Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Baseball caps.

Cold outside but Sophie is cozy. She ignores me when I wander down and switch on the lights.

Bob, unhelpfully, gets under my feet as the process of slowly taking down the Christmas decorations continues. The tree can wait until tomorrow. It attracts too much canine attention.

A group of young men arrive in a white minibus which parks at a jaunty angle on the village green. The young men pile out. Most wear baseball caps back to front. They disappear into the Very Old Farmers house. Seems they are '' hired help " called in to clear the place out. By five the house has been completely stripped and the contents, or those that can't easily be sold, shipped to the local dump. Monsieur Bay informs us that the young men were asylum seekers hired from the local refugee camp and paid in cash for their efforts.

Bob stands on his stump seat and watches. A reminder that a sheepdogs work is never done.

The Very Old Farmers van and tractor have somehow been moved into the middle of his vegetable patch and left. This is the vegetable patch that the village is thinking of buying as  car park for the Salle des Fetes.

So passes another quiet day in deepest, deepest France profonde.

Here is an unusual way of singing a protest song :


  1. Interesting approach to house clearing. No chance of any buried treasures (old letters etc.) from the Very Old Farmer's past being unearthed and saved now.

  2. Crackers - what fun - just the thing for a spot of canine shredding ! Did you count them before and after?
    Not an ounce (or gram) of sentiment there, but we can be assured that anything of any monetary value has long since been removed by the Very Old Farmer's son. Non-saleable items wouldn't be considered of any importance, I should imagine.

  3. A friend recently inherited a house from a distant relative. When it happened, his wife's arm was in a cast after she had fallen and broken it, and his hand was in bandages after he'd gotten burned (refilling a lighter). He's a complete cheapskate, so in any other circumstance he would have emptied the house himself, selling items individually, keeping what he liked. But he had no choice but to hire a company to do it. The company told him they would break up the furniture. He was shocked--the furniture was in fine shape. The company informed him that nobody wants old wooden furniture anymore--they want it new and modern, from Conforama and Ikea. It took my siblings and me two years to empty my parents house.

  4. Old folks are notorious for having spent years stashing notes throughout the house in secret, very odd spots " just in case...". Especially so for those who have been through economic depressions or wars. Perhaps the young men went home with a bit more in their pockets than expected.

  5. It's so sad to think of the very old farmer's belongings discarded in such a heartless fashion. I wonder if asylum seekers from outside France could recognise the value of all his remaining possessions.
    At our dump the man who runs it casts a very keen eye over what is dumped and anything worth saving is carefully put on one side.

  6. We don't know what motivates the son, but life tends to be complicated.