CHARLOTTE HORTON FIRST learned of Castello di Potentino, the dilapidated fortress that is now her world, from a guidebook more than two decades ago. Perched on a promontory jutting from the face of Mount Amiata, a volcanic peak in southern Tuscany with a purplish-blue cast, the 20-bedroom castle, thought to have been built on Etruscan foundations dating to the fourth century B.C., was all that remained of an 11th-century bulwark with medieval walls encircling a central stone-paved courtyard. Such a mythic site was a siren song to Horton and her family members, a bohemian tribe reminiscent of the British expatriates in Italy gently teased by E.M. Forster in “A Room With a View”: intrepid, culturally voracious and joyously out of bounds.
So one summer day, she and her half brother, Alexander Greene, now 40, joined their mother, Sally, a former ballerina and photographer, and Horton’s stepfather, Graham C. Greene, a Guinness heir and nephew of the novelist, who was once the managing director of the publishing house Jonathan Cape and chairman of the British Museum, to explore what remained of the fabled house. The untrammeled corner of southern Tuscany was not unfamiliar to them, nor was exploring a bedraggled historic estate. Although their main residence was in London, where Horton, 55, had started out as an editorial assistant at Vogue, developing a personal style that fused punk with flamboyant neo-Romanticism (an Yves Saint Laurent bomber jacket atop a cut-silk velvet 1930s evening gown, for example), the Greenes had, in 1989, bought Montepò, an imposing ramshackle castle on a thousand-acre estate 35 miles away, which they transformed into a thriving winery (they sold it to a scion of the Biondi Santi family, creators of Brunello wines, in 1999). Still, Mount Amiata had nothing of the well-groomed prettiness that tourists associate with the region. Wild and rugged, the terrain is thick with chestnut trees and juniper; in the winter, there are blistering snowstorms; in August, the sun can scorch.
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The trek to Potentino was arduous. By the time the family reached the house, they were bruised by falls, their clothes torn by brambles. But coming upon the ruined castle, long abandoned, was “like entering the fable of ‘Beauty and the Beast,’” says Horton. It was smaller and more manageable than Montepò, and the family had a glimpse of what it might become: an intimate inn; a cultural center where vineyards and olive groves would produce wine, grappa and extra-virgin oil; a setting for musical performances and international symposiums; a workshop for locally produced crafts and furniture. The aim of all these “flowerings,” says Horton, is to remind us of the pleasures of “our fundamental humanness.” By the end of that first day, they confirmed that the property was for sale, though that was just the beginning: There were two dozen owners scattered throughout the world with whom they had to draft separate contracts.
After they took possession, mother and daughter camped amid the decrepitude for nearly two years, alone save for their five dogs. Like Horton, Sally Greene, now 79, who had grown up in one of the oldest continuously inhabited houses in England — Luddesdown Court in Kent (William the Conqueror’s half brother had owned it in the 11th century) — knew it was important to settle in as soon as possible in order to absorb the genius loci, or spirit of the place. “The first winter in Potentino,” says Horton, “we lived with no central heating and no bathroom. For months, before the roof was repaired, I used to sleep with an umbrella by my bed.” Eventually, they hired the Florence-based architect Bolko von Schweinichen, who also redid the nearby Villa Cetinale for Ned Lambton, the musician who is the seventh Earl of Durham, and built a new house on the Palazzo Parisi estate in the Sabine hills in Lazio for the former British Conservative member of Parliament Mark Lennox-Boyd and his wife, the landscape designer Arabella Lennox-Boyd.
Still, the women had distinct ideas on how things should be done (Alexander left his London publishing job in 2011 to help manage Potentino; his father died in 2016). It is clear from Horton’s determined carriage and constant motion that she regards the castle as more than a structure or even a contemporary refuge for high culture. For her, it is a mission. “This valley has sustained life for millenniums,” she says. “We’re determined it always will.”
NO. 1 RULE for castle living: Recycle. Rusty nails and wood planks, for example, were used to make doors and tables. Second rule: Use what is nearby. This means natural pigments such as sienna and oxide-rich whitewash, as well as local building materials, including stone and cotto tiles. Ironwork, Horton notes, should be left out to rust for weeks or months before being put into place; wood and stone should be given the “dirty-rag treatment.” “You take a filthy rag, and you rub it on all the surfaces that need to be toned down,” she says.
In the intervening years, of course, the castle’s interiors have transcended the dirty-rag phase. A stone staircase dominates the vaulted entrance hall through a massive 16th-century carved doorway. To the right is the 60-foot-long dining room, with a ceiling mural of stars and constellations and walls hung with sets of Moroccan, Chinese and Japanese plates in shades of vermilion and sapphire. Around a walnut table that seats 30 — wine-filled dinners are a frequent occurrence at Potentino — are chairs with jaunty curved-back legs designed by the British architect Nigel Coates for Potentino’s Design Line, which is sold on its website. (The line, which is inspired by the castle’s aesthetic, also includes kimonos and pillows in fabrics by the young American designer Clare Louise Frost and pitchers by the Florence-based ceramist Gerry De Bastiano.) Nearby is the heart of the castle: the kitchen, with its huge open fireplace, from which meals as hardy as in Etruscan times emerge — wild game, sheep cheese, local honey, wild chicory and quince from the garden. “The Etruscans were pleasure-loving people,” says Horton. “Even the Romans were appalled by how they ate two full meals a day, always reclining.”
The upstairs bedrooms, with 13-foot ceilings, which were covered in dust and full of rubbish when the family first moved in, are now as spare and elegant as they might have been in the castle’s earlier eras. Some have beds crowned with giant canopies of ancient silk damask that Sally has been collecting for decades; many have walls with trompe l’oeil columns that were painted during the 19th century. The shelves hold selections from the Greenes’ extensive library of first editions, including volumes by Graham Greene as well as Raymond Chandler, who was a client of the literary agent Helga Greene, Graham C. Greene’s mother (she was engaged to marry the noir novelist when he died, in 1959, and was his literary executor). Throughout the house there are heirlooms: an early 20th-century Irish chinoiserie cabinet in the sitting room, a pair of Umbrian sacristy cupboards in the sitting room, an 18th-century memento mori candelabra by Horton’s bed.
Remaking Potentino’s 75 acres as a working agricultural venue was fundamental to the family’s vision; self-sufficiency is at the core of their ethos. Within the first two seasons they had augmented the old olive groves with new trees — the estate presses and sells the oil — and planted an indigenous variety of sangiovese grape for Potentino’s red and rosé wines. Cultivating a diversity of crops is crucial to the family: They are determined to avoid the Italian trend of single-product plantations. To underwrite their efforts, they have set up a foundation for supporters to help buy abandoned plots of land that will sustain traditional mixed agriculture; those who donate receive cases of wine and olive oil.
Raising a rich variety of animals in the way people did hundreds, even thousands, of years ago is also a matter of importance. Recently, Horton realized she no longer saw herds of sheep roaming the region’s fields, although the area is famous for its pecorino. As a girl in Tuscany visiting her step-grandmother, Horton had seen a local shepherd unwind wool from the barbed wire surrounding the fields and then make a pair of socks for her husband — a formative image. She discovered that because of rising labor costs, much of the milk used to produce the prized cheeses in her area had in recent years been imported. In response, she and Alexander collaborated with a couple of young university graduates who longed to return to the land where their parents and ancestors had worked for generations as shepherds; now, their flock of Sardinian sheep roams Potentino’s fields, producing milk for cheese as well as wool for the rugs and eccentric wide-brimmed felt hats made in the workshop. “Places can take over the destinies of people who live in them,” Horton says. “If you learn to listen, they tell you what they need and how to do it.”
Photo assistant: Kensington LeverneB:
麻将买码技巧【次】【日】【凌】【晨】，【天】【还】【没】【有】【彻】【底】【发】【亮】，【一】【阵】【阵】【微】【风】【轻】【柔】【的】【吹】【动】，【抚】【摸】【着】【大】【地】。 【舟】【山】【红】【警】**，【经】【过】【一】【夜】【的】【征】【召】，【动】【员】【兵】【的】【数】【量】【大】【增】，**【后】【方】，【一】【排】【排】【的】【二】【层】【小】【楼】【整】【齐】【的】【竖】【立】【在】【了】【那】【里】，【那】【是】【士】【兵】【休】【息】【的】【场】【所】，【往】【后】【慢】【慢】【的】【会】【随】【着】【人】【数】【增】【加】【而】【加】【高】。 【一】【声】【哨】【响】，【响】【彻】【天】【空】，【打】【破】【了】【寂】【静】，【灭】【灯】【了】【的】【一】【排】【排】【住】【所】【几】【乎】【同】【时】
“【荒】【唐】，【荒】【唐】！” 【苏】【泽】【气】【的】【原】【地】【打】【转】，【像】【高】【速】【转】【动】【的】【陀】【螺】，【根】【本】【停】【不】【下】【来】。 【小】【雪】【看】【他】【急】【成】【这】【个】【样】【子】，【也】【有】【些】【慌】【张】，【赶】【紧】【上】【前】【安】【慰】【道】：“【少】【爷】【你】【别】【急】，【声】【势】【这】【么】【大】，【说】【不】【定】【人】【家】【真】【是】【你】【情】【我】【愿】【呢】？” 【苏】【泽】【当】【然】【急】，【但】【在】【小】【雪】【面】【前】，【他】【又】【不】【能】【表】【现】【出】【真】【实】【的】【情】【绪】，【只】【能】【憋】【着】【一】【口】【气】【忽】【悠】【道】：“【楼】【姑】【娘】【跟】【我】【提】【过】【好】
【许】【多】【画】【面】【占】【满】【厉】【乘】【风】【的】【脑】【海】。 【她】【拿】【着】【电】【话】，【在】【街】【上】【边】【走】【边】【说】【话】【的】【姿】【态】。 【初】【秋】【和】【缓】【的】【微】【风】【吹】【拂】，【乌】【黑】【亮】【一】【丽】【的】【头】【发】【随】【风】【飘】【逸】。 【可】【以】【想】【见】，【她】【应】【该】【在】【笑】。 【薄】【薄】【的】【嘴】【唇】【忍】【不】【住】【上】【扬】，【肯】【定】【不】【属】【于】【端】【庄】【稳】【重】【的】【笑】【容】。【因】【为】【她】【总】【是】【这】【样】。 【永】【远】【兴】【味】【盎】【然】、【纯】【真】。 【对】【于】【自】【己】【生】【存】【的】【这】【个】【世】【界】【上】【的】【任】【何】【事】、【任】麻将买码技巧“【走】【了】！【萱】【萱】【丫】【头】！”【而】【在】【另】【外】【一】【个】【方】【面】，【当】【赛】【车】【表】【演】【结】【束】【之】【后】，【正】【在】【准】【备】【溜】【走】【的】【林】【萱】【萱】，【一】【道】【身】【影】【突】【然】【出】【现】【在】【她】【的】【面】【前】，【说】【道】。 “【无】【辰】【哥】【哥】，【你】【看】【可】【不】【可】……”【看】【着】【面】【前】【的】【叶】【无】【辰】，【林】【萱】【萱】【的】【脸】【色】【有】【点】【儿】【害】【怕】【了】，【小】【心】【翼】【翼】【的】【说】【道】，【一】【双】【美】【目】【更】【是】【可】【怜】【兮】【兮】【的】，【看】【着】【叶】【无】【辰】。 “【不】【可】【以】！【我】【答】【应】【过】【你】【姐】【姐】，【要】
【新】【历】126【年】10【月】15【日】，【南】【方】【奥】【术】【学】【院】。 【罗】【晨】、【周】【晴】、【朱】【小】【小】【三】【个】【人】，【一】【起】【走】【进】【了】【学】【院】【的】【大】【门】。 【如】【今】【罗】【晨】【已】【经】【是】【当】【之】【无】【愧】【的】【联】【盟】【第】【一】【强】【者】，【他】【的】【功】【绩】【和】【声】【望】【也】【达】【到】【了】【当】【世】【第】【一】，【历】【史】【地】【位】【可】【排】【在】【唐】【易】、【雷】【娜】【之】【后】【稳】【坐】【第】【三】。 【所】【以】，【当】【他】【提】【出】【要】【杀】【一】【只】【去】【年】【俘】【虏】【的】【兽】【人】【巫】【师】【时】，【没】【有】【人】【会】【不】【自】【量】【力】【地】【提】【出】
“【好】【了】，【我】【们】【也】【相】【交】【一】【些】【年】【头】【了】。【既】【然】【掉】【了】【也】【就】【只】【能】【算】【了】。”【韩】【林】【冷】【冷】【说】【道】。【至】【于】【那】【脸】【色】，【任】【谁】【看】【到】【都】【知】【道】【不】【太】【好】。 【见】【气】【氛】【不】【太】【对】【劲】，【鲨】【汉】【连】【忙】【拿】【出】【一】【个】【储】【物】【袋】，【恭】【敬】【地】【递】【到】【韩】【林】【手】【上】，【好】【似】【谢】【罪】【一】【般】【得】【说】【道】：“【主】【上】。【这】【是】【妖】【宗】【这】【些】【年】【来】【的】【收】【获】。” 【所】【谓】【的】【妖】【宗】，【乃】【是】【此】【地】【所】【有】【妖】【族】【成】【立】【的】【一】【个】【闲】【散】【组】【织】。【目】
“【不】【知】【道】，”【苏】【剑】【淡】【淡】【的】【说】【道】。 【这】【小】【子】【居】【然】【对】【陈】【队】【长】【也】【是】【如】【此】【无】【礼】！ 【众】【匪】【兵】【一】【阵】【唏】【嘘】。 【他】【们】【很】【清】【楚】，【在】【九】【十】【名】【小】【队】【长】【中】，【陈】【队】【长】【杀】【人】【最】【多】，【下】【手】【也】【最】【狠】。 【虽】【然】【今】【天】【是】【个】【喜】【庆】【的】【日】【子】，【陈】【队】【长】【未】【必】【会】【杀】【人】，【但】【一】【定】【会】【让】【龙】【七】【吃】【个】【大】【苦】【头】【是】【毋】【庸】【置】【疑】【的】！ “【好】！【那】【我】【就】【叫】【你】【知】【道】【知】【道】！”【陈】【队】【长】【也】【被】【苏】