The snow was coming down heavy as we headed up onto Beacon Hill. At 1,400 feet we were socked in by clouds, feeling our way up the steep, winding road that was fast becoming invisible. By the time we finally reached the property (at 1,800 feet, 50 feet below the summit), visibility was down to a few yards and the snow was turning over to sleet and freezing rain. Ramona Russin met us at the door. "Isn't this place magical?" she asked.
This place certainly is magical, as any modern-day thirteenth-century Byzantine castle should be. Mona and Ted Curto, the owner-builders, have done a remarkable job creating a castle-in-the-clouds where everybody said it couldn't be done. They spent three months clearing trees and blasting away ledge from the steep hillside. They spent another month pouring the foundation after the contractors they hired decided it was too difficult a site to work at. They found one driller who would take on the 1,400-foot job of drilling an artesian well. They've packed in countless tons of lumber and masonry supplies in building a stunning, eccentric home: stuccoed siding, stamped copper roof, turrets, arched entries, curved walls, wrought-i1ron railings, custom doors and hardware. The amount of detail is hard to believe, all of it well done.
"Too bad you couldn't have come up on a good day," Ted said. "When it's clear you can see Killington off to the south all the way up to Camel's Hump in the north. Beyond that's the Adirondacks. . ."
We heard him talking, but as we looked off in that direction, the wind blew mist and sleet, and there was no world beyond the moat of milky whiteness.
See for yourselves; call Ted Curto in Bradford, (802) 222-4769.
A mountainside castle is a home.