FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

 
For the purposes of this edition (there's always the need for an illustrative photo) Smokey pretends to be a weed. But we're not buyin' it, are we?

sarcler (sar-clay) verb

    : to weed

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

(Note: this story was written one year ago.)

Our neighbor stopped by the other day to drop off a forklift—something we needed for our latest mise-en-bouteille. While Jean-Marie was here, I took the opportunity to ask him a few questions about gardening as he and his wife, Brigitte, have 50 hectares of vines and a few potagers to boot.

"I'm thinking of moving the tomatoes up here," I mentioned to Jean-Marie, as we stood on the patch of grass just above the ruisseau.

"In that case, you'll need to put up un coupe-vent.. a row of thick buissons, for example."

Jean-Marie had a point. After all, we were standing pile-poil in the middle of the Rhône, where the wind blows down the valley like a fleet of jet planes, upending anything that isn't anchored to the ground (or at least deeply-rooted, like our vines... or cemented in, like our home!). The tomatoes would not stand a chance.

Our next stop was the portail, beside which I had been transplanting local flora, including a new, unidentified favorite: a rusty red grass that Mom and I had seen growing, en masse, near the town of Tulette. This vibrant herb would make a lovely contrast to the purple irises and Spanish Lily, two other "locals" that have made their way into our garden.

In a field on the road to Tulette, Mom and I had dug up a few samples of the exotic and colorful herbe... and quickly transplanted it into our garden....

Jean-Marie took one look at our botanical "find"... and chuckled as he identified it:

"C'est Roondoop."

"Roondoop?"

The plant's name did not disappoint! It had just the je ne sais quoi that I would expect for such an exotic variety: Roondoop. I loved it!

"Oui..." Jean-Marie continued. "The grass turns red like that after the herbicide takes effect.

"Grass killer?"

That is when the dots connected: "Roondoop" was really "Roundup"! A désherbant used by certain farmers to control weeds in the vineyard.

No wonder we didn't have any of that "lovely red grass" growing here at our farm...

Just then I remembered Chief Grape, my organic-wine-farmer husband, who was about to come onto the scene and discover some foul play in the near vicinity of his precious raisins!

I quickly went to work yanking out the chemically-loaded grass, discretely shoving it all into the closest container of trash, before I myself got roondedup by Chief Grape.

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:: Le Coin Commentaires::
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la mise en bouteille = bottling
le potager = vegetable garden
le ruisseau = creek
un coupe-vent = windbreak, windbreaker
le buisson = bush
pile-poil = smack, just, exactly
le portail = gate
l'herbe (f) =  grass
je ne sais quoi = that certain something
un désherbant = weedkiller
le raisin = grape


Example sentence: Le sarclage étant plus difficile lorsque la terre est sèche, il est judicieux d'arroser le terrain légèrement une heure avant de commencer. Weeding being the most difficult when the earth is dry, it is a good idea to lightly water the area one hour before beginning. (Suite101)

 
Here's Smokey—pretending to be a blade of grass—in order to get out of today's chore here at Domaine Rouge-Bleu (we're bottling 6000 units today! I had thought to ask Mr. Smoke to take my place, only he was no where to be found... Meantime, he blended in beautifully with the scenery....) To his left, les "soucis" (marigolds). Above, "la monnaie du pape" (coin flowers). To his right (background), his favorite "snapper"dragons. Now who, pray tell, would want to break a back bottling wine all day when you could lie flat-bellied in a forest of flowers?

Books & Language Tools:
The Ultimate French Verb Review and Practice
Buying a Piece of Paris: A Memoir
Cuthbertson French Verb Wheel

A breakthrough in the garden in today's story column.

creuser (kreuh-zay) verb

    : to dig; to hollow out, to make a hole in; to sink, bore, cut, plow, drill
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Audio file: listen to Jean-Marc conjugated the verb creuser:  
Download Wave . Download MP3

je creuse, tu creuses, il creuse, nous creusons, vous creusez, ils creusent (pp: creusé)

creuser sa propre tombe = to dig one's own grave
une idée à creuser = something worth pursuing
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A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse

I am a slow learner, in many respects, and this may be why it took me so long to begin to know how to garden: truth is, it wasn't until my forty-first year that I learned how to make a dent in the earth.

After failing the first time around, le jardinage, like math, put me off for some time. That's because I had not made a simple, first-things-first connection: behind every juicy tomato, behind every towering tournesol,* is a gardener who knows how to haul!

Haul dirt, that is, out of the ground. I'd quickly given up on digging once I discovered that our front yard was made of concrete.
"Ceci n'est pas du béton," this is not concrete, my husband pointed out as I stabbed at the ground, trying to turn it over in time to tuck in a tulip bulb. 
"La terre est sèche," the ground, there, is dry, Jean-Marc explained offering what would be the golden gardening rule:

Ajouter de l'eau. (Just add water.)

I guess I'd rather do things my own, more scientific, way.  My husband's way, with his elementary water puddles that preceded those dug holes, seemed slapjack, slapstick, or simply slapped together -- as if he were making up the rules along the way. Besides, what a mess!  All that sloshing and slopping around. Leave it to him to make mud pies, not me, I would make artifacts out of my carefully "creused" corner: I'd dig like a pro.

Off I'd trot  to creuser* a calculated hole somewhere else, away from all that splashing, all that muddiness.  And dig I did -- as one chisels stone, or drills pavement.

"I hate this! I hate gardening! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! " I'd end up lamenting. Stupid, dumb, idiotic tulips! Only, I hadn't yet figured out that none of this was the fault of the flower bulbs.

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I am a slow learner and so it is no surprise that it took two years for the golden gardening rule to sink in.

"Ajouter de l'eau. Just add water".

A couple of seed packets in my hand, I stared at the ground below: parched, unpoundable. A certain concept returned to me, along with the image of my husband and his mud pie maneuvering. Only those weren't pies he was pushing around. With basic common sense (just add water... let the earth rest, then dig in!), the "concrete" earth was putty in his hands: now tame, now tender, soft enough to shovel. 

It is the first week of May and I've dug enough holes to host a colorful cast of characters out in my potager.* There are over a dozen tournesols (I've since learned to dig a trench!), seven tomato plants, four pepper plants, two aubergines,* two courgettes,* verbena for tea, and strawberries.  

I have learned that planting is easy, it is reckoning with a rock-hard patch of earth (whether on the ground... or in one's stubborn spirit) that's tricky. Thankfully, I've begun to grasp a few astuces* along the way: to dig when the earth is soft, for example, after a rainstorm, and to profiter* from a light pluie.* More importantly, I no longer need to dig like a doctorate (no more calculating, no more "scientific" shoveling), though I do enjoy making a mud pie or two, and find it softens the heart just as water softens soil.

You know you've caught the gardening bug when your upended front gate begins to look like a good place to tie up tomatoes! (Do you see the shadow of my son's basketball hoop, just above my head? Maybe I can tie a string to that, too, and send sweet peas climbing sky high!) Photo by Jules Greer.

Listen to French!
I leave you with a "creuser" video. (I have reserved another fun find for you in this Saturday's Cinéma Vérité. Don't miss it, along with the latest batch of photos taken in Visan!)

Three Random Words:
le quatre-épices = allspice
râlant,e = infuriating
la variole (f) = smallpox

 
I love this red door, which decorates the side of a mas in the town of Serignan. The owners must think I am a garden stalker... Each time I take this side road, I slow my car to a creepy crawl... in time to enjoy this lovely corner with its bricks, chipped paint and crumbly wall. 

A few temptations before we begin this edition:
1. Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love and Language from the South of France
2. Learn French with Rosetta Stone Levels 1, 2 & 3 
3. Coffee Sugar Flour and Tea red white metal check traditional metal canister set--in French!

le jardinage (jhar-dee-nazh) noun, masculine

    : gardening

faire du jardinage = to garden, to do some gardening

Audio File: (note: these audio files will return soon... with the return of our tech master, Jean-Marc... who has been away--but will soon return to sort out our computer crash problems!

A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse

I need to leave for the airport in Marseilles in the next hour, to meet Jean-Marc--who has just completed his two-week wine tour! I hope my husband will be delighted by the changes taking place here at home: this, thanks to some jardinage!* After losing electricity, week before last, it finally occurred to me to throw all that nervous energy into digging, planting, and pulling (mauvaises herbes*). The pulling part, I am discovering, is an effective stress reliever (perhaps better than pulling on... and snapping... the nerves of those around us?).

 
That's me, the newbie gardener (the driving gloves are a dead giveaway).

Before I sign off, I wanted to share a wonderful gardening site by my friend Bonnie Manion. I had the chance of meeting Bonnie last year, when she and her husband, John, visited our vineyard along with our friend Jacques Combe. I learned that Bonnie is an avid gardener... and that she adores her chickens! Her gardens and hens have been featured in several publications and, lucky for us, she publishes her own column over at VintageGardenGal. Perusing her blog archives, you'll enjoy the French antiques that make their way into her backyard... center stage along with those star chickens, her "Hollywood Girls"!

I'll be back on Wednesday, with more about the planting and propagating (a new English word for me...) going on 'round here.

Mom and I have been transplanting local varieties (wild orchids, irises) that push up and grow in groves (droves? troves? how about in loads!) along the neighboring canals. We'll see how they do. P.S.: That's Braise in the lower right corner. She loves to sit on plants and flowers, or "scratch her back" over the strawberry patch. Grrrrhhhhh!

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Comments, corrections, and stories of your own are always welcome and appreciated. Thank you for using the comments box!

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
le jardinage (m) = gardening; les mauvaises herbes (f) = weeds

I leave you with an excerpt from the weekend edition, Cinéma Vérité:
I hurried through the narrow, winding streets, aware of a hush... it was my own breath exhaling in awe before the endangered architecture: the old painted storefront façades. There was a "Droguerie" in rusted tones, orange and red, and a blue "Alimentation du Moulin". My heart sank, knowing that anytime now the old French façades would be painted over. Construction and renovation loomed, threatening to strip yet another French village of its colorful character.

(15 photos were published, along with the story. It's not too late to enjoy them. More info here.)

First radish harvest. The leaves are a bitten, the vase (an old roof tile) is chipped, but the flowers are thriving.

Note: If this page is loading incorrectly, or freezing up, and you are using Internet Explorer... then you might want to view this post in another browser, such as Firefox. You can download this last version instantly and for free here.

interdire (eh-tehr-deer) or (un-tair-deer) verb
  to forbid, to prohibit, to ban

:: Audio File ::
Listen to my daughter, Jackie, pronounce today's word and recite the verb's conjugation: j'interdis, tu interdis, il (elle) interdit, nous interdisons, vous interdisez, ils (elles) interdisent:
Download interdire.mp3. Download interdire.wav

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Never miss a word: add the French Word Widget to your desktop!

The last five French words: guetter, seuil, deuil, pipette, brouette
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by Kristin Espinasse

Braise-The-Dog has been banned from the garden after a series of "neck-breaking" no-no's (that is, if vegetable stems can be said to have necks). Bref,* here's a recap of her recent crimes:

She lay down on the lettuce -- Cric!*
Set her fesse* down on the courgettes* -- Crac!
...and rolled herself right over a bed of radishes -- Croc!

"Sors! Sors! Sors!"* I shouted, frantically waving a handful of just-picked radis.* "That's it! Basta!* You're out!"

And off trotted Braise,
...strut, strut, strut,
lettuce leaves still sticking to her lazy butt.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
bref = briefly; Cric (as in "Cric! Crac! Croc!": the Canadian French equivalent of Snap! Crackle! Pop!): http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cric,_Crac_et_Croc ; fesse(s) (f) = bottom; la courgette (f) = zucchini; sors! (sortir) = out!; le radis (m) = radish; basta! = enough!

Easy French Reader: A fun and easy new way to quickly acquire or enhance basic reading skills



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Shopping~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More than eighty of the loveliest, most tranquil, and sometimes hidden places in Paris are celebrated in this charming guidebook

In film: Into Great Silence Nestled deep in the postcard-perfect French Alps, the Grande Chartreuse is considered one of the world s most ascetic monasteries....

Refreshing mosterizing mist: vine therapy by Caudalie

With the seeds in today's story... this eventually grew! Read on...

My mom (in hat) swishing, scrubbing, and "swiping" a moment with strangers along a country road.

(October 5th 2007) Just a story for you today, on the eve of my mother's departure. Today's word, and the theme of the following chronique,* is "piquer" (pronounced "pee-kay"). While the verb means many things, it mostly means "to sting" (like what happens to the eyes, just before they water, upon a loved one's leaving). "Piquer" can also mean "to steal". Read on...
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Something useful to do during the dry season...
 

Sécheresse

(sesh-ress)

noun, feminine

drought

If you were to sneak over to our backyard fence, part its curtain of faded jasmine, and look past a ditch full of wild fennel grown as tall as our older child, you'd spy our next-door voisin showering beneath the fiery heavens at daybreak, scrub-a-dub-dubbing right in the middle of his potager!

But you wouldn't see a steel nozzle above his head or an anti-skid mat beneath his feet. Only a sturdy kitchen stool separates him from the muddy ground below, with its neatly trellised vines—vines which are, oddly, bursting with fruit during this, The Year of the Drought....

There, amongst ripe red tomates, stands my eco-conscious neighbor, garden hose held high above his head. I see no shelves on which to set his shampoo (is that a vinegar rinse he is using?... they say old wine is good for both hair and plants!), and no modesty's-sake shower curtain protects him from this housewife-voyeur (hence those bright blue swim trunks). On closer look, there is a serene expression on the showerer's face, as water from the tuyau trickles over it, splashing and quenching the thirsty légumes beneath.

In this period of sécheresse, the municipal Powers That Be forbid us to water our gardens... but no one said you couldn't wash yourself! I watch as the shower water rains down over the would-be parched vegetables, and I am impressed with my neighbor's clever solution to irrigating his garden.