Growing up, I always loved visiting my aunt and uncle in the Pacific Northwest.

They had a secluded house out in one of the sprawling pine forests and owned a large

portion of the surrounding untouched land. It was lonely, but not lonesome, far away, but not without a touch

of civilization within driving distance. My uncle Vern built the place from the ground up.

Together with my Aunt Ellie, they gradually renovated it from a small cabin into the kind of place

they could have made a ridiculous amount of money had they converted it into a rental property.

They loved living there too much to even consider it. Every year, right at the end of summer,

my folks and I always made the trek up to visit them. Twelve hours in the car both ways, but entirely

worth it. Watching the sage-brush-infested desertscape slowly transform into the lush greenery of

Washington State honestly felt as if I was venturing into a fantastical place, lost wholly in another

time. I grew real close to my Aunt Ellie amongst those trips. She

really was something else. While Uncle Vern was a contractor, turned carpenter, turned master

artisan, making a mint performing renovations for folks who did want to turn their rural

slices of life into lucrative rentals. Ellie was this hermit survivalist that wasn't so much living out in nature, but living as a part of it.

She knew everything there was to know about the surrounding woods.

Literally, she had an encyclopedic knowledge about every plant and critter within a hundred miles.

I memory alone, she could trace out paths into the forgotten depths of the woods, reaching beautiful

retreats you typically find only on some travel exploration blog.

Most importantly of all, she loved to show me all of these neat things, and I couldn't

get enough of learning about everything she told me.

It's largely why I kept up the tradition of going to visit her.

Even after I grew up and started living on my own,

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