Walls in France: Mon stage

In France, internships are call “stages”. And partly to help me learn more French and partly to get me out of the house, Jean suggested I engage in a stage at our friend’s Annick and Philippe Dupres’s nursery, La Jardin d’Anador. So every Monday and Tuesday mornings I play the part of the Provencal nurseryman.

I spend the bulk of my time moving plants around. Either to aid in their growing by separating them in their plat or to just make the retail part of the outfit more appealing; but plants I move (I once moved 300 gallon-sized lavender plant from the wholesaler’s rack to the nursery floor, and then two days later helped Philippe move the same 300 plants to a rich guy’s maison in the countryside.) I also water and make sure all the little water lines are securely in place. Monday I was elevated to being allowed to prune some plants only to be told by Philippe that I had actually pruned about twenty or so plants that did not need it. He was nice about it, saying, “N’est pas grave.”

My big promotion came yesterday. I became the pot-feeder to Philippe’s stacker using the device he created to fill terracotta pots quickly with potting soil. My job was to put the pots on a conveyer belt as quickly as possible, stop the machine when Philippe’s rack became full and toss any pots that were broken into the poubelle (trashcan). I immediately thought of the I Love Lucy candy factory episode.

Mostly I pick up a few words here and there and practice my struggling pronunciation. But mostly I listen. I hear the wonderful laughter and joking between Philippe, Annick and their other helper, Loriane. It reminds me so much of the good times growing up in my parent’s florist shop in Beaufort. Hard work coupled with the kind of sense of humor that comes from the long hours that it takes to make things of beauty successful.

I enjoy these mornings and, when this “stage” of my life is over, I will look back on them with great fondness.