In Ansignan, at the very end of Occitania, at the very top of the mountain, everything was going to be ripped away, to become a wood after 150 years of human passions, to become a refuge for joggers and mountain bikers, other walkers and supervising firemen, to buy the vines, the land, to set up people for the vines, the walls, the paths, the casots, the flowers, the flowers, the birds, the school, the cafe, and perhaps a herd of livestock, aromatic plants, and hives.