"As, round the sleeping infant's feet,
We softly fold the cradle sheet;
So plant we the apple-tree."
William Cullen Bryant
Every weekday, papa asks Inès and Gabriel what they did in school that day. The answers are really not very varied. Inès gives a lengthy answer: "rien". And Gabriel inevitably departs on a long story about the classmate who had to sit in the corner of the class as punishment for cutting off some four-year-old's arm. Not much information.
Maybe out of frustration, papa sometimes tells me about what his schooldays were like. He says that when he was a little boy living in Plano Texas, school was very different. He didn't have an hour of homework like Inès does today. They didn't sit in old classrooms lined up with wooden desks (that came later). No, he studied in large carpeted open rooms with desks arranged in all sorts of ways and areas painted a different color for each grade (hey, these were the 1970s). For him, the best schooldays were movie days. All the kids would sit on the floor, some would lie down, and one of the teachers would turn the lights down. Then the projector would start to make that noise that projectors used to make when there were projectors, a few numbers and letters would flash on the screen too fast to make any sense, then the movie would start.
This is where papa first saw The Red Balloon. But also where he learned all that folklore that makes up part of every American kid's DNA. There was John Henry who died on the job (today, his family would have sued the company and moved to Beverly Hills). There was Paul Bunyan. And there was the guy who must have been Paul's nemesis, Johnny Appleseed. Johnny spent his life planting apple orchards in a young United States and generally being an all-around nice guy. He was papa's favorite.
I'm wondering if nostalgia for Johnny Appleseed movies isn't why he planted a tree every time one of us was born. First he planted a cherry tree for Inès. Then an apple tree for the Gongo. The other day, it was my turn. Like Gongo, I now have an apple tree. Johnny would be proud.
Every night, as Inès sits down to do her homework, I get the idea of what's in store for me when I get to first grade. Lots and lots of work. Lots of memorizing long words. Lots of numbers. Lots of stern faces of people who, as children, faced stern faces of people who, as children...and so on. I'm not counting on a whole lot of movies, and certainly none about Johnny Appleseed. But this is France, so at least I get to use a fountain pen.
Why not check out our earth moving escapades here: altissima arborum
