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"Should you wind up in the central Texas town of Fredericksburg\u2014a 19th-century German settlement planted in the state&amp;#039;s famous rolling hills\u2014you&amp;#039;ll likely be stunned by the peach stands, seemingly hundreds of them. There are buffalo, too, munching contentedly in fields along the roadsides. Most of all there&amp;#039;s the light: a painterly, soft-focus wash that feathers the edges of the hills into the cerulean sky.  This bucolic paradise is what compels Julie Greenwood to abandon Houston almost every Friday night, board a plane to San Antonio, climb into a pickup truck for the one-hour drive to Fredericksburg, and not look back until Monday morning. A cofounder of Greenwood King Properties, one of the state&amp;#039;s leading real-estate companies, she clearly has city life down pat, from the high-intensity business meetings to the gracious home in the soign\u00E9 neighborhood of River Oaks. But when the weekend rolls around, Greenwood leaves it all behind to lose herself in the low-key serenity of a limestone house far from the madding crowd.   Built in the 1870s, the structure sits on oak-dotted acreage that was part of the German colony, and the previous inhabitant was a descendant of the family that had been given the property as an enticement to settle here. In 130 years, &amp;quot;it had never changed hands,&amp;quot; says Greenwood, until she happened to learn from one of her agents that it was to be sold. The master plan she had long envisioned finally met its wrench: For seven years, she&amp;#039;d been looking for a country retreat\u2014but in nearby Mason, where her family is from. And for just as long, Greenwood had been shopping the south of France for antiques to fill a house that she didn&amp;#039;t have. So when she began zigzagging up the winding gravel drive that leads to the place in Fredericksburg, Greenwood had a feeling. &amp;quot;Whatever was at the end of that road, I was buying it,&amp;quot; she says. Then the building came into view. Its hand-cut limestone walls and mottled red tin roof tugged at her heartstrings; she saw past the 1950s and &amp;#039;60s additions and straight into its soul. Some time after the deed was transferred, Greenwood was absently poking around a house in the area that was being restored, perhaps looking for ideas for her own, when she spotted a sketch of a doorframe detail that was the most perfect she could imagine. At the bottom of the sketch was the name of a San Antonio architect, Don B. McDonald. &amp;quot;I knew from the sensitivity of how he handled that doorframe that he was it,&amp;quot; she says. Thus began a nearly three-year &amp;quot;design as we build&amp;quot; journey, as McDonald calls it. &amp;quot;It grew out of our dialogue,&amp;quot; the architect says. Paring the house to its essence was a tangible start. The additions came down, the ho-hum hardwood floors came up, and the gypsum boards on the interior walls were pulled away. Against one corner of the structure, Greenwood put up a modest two-story tower (which created an ell for a screened porch) with a guest bedroom below and a cypress-sheathed bathroom above. Cypress planks were laid on the floors of the two parlors, and authentic, hand-mixed plaster made its creamy way across the walls. The building could breathe again. As for the tin roof, nobody saw a good reason to replace a relic that had lasted so long. &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;ll just patch it,&amp;quot; Greenwood told her architect. Another owner might have raised that roof to allow head-clearing access to the new master bath upstairs, but Greenwood is glad to duck when necessary. As she explains, &amp;quot;All of the decisions were made in favor of the house.&amp;quot;   P. Joe Shaffer, a Houston designer who refined the looks of Greenwood&amp;#039;s Houston home and office, took the country place in hand next. He and Greenwood mined her stored furniture and stirred their selections into the Fredericksburg rooms. It all worked: iron beds, antique linens, a French demilune console, a Swedish cabinet, and minimalist art by the likes of Ellsworth Kelly and Agnes Martin. Everything felt right at home, from the angular rattan rockers on the painted mahogany porch to handwoven rugs incorporating clothes once worn by Greenwood&amp;#039;s now-grown children. Shaffer &amp;quot;definitely gets that ridiculous-with-the-sublime thing,&amp;quot; she says. So far, so casual. But it was the decision about which specialist would plant the property&amp;#039;s new orchards and gardens that would turn out to be the most life-enhancing step of all. John Webber, a local landscape designer, was called in to romance the myriad outdoor spaces. Something clicked, and it was more than his choice of apple trees and arugula.  Webber and Greenwood now share this patch of the Hill Country, listening to raindrops patter on the creaking tin and reveling in the breezes that waft through the screens. It&amp;#039;s a low-impact realm. Here, exercise means chasing after the dog, Queenie, or worse, the couple&amp;#039;s independent-minded donkey, Lucy. Supper usually entails hunting and gathering, such as simply plucking something ripe from a vine or branch and taking it to the kitchen. Squash casserole? Tomato bisque? &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s very gratifying to go outside and pick your dinner,&amp;quot; says Greenwood, all big-city tensions gone. As for Webber, the master of the landscape has only one complaint: &amp;quot;Haven&amp;#039;t had luck with the figs yet.&amp;quot;  For additional information view June 2007 Resources "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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