It's cherry picking time in Provence right now--the big red ones and the unctuously sweet yellow ones with a pink blush called Queen Anne. The vintners often plant fruit trees or rose bushes at the end of their grape vines. It's not done for an aesthetic purpose--it's so they can see if there's any sort of insect infestation in the grapes as the bugs will generally go to the rose or fruit first.
Behind my house up in the hills there's a tiny vineyard off a dirt road with a magnificent ancient cherry tree. No one cares for it and the boughs practically touch the ground, a good many of them dead. But every year it bears the most succulent blushing yellow cherries. When my son was little, we would always go up there to harvest a few; no one else seemed interested and no one ever shooed us away for being on their property. Over the years I've watched this ancient tree go from bad to worse, so a couple of winters ago I went up there with a saw and an ax and removed some of the dead wood. The poor tree was also covered with strangler ivy that puts its roots right into the bark, so the ax came in handy.
If the vintner noticed that his old cherry tree was looking a bit better, I hope he thought that maybe a helpful druid had gone up there to see after that orchard of one.
I'm not in France right now and am dreaming of those cherries, sunset colored, warm on the branch, sublimely delicious. I hope that a tired hiker will pass by, notice them, and will reach up and take a few, thrilled and grateful for the bounties of Provence.