We explored the village the other day and it was very hard. I'm staying at my friend Frances' house, and the village is a trailer park in the woods at our school. The land has been condemned and they're tearing down the houses, and almost everyone has moved out. We wondered around the abandoned houses, explored a few of them. Philippe used to live in one of the houses and they've torn down his porch. That porch was where we used to sit and in the light of his kerosene lantern he'd read a book out loud to us while we bundled ourselves up in warm blankets and a few of them smoked the hooka. It's empty now, except for a bookshelf that was too big for his car. We found Frances' old house and they left a telescope inside it, but we didn't know if they were coming back for it. The house was so warn out that the roof was made of leaves, and when we opened the door we were showed to old brown leaves and it felt so haunted and wonderful. On our way out we found a tree house that kids used to play in and we climbed it. There were piles of wood and bricks everywhere. It's so hard to watch it go. Kids from the village were always exploring the woods near the school, and no matter where you went--didn't matter if you were miles away from anywhere--you'd randomly see a group of kids playing in the woods, and they'd stare at you, wondering what an adult was doing there. They were like fairies, and now they're going. It's like the heart of the school is being ripped out. Why do beautiful, wonderful things have to go away? I don't know. it hurts though. That village was well loved, it's been there for as long as the school has, hundreds of families over generations have lived there--and it's gone.