Wintering

Hello, my name is Charles François Pointez, and in this year of 1856 I have celebrated my fifty-fourth birthday in my good town of Calais. Time passes so quickly. We have been gardeners from father to son for five generations. My wife Geneviève also practised this profession. Working side by side and her lovely smile brought us closer together. I married her in 1829, three months after the birth of our son Charles-François. Yes indeed, we put the cart before the horse! Geneviève gave me six beautiful children. Five of them work for Calais lace manufacturers. Our little Charlotte left us at only fourteen years of age. That was already eleven years ago. Well! I am not here to tell you about my life.

Some time ago, my descendant of the fifth generation sent me one of her friends. This time, she asks me to speak about wintering. Wintering?! I went to see the schoolmaster. He explained it to me, and he was proud of me, believing that I had taken up reading. Poor man! If only he knew! He would say I was mad or possessed by the devil. I cannot help making the sign of the cross.

This word does not truly apply to my trade. I have no beasts to shelter in a stable and no boats to moor in a harbour. I clean and prepare the earth so that it may rest. I gather the last fallen leaves, prune the trees and trim the hedges. At home, at the bottom of my garden, in the shed I have turned into a greenhouse, I have planted the spring seedlings in pots. I have installed a wood-burning stove. When the cold becomes too harsh, I burn a few logs there. Throughout the winter I keep watch over them. The tree-filled gardens of my wealthy clients wait peacefully for the changing of the season.

I hire myself out by the day to gather winter vegetables for market gardeners. In exchange for a good cup of coffee, I clean old Léonie’s flower boxes. She is over ninety years old. I have apples and vegetables in abundance, and the poorest people, the elderly, pay me with what they have. You may perhaps think that they could do these things themselves, but no, all their time is spent earning enough to feed their families. They glean in the fields.

What more can I tell you? One must respect Mother Nature, prepare for the coming season, wait for March and enjoy one’s family.