For generations out of mind, the Burrows clan has held the Under Hill, a residence so thoroughly established in the hillside that the very roots of the ancient tree above have grown into the ceiling to keep them company.

Its current occupant, one P. H. Burrows, is a leporine gentleman of good sense and better taste.

A Splendid Subterranean Scullery

While his family home might once have been a trifle rustic — not that the old tunnels were ever inadequate, you understand, for a Burrows has never been known to tolerate a draft — his forebears each had a hand in its refinement. Under their care, the Under Hill ceased to be a mere residence and became a masterpiece of subterranean engineering.

His many-greats-grandmother, for instance, believed one should never be more than six paces from a biscuit or a cool drink, and so designed a scullery that could hold enough nibbles to last through a fortnight of heavy rains. From its root-ribbed ceiling, she hung bundles of dried flowers, ensuring the air was perpetually seasoned with the faint, comforting scent of lavender and thistle.

The Silent Sentinels

The bed-nook, too, received a personal touch from Mr. Burrows’ great-great-grandfather. Being a fellow of deep sentiment and perhaps a touch of superstition, he felt his room required “watchers” — silent sentinels to preside over his peaceful slumber. He set his chisel to work upon his stout bedposts, and now, there dwell a pair of hand-carved owls. These are not the screeching, flighty sorts that pester one in the dark woods, but owls of a most dignified and sedentary character.

The Liquid Depths

Throughout all these improvements, the family remained steadfast in their disdain for verticality. “Steps,” they were often heard to mutter, “are for the flighty and the feather-brained.” Consequently, the renovations ensured the entire burrow remained perfectly level, allowing visitors with wheeled-conveyances to navigate with ease.

Perhaps the most “progressive” addition, however, was the ultra-deep soaking tub set between massive stones. Mr. Burrows’ own grandfather spent many an afternoon ensuring it was the exact depth required for a gentleman to submerge himself entirely, leaving only his nose above the water.

A Sudden Departure

Mr. Burrows thoroughly enjoyed the peace and quiet the Under Hill provided, but one morning at breakfast, he had a peculiar notion. “It’s a day,” he murmured to his reflection in a polished spoon, “to see a bit of the world.” Donning his finest waistcoat, he stepped outside and into the golden wash of sunlight. He did not really mean to go on an adventure, but one thing led to another, and off he’s gone.

While he’s away, he has left his Under Hill refuge for those weary travellers who seek to live, for a time, with a bit of comfort — we hope you will come for a visit soon.

If your heart resides in the curl of a fern or the iridescent trail of a snail, you’ve likely spent hours wandering through misty goblincore Pinterest boards. We are right there with you, but we don’t just scroll through those dreams; we picked up our trowels and built one.

Earthy Magic, Not “Minimalist White”

Luxury shouldn't feel clinical. In the Under Hill Suite, we’ve traded “modern chic” for the gnarled embrace of ancient roots and weathered stone. Every inch of this burrow is hand-sculpted to feel as though it was exhaled by the earth centuries ago. It is a space designed for “clutter” in the best sense — a curated, imaginary history of trinkets and textures that belongs only to you.

The Comfort of the Burrow

Even the most dedicated forest-dweller craves a warm place to retreat. We’ve hidden the modern world behind a veil of magic:

• Your own private patch of garden, featuring a trickling waterfall for moonlit dreaming under the stars.

• Radiant in-floor heating that feels like a sun-warmed rock in a forest clearing.

• An ultra-deep soaker tub for two, designed for a long, hot thaw after a day of wandering.

Step Into Your Story

Under Hill is for the collectors of shiny stones, the lovers of folk tales, and the seekers of quiet, mossy magic. Your corner of the woods is waiting…

Explore our Under Hill Suite & Book Your Stay

In the emerald hollow of the Fraser Valley, some homes are not built upon the earth but breathed into it. If you crave the scent of sun-warmed yarrow and the deep quiet of the earth, your path will inevitably lead to the Under Hill.

There, where ancient roots entwine like sleeping giants, old Mr. Burrows makes his home. His is a lineage so attuned to the subterranean pulse of the land that he shares a heartbeat with the twitching whiskers and quick feet of the rabbit-folk. And, to see his soul, one has only to look at the lintel above the Under Hill’s weathered fir door. There, washed by a thousand rainy seasons, is an inscription — which could be translated: A Sanctuary Of Heart’s Ease.

To cross his threshold is to surrender to a dream of amber light. Inside, a labyrinth of lace doilies and patchwork quilts offers the embrace of a mother’s lullaby. Even the floorboards seem to radiate a warmth that slows time to the pace of a germinating seed.

The venerable Mr. Burrows — following a sudden, clairvoyant whim — has departed for the far horizon. While he seeks whatever the stars have promised him, he has left us the keys to the Under Hill and you are invited to surrender your weariness to these subterranean chambers. We know the old man’s spirit, ever hospitable, would find joy in sharing his hearth with a kindred soul.