A Visit to the old Presbytery
It has been a few weeks without a new post of our project notes, but for good reason: we’ve been busy visiting the house we recently mentioned.
Planning a visit to a property like this is an event in itself. With a building that’s stood for centuries, you don’t simply show up. First you gather contacts for regional artisans who know these homes, known as maîtres d’œuvre, or master craftsmen. We were lucky to be connected with one in the area of this particular property.
Not a chateau, not a mansion, not even quite a house, but a presbytery: le presbytère. It once stood with the church and the nearby chateau as part of the village’s small backbone.
After weeks of calls and emails, we finally secured a weekend visit.
A short TGV ride--just an hour from Paris--and we were in the département of the Mayenne, southwest of the city and on Brittany’s eastern edge. In the region of the Pays de la Loire. With taxi prices climbing, we planned ahead and rented a car. In the quieter corners of France, that sometimes means the “rental office” is a bar. You check in with the barman as if you had a dinner reservation; he hands you keys and points you to a nearby street. We didn’t expect much, but it was surprisingly efficient. And there she was: a tidy little Fiat 500. We hopped in and zipped toward the village.
Despite rain and low, grey skies, the drive was lovely: broad empty roads, cows in every shade, green everywhere. Twenty minutes later, we were parking beside the property.
We arrived an hour early to walk around the village. It turns out an hour is about forty-five minutes more than you need. There are roughly three buildings: city hall, the church, and a privately owned (and very well-kept) chateau. A baguette vending machine out front of city hall felt like a nice touch.
The weather seemed to understand our purpose. As we approached for the visit, the rain stopped, the clouds opened, and the day turned gently sunny.
The agent’s first question: had we brought boots? We hadn’t, but our semi-rugged shoes would do. We began at the front of the presbytery, a modest lawn and garden gate. Beyond the walled garden, more than an acre of meadow. The agent explained a friendly arrangement with the neighbor: from time to time, his sheep come through to graze and keep the grasses in check.
Around the back, the formal garden reveals itself: a terrace to an open lawn, a small pond, planted beds, and a patch of apple trees.
And then, the house. Inside, it is unmistakably itself. Not buried under plastic renovation, but dans son jus, in its own juice. Exposed stone, little cracks, the kind of honesty we love (so long as the ceiling doesn’t cave in). To our maître d’œuvre’s pleasant surprise, everything appeared to be in good condition.
We toured from the old dining room with its fireplace to a rather harsh, poorly placed kitchen, then upstairs to the bedrooms. In the attic we peered at the 150-year-old roof timbers and a few abandoned wasps’ nests.
There are still questions. Costs to tally. Maybe an offer to write. Over the past several months we’ve seen a handful of places that matched our very small budget, but none that stirred a real dream.
This one was the first.
Five hundred years in its stones, and somehow it still feels possible: a family home, an escape from the city’s din, a place for friends and family, and maybe, just maybe, something larger for us. An atelier. A space to make things. A quiet table for a great cup of coffee.
So if the notes have been quiet lately, that’s why. We weren’t lost. We were there, boots or not, walking the meadow, listening to the roof, and letting the first true contender make its case.
Artwork by Philips Koninck, Photo taken by Benjamin Schwartz