Today we had a tour of le Mas de Salel. The grandfather of Françoise bought it in 1885. Originally, in the 10th century if my French is correct, it was the farm and farmhouse for the Abbaye Sylvanes. The monks would hike up their
robes to work in the fields. I am sleeping where the shepherds and sheep once were kept, that is, the ewes that
produced milk for Roquefort cheese. She tells us that she was never allowed to eat chevre as a girl.
This is the original house of the farm. It grew to the right, each section
interdigitated with the next as families expanded or artisans came. This interdigitation is an important feature of the growth of the buildings found here.
The large towers on either side of the courtyard, the nearest one covered in red and green leaves, were repaired and rebuilt with stones that had tumbled down close. The ultimate recycling plan, it is similar to how the Chateau of Montaigut was rebuilt.
No pictures of inside (I felt a bit bashful to ask) but an
incredible task of mixing the modern and old. The original sink made of stone still in use, now it drains down
a pipe rather than out of the window to the garden below.
Such respect for the old and the ancient, with the stories they hold, like the fireplace in front of which the children were bathed. And yet there is quite the embrace of the wonderful new, halogen lamps highlighting the stone roughly hewn. A masterful discernment of what to keep, to rebuild, to reuse, or to interdigitate with the new. And so it is with a life to be lived, such discernment, it is hoped, leading to a peace like that one feels at le Mas de Salel. 