I was built in 1869 of solid Flensburg brick, for the parish priests. For many years my rooms held hymns and Sunday coffee, and the tall windows let the morning light in across the wooden floors — as they still do.

Then came new families and new laughter — and two great renovations, in 1987 and most recently in 2021. So I keep both my old heart and warmth in every room: new triple-glazed windows, full insulation and an energy rating of A, rare for a lady of my age.

Around me, cobblestone paths wind between rose bushes and vine-draped pergolas, beneath one of the oldest trees on the island. There is a secret courtyard with a firepit, a horse stable across the road, and an orangery on the way — the foundation is ready, and the windows come with it.

Five minutes from here lie the beach, the marina and the ferry. I stand on the narrow northern tip of Ærø, waiting for someone who wants to hear the rest of the story.