cha-cha-changes

Many of you know, and some of you have seen that I live in a rather unique location. Just outside my window is a 19th Century house called la villa des Fauvettes. During World War II Georges Duhamel, a famous author, stayed in the house for a few days alongside Dr. Albert Martin and ambulance 9 of the French 3rd army corps. The house was a place of rest from the battlefields. At the time, the doctor described the house as "a charming little villa, at the edge of the country and in the middle of a beautiful English garden."

Well, things have certainly changed in the last 100 years. The villa is now a centre de formation, which trains people looking for employment. I'm told that the house I live in belonged to the concièrge, or perhaps the groundskeeper. I don't know when ownership changed hands - I'd have to consult le cadastre at the town hall to find that out - but eventually three school buildings were constructed behind the villa. Until the mid-90s, this was where the special education students went to school. I work with a gentleman who lived in my house in the late 1970s and early 1980s, when my house was un logement de fonction. In French schools, the principals are provided housing on the school grounds, and often other employees have the opportunity to rent at a lower rate. In Poix, the current logement de fonction is in a former château; the principal's apartment is upstairs, and school employees rent the 2 downstairs apartments.

At some point, the school buildings in my parc were abandoned. The house was too, for a while. It was recently renovated, and for the past six years, 2 different teachers have rented it. It's quiet at night, albeit un peu maison hantée at times. Until recently. Since November, there has been a bit of traffic in the old school buildings, and trees have come down. One day, Michael and I were blocked in by branches and had to wait for the workers to cut them and clear our path.

Tant mieux, I say. No problem. It seem such a waste to have buildings falling in to ruin, so I'm happy they're doing something. Except when I left for St. Malo last weekend, my big wrought iron gate was gone. GONE. I think the workers were genuinely surprised to see me driving out of the park. Now I understand why they all stopped working to watch me leave - it wasn't because of my stylish 1993 Renault 21, nor because they were struck by my beauty. Alas! It was only because they all realized that they nearly trapped me inside with the big hole they dug later that afternoon!

My investigation has revealed that they're renovating the site for the offices of the communité des communes sud-ouest Amiénois. Whatever that means. Clearly, more questions must be asked.