A Surprise in Cucuron

At the brocante fair in Meyraurgues, just south of Pertuis, we ended our long search for the perfect set of pastis glasses and claimed a mysteriously handsome, brass-rimmed, thick wooden cylinder that now holds my pencils. Professional antiquers in sturdy booths and locals whose blankets on the stones are covered with faded treasures from their attics always draw me wondering into their world. Sometime I have the courage to ask about the use of some contraption but usually I just wonder on. The leisurely walk up to the Renaissance chateau in Ansouis was unremarkable and I was looking forward to making quick work of the last two towns we’d planned to walk before chilling by the pool at Angel and Françoise’s gite in Bonnieux.   But after parking between the plane trees by the huge rectangular basin in Cucuron, we began noticing youngsters in small groups dressed in traditional white and red provençal costume. The mood of anticipation among the women gathered in talking groups was contagious. Now fully awake and concerned that we might miss something, we asked one of the mothers what was going on. She told Anne that a religious celebration was about to take place. On May 27th. We decided to scrap our afternoon plans and stick around Cucuron for these un-advertised festivities. The younger boys and girls were herded into a group, carrying banners they began marching to the cadence of an adult drummer down to the edge of town. An older child in the lead was costumed in a tri-cornered hat, blue jacket with tails, knickers, and black shoes. We stood with the children and their chaperones in the road near the edge of town awaiting the arrival of the big tree trunk. Soon we heard the repeated blasting of a car horn and everybody strained to get a glimpse. What came into sight, though, was a farm vehicle covered in branches from the forest and loaded with several high-school aged shirtless rowdies racing toward the women and children. I felt they were detracting from the solemnity of the occasion and as they sped through the opening made in the crowd, and there were lots of harrumphs from the older proper women. But from the attitude of the rest of the people it became obvious that this false alarm had become part of the annual tradition and it served to lighten things up a bit. They circled the village a couple of times yelling and honking and then disappeared again into the forest.   Within minutes the real truck arrived with the heavy part of the tree trunk high above the front of the cab and the leafy end dragging in the street behind. There were dirty, sweaty men and boys all over it including the rowdies we’d just met. Getting the tree trunk off the truck was a huge project without a leader. Some tugged one way while others pushed the opposite way. Everybody had a better idea and shouted orders that nobody listened to; but the tree finally got off the truck and on the ground. Here’s where the children got involved. They attached colorful flowers to the leafy end of the tree so it would be pretty when upright. Next was getting about 20 six-foot 2x4s spaced underneath so that with one man on each end of a 2×4 the tree could be carried horizontally through the town up to the church. As soon as it was in mid-air supported by strong shoulders, the boy with the tricorn was hoisted up on the tree for a pony-style ride through the town. The procession through the town was hilarious. The lanes are too narrow for the 50-foot maypole to make it around the turns. The men had to inch the pole around each turn by bending the top, reversing, lowering, and raising, until finally with much wall scraping and more yelling, the tree was free to make the next turn. At the top of the hill a manhole cover in front of the church was removed and the axed off end of the pole was placed beside it. Using a cranked hoist set up in the church’s bell tower and a cable attached to the top of the tree, it was returned to its natural position with a jolt into the manhole. Of course, this was accompanied by much yelling of instructions and running back and forth and up and down the bell tower, much like the effort to remove the tree from the truck that brought it to town.   As soon as the pole was secured at the top to the bell tower, Cucuron’s priest emerged from the church and thanked God once again for lifting the plague and invoked His blessing on the people of Cucuron. After that, the children performed the dances their ancestors had each year since the plague came to an end.   Others joined in the dancing and as the sun was going down, the crowd began to thin. Two of the cutest kids – two and a half year old Emmanuel and four year old Amelie were the last to leave. Emmanuel, letting Amelie know that he’d soon be ready to carry the pole, hoisted with some difficulty a leftover branch up to his shoulder and the two left the church steps toward home.   Kirk and Anne Woodyard invite you to join them for a summertime Music and Markets trip to Provence. See www.musicetc.us for information.