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" Two years ago, Darryl Carter yearned to unwind. The Washington, D.C., interior designer&amp;#039;s calendar was jammed with client meetings, plans to launch a furniture collection, and book deadlines. (The New Traditional is scheduled to be published in August by Clarkson Potter.) The pressure was on, and &amp;quot;I needed a place to decompress,&amp;quot; he says. Carter knew where he could do just that. He had always loved the Plains, a Virginia hamlet about 50 miles from the nation&amp;#039;s capital, and nearby he found an 1840s stucco-and-clapboard house with several fireplaces and a 140-foot-long wisteria pergola. &amp;quot;I was charmed,&amp;quot; he says. &amp;quot;I bought it in two days.&amp;quot; Carter&amp;#039;s rustic-meets-refined escape is a textbook example of the neutral palette and strong silhouettes he has made his professional hallmarks since giving up practicing law for interior design a decade ago. Stucco hearths and primitive wood benches contrast with an occasional rarefied English or Italian antique. Weathered barn doors have been repurposed into cabinets, espresso-color cotton curtains warm up the living and dining rooms, and a narrow 12-foot dining table made of reclaimed wood seats 16 friends for the house speciality: chicken potpie. &amp;quot;I like to call the style of this place Modern Barn,&amp;quot; says Carter, a tall man with a deep voice whose client roster includes Washington power players and international financiers. And his home offers all the relaxation potential one would expect from this rural setting. Here he can sit down and read a biography, refinish a piece of furniture, or indulge in another of his favorite country pleasures: listening to the sound of raindrops on the metal roof. &amp;quot;It feels remote,&amp;quot; the designer says of the location, &amp;quot;but I am minutes from organic markets and a few very charming restaurants.&amp;quot;  Carter starts to unplug from pressures and duties the moment he zips away for the weekend from his five-story Embassy Row townhouse, which was once the chancery of the embassy of Oman. The last leg of the journey takes him through the rolling hills and horse farms of bucolic Fauquier County, where the wooded countryside seems straight out of an 18th-century landscape painting. &amp;quot;The approach is hypnotic,&amp;quot; says Carter, who typically cranks up an opera or hip-hop CD as he makes his way to his second home. &amp;quot;It gets me in my right mental place,&amp;quot; he adds. &amp;quot;When I see the black cows, I know I&amp;#039;m almost there.&amp;quot; Though he&amp;#039;s used to fully focusing on clients and letting personal projects lag behind, this time Carter put the completion of his rural digs on the fast track, swiftly unearthing antiques and architectural salvage stashed in storage, including a collection of antique taxidermy amassed from eBay and Paris flea markets. (Two wild boar heads guard the foyer.) His vision for his rambling Virginia homestead involved a gentle renovation of some of its unfortunate additions, rooms that had been tacked onto the house from the 1920s through the &amp;#039;90s. &amp;quot;The house seemed too new,&amp;quot; he says. &amp;quot;It didn&amp;#039;t feel right. It wasn&amp;#039;t tactile enough.&amp;quot; In a determined effort to age the structure, Carter refaced fireplaces, removed every extraneous molding, and added more beams. Built-in cabinets were fitted with satisfyingly creaky old doors. The designer&amp;#039;s instructions to the renovation crew were simple and straightforward: Be purposefully sloppy and avoid perfection. &amp;quot;Please note how poorly all the walls are done,&amp;quot; he says proudly, quickly adding, &amp;quot;You can&amp;#039;t name my contractor though -- he doesn&amp;#039;t want any credit.&amp;quot; The designer scoured salvage stores for the most humble of trappings, such as weathered hinges and hardware. &amp;quot;I wanted everything thoughtfully old,&amp;quot; he explains. Ceilings, walls, and floors are painted in Benjamin Moore whites. &amp;quot;Color is the best way to unify disparate surfaces,&amp;quot; he says. Floor-to-ceiling niches -- Carter calls them cavities -- were built into walls near the fireplaces for storage; the stacked logs they contain seem like organic sculpture. In the kitchen, the pine cabinets gave way to open shelves of reclaimed wood. A longtime fan of subtlety, Carter reversed a smoke-color toile de Jouy to lessen its impact and used it to upholster two antique English reading chairs. Guests get deeply comfortable beds (one of them has a feather mattress), shelves of interesting books -- which have been arranged for visual appeal, some stacked, others standing upright -- and sheltering wing chairs equipped with warm blankets. As Carter explains, &amp;quot;My romantic idea for this house was that people would just relax and read.&amp;quot;  The master bath always intrigues first-time guests, partly for its poetic emptiness but also for its curiosity factor. An oak demilune table has been turned into a sink vanity, and there&amp;#039;s an antique milking-stool table and a generous shower. One section of wall has been left artfully unfinished, the underlying lath revealed in all its humble, horizontal glory. But it is the room&amp;#039;s narrow 1890s galvanized-metal tub that gets the most comments; it looks barely large enough to shampoo Otis, the designer&amp;#039;s German shorthaired pointer. As the six-foot-three Carter notes, the tub isn&amp;#039;t meant to be used: &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s art. I&amp;#039;m never getting in there.&amp;quot; Click here to view the hom Plus, go inside Darryl Carter&amp;#039;s D.C. townhouse.  See the resources. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.elledecor.com/design-decorate/a3804/the-peace-keeper-a-48033/>