Bordeaux and Palmiers

As much time as I spend in Paziols, and as much as it becomes more and more of a home to me every day, I was struck with the realization recently that, until this year, I have never been here without an agenda.

I suppose I’m still here for work, so that generalization doesn’t apply: not yet. I still hope to come down here by myself one day and thoroughly explore everything that interests me in the region. But the cards haven’t played it that way yet, and up until this year, I’ve always been here with a throng of kids, leading them around, showing them for the first time the sights that have been mine for three years.

This year, two things happened differently: for one, we now have a little break between the two sessions, where we don’t actually have activities planned, other than to get the house in order for the next session. But several kids are still here–either extending their first or second session–and as much as our time feels like free time, I’m still making dinner for 16 people, and there are no random jaunts down to the waterside for me.

At the beginning of camp, though, way back in June, we arrived early with only one veteran camper and my boss’ niece to care for, and they ended up caring for themselves in large part. Whereas now, I never have the time to go down to the Prade–a walk the rest of the camp takes every afternoon to cool off in the river (this is when I make the aforementioned dinners for 16), at the beginning, there was time.

I read once about an Italian idea called festina tarde, which means “make haste slowly.” I love the idea, and as Italian as it may be, it still applies here: making haste slowly is what we did with that handful of days. We made up more than a dozen beds, washed the house inside and out, stocked the pantry, checked the cars, ran loads upon loads of laundry…

And yet we still found the time to sit together on the terrace after dinner and a long day to talk–about nothing and anything. We were still able to take walks through the village, saying hello for the first time of the season to the familiar neighbors we had left for a year. We still headed down to the waterside and play.

This girl headed back with the rest of them a few days ago–once the other girls arrived, she stopped being the only head turning like at a tennis match, trying to decode the rapid-fire French the rest of us were speaking, becoming just another one of the campers. But there was something in those first few days that I hope she’ll never forget: I know I won’t.