Sometimes life in rural France can be perplexing. The approach to tasks, that I take for granted and presume require no explanation, can so easily be misconstrued here. I am not talking about language and vocabulary but about a mentality that is so totally foreign to my own. This is not a good or a bad thing, just different. I am smitten with all things French and have been for many years but sometimes my mind does a little flip when faced with ‘French farmer logic’.
‘French farmer logic’ – I must remember this expression when words fail to explain the practices and procedures that turn here. When I am asked why I do something in a very non-sequitur way I can say, ‘French farmer logic’….It will require no greater explanation than that.
‘French farmer logic’ confounded me today. A little background to set the scene….Picture a farm in southern France where the land is devoted to olive trees. Soon after we bought this abandoned property eleven years ago we planted the trees, eleven hectares in all. During that work much debris – old concrete pipes, broken-down-way-beyond-repair-equipment, bits and pieces of iron and all sorts of unknown rubbish – was unearthed and placed in piles around the fields to be removed at a later date. This never quite happened…more ‘French farmer logic’…there was always a very ‘sound’ reason why the timing was not right. ‘French farmer logic’ deemed that these items might one day prove useful. Although this did not appeal to my sense of order, I lived with this, after all it wasn’t a question of life or death….just a question of mess. I must qualify that I am guilty when it comes to liking things comme il faut – I do – so this lack of action had required great patience on my behalf.
Patience has a use by date and mine expired. I decided the time had come to rid the fields of our non-olive detritus. Gently, not wanting to crush any sensitivities, I navigated through ‘French farmer logic’ and suggested that it would make me tres content if we took our ‘scrap’ to the dump.
Yesterday, bright and early, I walked around the farm with our manager to see the results of the cleanup and I was thrilled – the olive trees were glistening in the sunshine and the fields rubbish free. The rows of trees looked magnificent and the surrounding areas a joy to behold. I congratulated Gérard on a job well done and tried to win one round against his ‘French farmer logic’ by saying, ” See, doesn’t everything look so much better. Imagine how much easier it will be to navigate the tractor without those piles of junk everywhere.” He didn’t say much but was happy that I was happy. One very lovely quality about Gérard is that he aims to please and while he may not agree with me, if I like something a certain way he will go to great lengths to make it happen.
As we walked back towards the agricultural shed where we store our machinery, I mentioned to Gérard that all that remained to be tidied up was the field nearest the shed. I verbally patted him on the back and waxed lyrical on the great progress we have made over the years clearing up such a neglected property. I basked in my reminiscences and recollections, reminding him of how our farm once looked. As we moved closer towards the shed he became quieter, almost sheepish. I still, naive woman that I am, hadn’t put two and two together….Can you guess? Are you more in tune with ‘French farmer logic’ than me?
The shed is in the corner of a large field and behind this building is a pathway that leads towards his house and ours. As I peaked around the corner, I stopped in my tracks, for there stacked up was every last piece of rubbish that had been in the olive groves. The full compliment of paraphernalia had been moved from one side of the farm to another. ‘Speechless’ is an understatement. ‘Why’ was a waste of time. ‘Removal’, obviously not going to happen. ‘French farmer logic’ would say that this was a classic win/win. I would no longer see the wreckage when I walked amongst my beloved olive trees and Gérard could keep it for that long-awaited day when it might come in handy. I resisted (with the utmost self control) the temptation to ask him what use could possibly come of this ‘treasure’…my Aussie non-farmer-logic thought if we hadn’t found a purpose for it in the past eleven years, then….
Therein lies the difference between us and therein lies the charm… xv
