From green fields to sandy shores, Mary and Bill Stone move effortlessly between the grounded peace of the farm and the restorative calm of the beach at their homes in Naples, Florida, savoring the best of both worlds.
Story by Cara Clark, Photos by Karl Rouwhorst
Between land and sea, Mary and Bill Stone live inside two distinct moods, each shaping the way a day begins, unfolds, and comes to rest. Though a scant ten minutes apart, the distance between their two Southern homes is not measured in miles. It’s measured in mood, breath, and the emotionally palpable shift that happens when one environment gives way to another.
The Stones’ life has always moved with the seasons. When the weather turns warm, they return north to Connecticut, settling back into town and beach homes that have long anchored family life. When winter presses in, they head south to Naples, Florida — not as an escape so much as a continuation, another rhythm folded into an already full life.
Even in Naples, that rhythm changes tempo again as the couple moves between two distinct worlds: a beach house on the Gulf, shaped by light and tradition, and a farm improbably tucked into the city’s edges, where roosters announce the morning, and the land asserts itself in quiet, daily ways. The drive between them is short, almost deceptively so, but the emotional shift is immediate.
“It literally takes us ten minutes to go from one to the other,” Mary says. “But it feels completely different. You pull out of one place, and by the time you arrive at the other, it’s like your whole body has adjusted. Your breathing changes. Your pace changes. Everything does.”
Over time, the farm has become something more than a retreat. It isn’t simply where Mary goes to get away; it’s where she feels most grounded. She describes the sensation of that transition almost physically — her shoulders relaxing, the pace of the day loosening its grip.
“I feel so much at peace when I’m at the farm,” she says. “When I pull in, my blood pressure drops. It’s just so calming. I choose to stay at the farm over the beach any day. I don’t know about my husband — he goes along with whatever — but if he’s out of town and he calls and says, ‘Where are you?’ I’m usually at the farm. That’s where you’ll find me.”
A Winter Decision
The life Mary now moves through so intuitively began with a moment of abrupt clarity — one that arrived, fittingly, in the dead of winter. Fourteen years ago, she and her husband were still living in Connecticut, comfortably embedded in routines that looked perfectly fine from the outside. Then one frozen morning, something shifted.
“One winter, my husband was walking up into his office building, and I think he slipped on the ice, because he just decided, ‘That’s it,'" Mary recalls.
That same day, after Bill's business meeting at the state Capitol, Mary picked him up, and the two boarded a plane to Florida. There was no prolonged debate and no careful weighing of options. The decision unfolded with the same decisiveness that would come to define their life there.
“We flew down to Naples that day,” she says. “We bought a house, and that was it. We closed in December and moved right before Christmas. We weren’t going to waste any time.”
The speed of it still surprises her. They arrived just days before the holidays, children and logistics trailing behind them, with no opportunity to prepare the house or make it feel like their own.
“It was crazy,” she says. “We moved a week before Christmas. The kids all came down, and I hadn’t done anything to the house. We lived with the previous owners’ furniture for the rest of the season. Most people ease into a move. We didn’t do that. We just lived with it and figured it out.”
A House With a Point of View
The beach house they purchased in the heart of Naples wasn’t even their first choice. In fact, they had initially fallen for a different home, drawn by its lush landscaping.
“We actually put an offer on the house next door first,” Mary says. “The landscaping was gorgeous, but it needed a lot more work. That owner turned us down, so we put an offer on the house we ended up with. Then the next morning, the first guy came back and said he’d take our offer — and we said no.”
She laughs at the timing of it now. “We had already signed a contract. We weren’t going to renege. And now I’m so glad we didn’t.”
Built in the 1980s by a man in his nineties, the house carried a quiet authority from the start.
“He built it with a vision,” Mary says. “It wasn’t trendy. It wasn’t Tuscan like so many houses going up at the time. It was classic — gorgeous woodwork, proportions that made sense. You could tell it wasn’t chasing anything.”
Still, when they departed Naples after the purchase, Mary felt an unexpected weight settle in.
“When we left, I was honestly a little depressed,” she admits. “I couldn’t envision it at all. My niece is an interior designer, and I remember calling her on the way to the airport, and I didn’t even want to talk.”
That niece is Kate Kazlo, founder of The Home Market in Wisconsin. The unusually close relationship between the two long predated any professional collaboration, shaped instead by years of shared travel, references, and an easy understanding that design should never feel precious.
“We both have this love of design,” Kate says. “And we never take anything too seriously. We’re just best friends.”
That trust became essential. Mary handed Kate the keys in April and stepped back.
“They completely trusted me,” Kate says. “They gave me the keys and turned everything over to me.”
Kate didn’t chase reinvention. Instead, she focused on clarity — clean lines, neutral palettes, honed marble, and materials chosen for longevity rather than trend.
“I still feel like the design feels really classic,” Kate says. “I would do most of the same things exactly the same.”
“I try to stay away from anything too coastal,” Mary adds. “There are a lot of antiques mixed with furniture that’s not fussy. We have three dogs, lots of grandkids, and lots of activity. Things have to take some love and still look good.”
Over time, the house layered itself naturally. One monumental cabinet made from vintage Belgian doors now anchors the living room.
“It’s a big, big cabinet — a one-of-a-kind piece," Kate says. “Because the ceilings are massive, you really need something to anchor the room. Every time I’m there, I see a new treasure has been added.”
When the Land Answered Back
If the beach house took time to grow into, Stone's Throw Farm felt immediate — almost instinctual.
“I walked outside to take the dogs out, and I could hear the roosters,” Mary says. “And I thought, oh my gosh, I wonder what the neighbors think. Because the roosters don’t have an alarm clock. But honestly, I love hearing them. And we’re right in the middle of Naples. It just connects you to the land.”
That land is home to many of Mary's dear friends — family, really — from miniature horses and goats to a perky polka-dot pig and flocks of chickens, turkey, peafowl, and guineas. The lodge at the heart of the farm sets the tone: exposed beams, shiplap walls, concrete floors. The ambiance is architectural, but relaxed.
“When people first see it, they say, ‘Well, how are we supposed to live here?’” Mary says. “But that didn’t deter me.”
She leaned into contrast, grounding the structure with darker woods and black antiques, then softening it with newer upholstery and lived-in textures.
“I love mixing antiques with newer pieces,” she says. “It gives that eclectic look that feels inviting instead of precious.”
Across the pond sits the Potting Shed, a studio cottage overlooking the water, originally envisioned as a place to tend plants but never quite destined to be that. Kate approached the project as a complete living environment, anchoring the space with a green armoire sourced from the south of France and adding a skylight to draw in the Florida sunbeams.
“We wanted everything to feel really soft,” she says. “Like an extension of the farm. Not just a place to sleep, but somewhere you could work, or entertain, or just be.”
Stone's Throw Farm, aptly named in a nod to the family name and its proximity to the beach house, continues to evolve. A larger primary home is now underway, designed to gather the entire family in one place. The beach house holds history, tradition, and the pull of the Gulf. The farm offers something else entirely — a daily recalibration.
“It just connects you to the land,” Mary says again, returning to the phrase as if no other explanation will quite do.
Ten minutes apart, the two homes form a single life shaped by instinct, patience, and a shared understanding that beauty doesn’t need to announce itself. Sometimes it crows at dawn. Sometimes it waits quietly by the water.
