Harvesting Acorns (3 page)

Phoebe
noticed that she had finished and came over with two cappuccinos. She took a
seat in the booth opposite Chloe.

“So,
where to from here? You know you are welcome to stay here; we will keep that
room for you for as long as you need. If you want to go exploring the village
and try out other places - do so knowing you have a backup plan should it get
late and you find yourself without a bed for the night.”

Chloe was overwhelmed by her
kindness.

“No
need for me to look anywhere else. I am very happy to stay here, until I am
able to sort myself out with accommodation that is more permanent. Assuming
this village is where I decide to stay. You have been so generous and have
taken a lot of the pressure off of me that I had been anticipating on arriving
without prior planning.” She glanced out the window, the little boy was slowly
walking away carrying his cooler box.

“Are
you going to tell me what brought you here?” Phoebe asked with a bit of a
playful mannerism, knowing that she may be pushing for information that Chloe
was not ready to share yet, but trying her luck anyway.

“Let
me just say that my life back home was not working out as I had planned and I
needed to leave before it affected me any more than it already had. I made a
decision to leave without any real goal or destination. I am just letting life
lead me,” Chloe said, trying to sound as optimistic about her decision as she
could. “I promise I will tell you the whole story soon, but today I just need
to go exploring. Thank you, Phoebe. For everything.”

Chloe
packed her laptop away and helped Phoebe take the plates and mugs through to
the kitchen. As they walked through Phoebe asked:

“Can
you at least tell me what it was you were doing, you know, as your career?”

“I
am, er, I was a journalist. I am not anymore,” Chloe smiled, though it didn’t
reach her eyes.

“Enough
said.” Phoebe smiled back compassionately.

Chloe
got into her car and decided to drive past the park and then to drive through
the main part of the village towards the beach. Yes! That was exactly her plan
for the afternoon – a walk on the beach to centre herself and hopefully regain
a little of the balance she felt she had lost somewhere along her path. This
village she had stumbled upon was so quaint; she found it hard not to love it
already. Of course she had not met any of its inhabitants yet, but if Phoebe
and Jean Pierre were anything to go by, she reckoned she might just be in the
friendliest place she had ever been.

She
parked her car and got out to start her walk, but noticed the charming little
shops across the street and decided to go and browse first. It was just after
midday and still quite hot out, even with the approaching colder season not far
off. The first was a bookshop; she decided to leave that for last on her way
back – she was an absolute bookworm and knew she would not get to see anything
else once she found herself in a bookstore.

The
next shop was a clothing store. She decided to have a look; she needed some new
clothes anyway. She had been so engrossed in her career the last few years that
her wardrobe consisted mostly of suits in every colour and style; and evening
wear. All she wanted right now was a good pair of denims, comfortable sandals
and a practical, but still feminine, shirt. She didn’t find any of these in
this particular store. They sold the most exquisite vintage clothing; nothing
she could ever have imagined wearing before, but decided to try a few things on
anyway.

In
the changing room she felt herself transported back to the nineteen fifties in
a gorgeous black lace dress. She scratched in her bag for some hair clips and
pinned her hair up in an elegant chignon and put on some lipstick. Oh how
elegant she felt. She decided she would not buy anything just yet. She would
first establish if she was staying and what sort of attire she would need most.
She had a feeling the jeans and tees would be most practical – for long walks
on the beach and in that splendid park.

The
next shop was an antiques shop. Chloe loved antiques and so eagerly went inside
to see what she could rummage through and what thrown out treasures she could
find. She made her way past decades old furniture to the back where there
seemed to be a horde of interesting paraphernalia and the stuff that really
told stories and had you imagining all sorts of possibilities for where these
objects had been and the people who had owned, maybe even crafted, them.

She
came across an old frame encasing a considerably worn sketch. She stared at it
a while; it looked so familiar. It was a park. After a few minutes of
examination she was almost sure it was the park opposite the café where she had
watched the little boy. Except in this picture there were no paved pathways or
benches. Still, it seemed familiar. In the centre was a tree. Not the giant oak
tree she had seen this morning, but of course, this drawing was really old. She
was positive it was the same tree, only much younger. What was it about this
tree that spoke to her? She didn’t know, but she felt that she needed to have
this framed picture and so, without even looking at anything more in the store,
she bought the sketch and left.

She
walked back to her car to put her purchase safely away so that she didn’t need
to carry it around with her. When she got to her car and looked out at the
beach she noticed an elderly couple walking, hand in hand, along the water’s
edge. She felt a sigh rise up from deep within her. Did that kind of lifelong
love really exist? Was it still possible in these whimsical times? As much as
experience told her no, she still hoped, still believed it could. She watched
them for a few minutes and then returned to her browsing of the rest of the shops
on the block. A craft and hobby shop; a handmade jewellery store; an organic
products store - where she bought some healthy snacks for the afternoon; and
then back up the road to the bookstore - where she spent about an hour
disappearing into the pages of one book after the other.

When
she eventually looked up from the books she realised it was getting late. She
did not want to miss out on a walk on the beach. She left the store and headed
down to the sea. The sun was just starting to lower in the sky, she thought she
had about an hour before it began to set – perfect timing - her first day and
her first sunset.

She
took her shoes off and felt another huge sigh rise up as her feet touched the
sand. She loved the feeling of not having any barriers between her physical
self and the earth she was walking on – in all its natural glory – no cement or
tar, just grainy sand.  She went down to the water’s edge and walked just where
the waves could reach her. She tried to be fully present in the moment – feeling
the wind in her hair, listening to the sounds of the waves and the gulls
squawking as they squabbled for last bits of food before sunset, smelling the
scents of the ocean and just
marvelling
at the beauty of it all.

There
were a few other people walking; some with dogs or partners, and others, like
her, alone – just enjoying the solitude and time out from everything else. It
never ceased to amaze her how the sea could make her feel so alive, rejuvenate
her spirit, while calming her at the same time. Nature had miraculous ways of
restoring balance and harmony.

The
sun began its decent into the sea. Chloe decided to find herself a place to sit
and watch quietly. She decided on a sand dune and climbed right up to the top.
It was the perfect spectator seat to watch the sun’s spectacular performance.
There were a few people surfing and some stand-up paddle boarders. As one rode
a wave towards the shore he crossed the path of the sunset, using his paddle to
guide his way to shore. With the golden glow of the sunset behind him it
created an image with each sweep of his paddle of sweeping flames off the foamy
crests. It was breathtaking to witness. Finally, the last curve dipped below
the surface and the sky turned multitude shades of pastels – pink, blue and lilac.
It inspired her writer’s creativity and she fished for a notepad and pen in the
little hip bag she carried - she always had a pen and paper with her wherever
she went (it was one of the habits that was encouraged during her studies) - and
scribbled down a few lines, recording the moment in a poem.

The
air suddenly cooled and Chloe shivered. It was time to get back to the guesthouse.
She did not want to inconvenience Phoebe and Jean Pierre by arriving after they
had already settled for the evening. She tucked her notepad back into her bag
and walked slowly back to her car.

When
she arrived at the guesthouse Phoebe came out to meet her, clearly excited
about something.

“I
have such good news for you, or at least I think it is, perhaps you will not,”
she beamed. “I got chatting to some of our patrons today and mentioned a
certain new visitor who, somehow, brightened up my day.” She really was
beaming. “In about two weeks’ time, they have an apartment that will be
available for rent.”

Surprised, Chloe stuttered:

“I…
I don’t know what to say. I appreciate you thinking of me, I just have not had
time to decide what I am going to do yet. I only have a limited amount of
available funds and so I can’t plan anything long term yet. Especially leasing
an apartment.”

Phoebe did not seem perturbed by
Chloe’s hesitancy.

“Let
me finish! These customers own the biggest, all right, the only media company
in town. They produce a bi-monthly magazine about local events, history and
generally everything our community would find interesting.”

Chloe’s eyes widened and again she
stammered,

“I
don’t mean to be rude or sound unappreciative but my media and journalism days
are over.”

Phoebe put her hand on Chloe’s arm,

“Synchronicity
needs to at least be given a fleeting moment’s consideration before being
dismissed mon amie.” She gave her a wry smile. “The position is as editor. No
reporting, no writing on your part. Now you get to be the critic and decide
what gets published. I am no fool – I put two and two together. I see your
disillusionment but also the spirit within you, I admire you for whatever you
gave up to be here now.”

Chloe
stood, rooted to the ground, still standing in the doorway where Phoebe had met
her in her excitement. She was dumb struck. She had just driven hundreds of
kilometres
running away from her old life and here it was waiting for her when she got
here. She laughed out loud at the irony. You can run, but you cannot hide – the
old saying mockingly popped into her head.

“I
promise I will sleep on it. This is a lot to take in, I need some time.”  She
had paled and felt a little light headed.

“Take
all the time you need. Now come, let me prepare some dinner and in the
meantime, a cup of chamomile tea for you – you seem a little jittery, it will
calm you.” She giggled that alluring giggle again.

“We
are having basil pesto pasta with avocado and almonds. Please join us this
evening; we would love your company.”

They
sat around the table; the conversation flowed easily, as if they had been
friends for many years. Jean Pierre opened a bottle of Merlot and they all
enjoyed the warmth and glow it brought as they chatted. Jean Pierre recounted
their history in the village. They had been here for eight years now and could
not imagine living anywhere else.

They
had arrived from France with very little command of communicative English, but
had been overwhelmed by the patience of the locals as they learned to speak the
language. They had opened the guesthouse first and then extended to include the
café three years ago. It was very popular and Phoebe worked very hard. She did
most of the baking herself. When she first began and found that she loved it,
she had completed a confectioner’s course and now supplied her coffee shop with
all sorts of delicacies; éclairs, petit fours, tarts, cakes, biscuits and so
much more.

Jean
Pierre was also in partnership with one other person, as an architect. Although
where they were, the village thrived on and relied on its history as a tourist
attraction and so very few of the buildings had been renovated or replaced.
Most of Jean Pierre’s work was in the cities and so he travelled whenever his
work demanded.

Before
they had immigrated, Phoebe had taught ballet. She was a professional ballerina
and had performed innumerable times and in many classics: Swan Lake, The
Nutcracker and many others, but her favourite was a production of The Water
Babies that she had choreographed and performed in with her students. It was a
story that was undervalued and never given the attention it deserved, almost
forgotten. She still taught once a week, at the primary school a few blocks
away. She did not dance professionally anymore, but as it was her passion, she
delighted in watching the young dancers developing their dance skills and
sharing in their euphoria at eisteddfod time when they got to live their
ballerina dreams in their pink tutus.

Chloe
felt herself relaxing into their warmth and hospitality and found herself
feeling comfortable enough to share her journey. She told of her travels and
the things she had been exposed to in order to write the stories that she hoped
would bring awareness to people who did not know what was happening beyond the
safe boxes they had built around themselves, oblivious to the suffering of
other beings who share this beautiful planet. She told of mass demand for
thriller stories and the persuasion methods that she had been subjected to by
her employers in order to get her to write entertaining rather than informative
articles.