Stillwater Lore
The roots of Stillwater reach far beyond the boundaries of the property itself.
I grew up in Southern Indiana, where my earliest lessons in work, care, and purpose came from my father and uncle. Both were nurses. Both were deeply mission-driven. They lived their lives in service to others, and they carried that same sense of responsibility into everything they did.
Some of my earliest memories were spent outside with them: cutting grass, landscaping, fishing, building gardens, and learning how to take care of what was in front of us. I started working young, earning money with my own hands and seeing early on that you could shape your own path if you were willing to work for it.
They taught me that peace could be found outside. That care was an action, not a feeling. That a life should be built with intention. And that whatever you create should leave people and places better than you found them.
At 22, I lost my father unexpectedly. Three years later, I lost my uncle as well. What followed were long seasons of searching. With my two German Shepherds, I traveled across the American West, carrying their ashes through deserts, forests, coastlines, and mountain towns, looking for meaning in places that still felt wild and alive.
That search eventually led me to North Wind House, a blackberry farm in the shadow of Mount Baker in northwest Washington. There, I met Reg, the steward of the land and the closest thing I know to a Jedi. Around cedar trees, bonfires, music, and conversations that stretched deep into the night, I began to understand what intentional hospitality could be.
It was not about luxury in the traditional sense. It was about atmosphere. Presence. Story. The feeling of being welcomed into a place that had been cared for with purpose.
While I was still in Washington, my aunt sent me a listing for a small yurt tucked into the woods back home in Southern Indiana. Something about it felt familiar before I ever saw it.
I drove 2,500 miles to see it in person. On my first night there, beneath a sky full of stars, with owls, frogs, coyotes, and wind moving through the trees, I knew the place had something to say.
Stillwater became my attempt to bring home what I had found out west. Not by copying a place, but by carrying forward a feeling: a slower, more intentional way of living.
Everything here is designed to help people reconnect: with nature, with each other, and with themselves. Because true luxury is not excess. It is dark skies, forest air, firelight, warm coffee, meaningful conversation, and the feeling of your nervous system finally letting go.
Stillwater is more than a place to stay. It is a living work of art shaped by grief, friendship, wilderness, storytelling, and the belief that healing begins the moment we become fully present again.
- E
