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Andrea Guidi renews a medieval house and chestnut‑drying hut on a wooded Tuscan slope.
A narrow mule track threads uphill through chestnut trees before it stops at two roof‑less stone shells. These towers—one a medieval house, the other a former chestnut‑drying hut—stood empty for decades, their floors fallen in and their slate roofs scattered down the slope. Architect Andrea Guidi returned to the site to coax the pair back into everyday use without interrupting the quiet rhythm of the forest.
Inside, the plan follows the rock. Guidi kept the buildings’ footprint intact, slotting new chestnut floors and staircases around a granite outcrop that still pushes through the ground‑level entry. Above it, compact rooms stack three and four stories high, each window trimmed in unfinished timber that flashes warm against the grey rubble masonry. On the lower levels, poured terrazzo—mixed on site with nearby Cipollino marble aggregate—adds a dense, cool surface that can handle boots and wood‑splitting tools alike.
Much of the work is simply repair. Existing stone walls remain exposed outside; indoors they are lightly pointed with lime, leaving every feldspar vein visible. Roof slabs were lifted, sorted, and laid back down over new chestnut beams. Where partitions were required, they were rendered smooth so old and new read as discrete layers rather than pastiche.
Energy moves through the house much as it always has: slowly and with fuel gathered on site. A wood‑fired thermo‑cooker feeds both radiators and domestic hot water, while a modest photovoltaic array on a nearby outbuilding covers lighting and small appliances. Rainwater is captured for the vegetable garden at the foot of the slope, completing a loop that keeps utilities mostly off‑grid.
The renovation’s most deliberate gesture is also its softest: a series of iron‑framed interior stairs that rise in tight turns, their chestnut treads polished by hand. At dusk, when the forest turns copper and the stone walls hold the last warmth of the day, these small flights pick up the glow of a single filament bulb, guiding you from the rocky threshold to the eaves without a syllable of explanation.
All images courtesy of Alex Moling
