Stillwater Valley, Washington
Six rooms at the end of a gravel road. Cedar, sword fern, and a creek you can hear from the porch.
See the rooms
The road turns to gravel a few miles out, then ends in a loop under second-growth cedar. We keep a small house, a long table, and the fire going when the fog sits low.
Most guests come to walk, read, and let the weather decide the day. Breakfast is on the sideboard by eight. Dinner on Friday and Saturday, if you want it. The rest of the kitchen is yours.
The house has been in the same family since 1974. We are still learning the names of the mosses.
Three of the six rooms. The others are similar — quieter, a little smaller, same woods outside the glass.
Garden level. Queen bed. The window sits in the sword ferns, so the light is green until noon.
Under the eaves. Two twins that can be made up as a king. You can hear rain on the shakes from here.
A sitting room, a clawfoot tub, and the sound of water after a rain. The one people ask for first.
There are four marked trails from the porch. None of them are ambitious. The longest loops back in two hours if you don’t stop, and you will stop: nurse logs, a lookout over the creek, a bench someone dragged out in the nineties and never brought in.
We don’t program the days. If you want a map, there is one on the hall table. If you want to stay inside, the library is the room with the stove and the bad mystery novels. Either is correct.
The house is not a viewpoint. It is a place to be in the weather.
What the year actually feels like, for people who ask:
| Season | What it’s like |
|---|---|
| Spring | High water, morels on the edges, evenings that run long |
| Summer | Dry needles, a swimming hole, dust on the road |
| Autumn | Mushrooms, woodsmoke, early dark |
| Winter | Storms, a large fire, very few cars |
Cell service is uneven. Wifi is in the main room. We will not be offended if you put the phone in a drawer.
Three nights in the Fern Room. We walked until we were tired of walking, which took longer than expected. The house does what it says.
Came for a weekend in November. Fog the whole time. Played cards. Ate too much toast. Would do it again in a minute.
Quiet in the way you hope a forest will be, and a staff that knows when to leave you alone. The creek suite is worth asking for.
We take reservations by email. Weekends from May through October fill first. Midweek in winter is the house at its most itself: a few lamps, the stove, rain on the roof.
Two-night minimum on weekends. Dogs by arrangement, and only the well-mannered kind. The last mile is gravel; ordinary cars manage it.