bag and found her tennis balls...from that moment on, she would not stop until it was time for us to go to bed. The boys took turns chucking the ball as hard as they could and laughed as they watched our dog speed along the grass to fetch the balls.

It was a wonderfully relaxing, family time and exactly what I needed to feel whole again.
We played games and Bill taught the boys card tricks. We ate and drank great wine. We sat by the pool and I read. On Sunday, we hiked through the vineyards where Cote du Rôti is grown. We climbed up hills to a medieval castle and from our perch we gazed down upon a small cruise ship as it sailed down the Rhone. It was a beautiful day.


We returned to the house for Sunday dinner...an all afternoon affair and then retired to poolside to talk and relax. As the late afternoon evolved into early evening, we decided to hop in the car for a casual tour through the historic streets and alleys of Vienne. After seeing the ancient Roman amphitheater, temple, aqueduct and churches, we headed back to the house for some more wine and quiet conversation...Reilly and the boys were thoroughly exhausted and were ready for bed until...

we pulled into the gravel driveway at the farmhouse and there to our left was a HUGE thresher machine preparing to harvest the field of wheat next to the house.

It was about 8pm, and the sun was setting amidst some building clouds. The farmer who leased the land feared that rain was on the way and would (pardon the pun) dampen his chances of getting the wheat harvested if he put it off until Monday morning. Needless to say, upon seeing the pick up trucks and thresher in fields, the boys got their second wind. They bounced from one fence to another, watching as the $250,000 piece of equipment set off to work. Cyril went over to talk to the farmer who was overseeing the project and a dream come true was about to be born. Being the third harvest at which they resided in the house, it was the first time the boys had actually witnessed the process. Last year, again with the threat of rain, the harvest actually took place in the middle of the night, ending as the boys awoke...so to be able to see this was quite exciting.

As the sun set, a full harvest moon arose over the fields...and a negotiation was in the works. After a few strategic passes to assess the grain and layout a harvest grid, the thresher returned to the driveway side of the old farmhouse. Papa had arranged for his boys to ride in the thresher until the grain hold was full and together with the driver, the boys would be able to dump their cargo into awaiting containers, which would be hauled away by big trucks the next morning. If gravity can be defied, it was at that moment, when the driver opened the cab door and the boys, as if lifted by enthusiasm alone, flew into the cab. Waving furiously at us, they plunked down for the ride of their lives. For the 15 minutes or so they were in the cab, they asked questions about farming et al, non-stop. The driver was most impressed with the boys and after their stint in the thresher, told them he looked forward to seeing them again next year...and once again gravity was defied as the little boys walked on a cloud of delirium over to us. Cyril reached up to thank the driver, shaking his hand and before we knew it, he too was climbing into the cab for a turn in the behemoth machine. I ran into the farmhouse to fetch his wife, informing her that her “third child” was getting a ride too...she shook her head and laughed as we went out to wait and watch over the boys was they waited and watched for Papa.

Full Moon Rising

By now, the thresher had turned on its giant headlights and the full moon hung low in the sky, peeking out from the encroaching clouds. Cyril returned, as excited as the 6 and 9 year olds he had left behind for a short while. Together and I mean all at once, they told us about their observations and feelings...but their smiles told the story better than any words could.



As the boys prepared for bed, they each had decided what they would be when they grew up...one a farmer who would harvest the wheat (earlier her said her wanted to be a pizza maker) and the other still wanted to be a great baker, but now, the grain would come from his brother’s own harvests.

We all slept like logs that night. The boys dreaming of big machines and wide open spaces... I dreamt of the train ride back to the city and losing my doggie along the way...ugh.

Monday morning, we’re back in Paris...all of us...safe and sound and set to pick up the pace once again.