Artichokes follow the plough

So Remy the organic winemaker down the road had promised me some baby artichoke plants.

I walked over to his place the other day and asked if I could pick them up.

He said now was not the season for planting artichokes. He said I had to wait til March next year.

Oh, OK, I said. No worries.

He said the best thing to do now was to prepare the ground ... prior to winter. By this he meant turning over the soil, creating a large bed for next year's planting.

I had envisaged a plot of between 50 and 60 square metres.

But the clay ground is cracked and rock hard and I despaired at ever being able to dig it manually. It would do my back in, for sure. Perhaps I could hire one of those rotavators or whatever they're called.

I was out in the garden pondering this problem when I saw a large tractor in the corner of the adjoining field, right on the edge of our property.

It had been ploughing next door and had these huge steel rippers on the back.

It was 12.15 ... lunchtime for the industrious farmer.

I thought, if I keep an eye out I might catch him when he returns from lunch. So I got to work on pruning the huge rosemary bush growing near the pool, a job which afforded me clear sight of the tractor.

At 2.15pm a white van pulled up next to the tractor and two men alighted.

I seized my chance and walked down to greet them.

I introduced myself to the older man. He quickly guessed I was the new owner of Balette, a property his grandparents owned a long time ago.

He said he owned the field next to my place and one across the road and he lived over near Clermont Dessous. He said his name was Jean-Phillipe.

I explained that I wanted to grow artichokes on a patch of ground just twenty metres away and could I ask a big favour of him. I said I would compensate him for his efforts.

He laughed and shrugged off talk of payment or recompense. He said it would be a quick and easy thing to do, he just needed me to indicate the ground I wanted ploughed.

He climbed up into the cabin and in what seemed like no time had ploughed up my artichoke field.

He said he would come back in February and run over the patch again, to make it ready for planting.

I was absolutely thrilled.

Jean-Phillipe had saved my back, my time and a pile of money to boot.

.

quick and easy with a large tractor

my field of artichoke dreams

I begged Jean-Phillipe to accept something for his trouble. He finally relented. I gave him a case of beer, though he continued to protest. 

I've got nothing but praise for my French neighbours ... especially ones with big tractors and big hearts.