After a leisurely Saturday morning wake-up (grasse matinée, as the French say), we ventured into the vineyard to harvest the pink beans, taking full advantage of the crisp morning air. The air was sweet with the scent of earth and vines, the sun gentle on our shoulders—that perfect autumn light that feels like a gift.

We worked on either side of the arched vines, moving methodically through the rows. Five or six baskets later, our arms full and our backs pleasantly tired, we settled onto the patio to begin the meditative work of shelling.

Beans Planted in My Honor

These weren’t just any beans. My father-in-law (beau-père) had planted them in my honor—a gesture that still touches me deeply. There’s something profound about a crop grown specifically for you, about being welcomed into a family through the planting of seeds.

As we sat together, rhythmically splitting the crisp pods to reveal the gorgeous pink beans inside, I felt transported to a bygone era. This is how people once lived: off the land, together, their hands busy with the seasons’ offerings. No phones, no distractions—just the quiet satisfaction of work that feeds you.

Creating Our Own Memories

Eric smiled as the familiar motion brought back childhood memories of shelling peas alongside his grandmother. I watched him disappear into that remembrance, his hands moving with the muscle memory of decades past.

And here I am, creating my own memories in this same vineyard. Our memories. American hands learning French rhythms, new traditions grafted onto old ones.

This is what I’m most proud of—not just living in France, but truly inhabiting it. Building a life that honors what came before while making space for what’s uniquely ours. Each bean shelled, each basket filled, each quiet morning together becomes part of the story we’re writing on this land.

The pink beans will become soup, stew, perhaps a cassoulet. But more than that, they’ll become memory—the sweet air, the gentle sun, the togetherness, the way the past and present can coexist in a single morning’s work.

This is the life we’re cultivating here, one harvest at a time.