On our honeymoon, Hailey and I watched the sunset from the tower of a restored Roman villa. For a few brief minutes, the air seemed to turn gold, and the fading light softened everything around us. Photographers call it the “golden hour.” We remember the warmth, the light, and the feeling of being completely present in that moment — and the beginning of something we would spend a decade building.

We translated that memory into three suites.

The North Star Suite

The North Star Suite brings together the idea of a grand voyage with the stillness of the shore. Its private garden was designed as a harbour, a quiet place to arrive at the end of a long journey and linger awhile.

The Under Hill Suite

The Under Hill Suite takes its cues from the landscape and the warmth of a cottage. We imagined it as a place to slow down — to step away from the pace of the modern world and settle into something quieter.

The Copper Crown Suite

The Copper Crown Suite is the most theatrical of the three. Inspired by royalty and fairy tales, the suite was designed to catch the light and let the changing sky become part of the room.

The Hazelnut Inn is the result of a decade spent turning one evening on our honeymoon into something we could build together.

We hope that when you stay here, you feel something of what we felt that evening: the warmth of the light, the stillness of the moment, and the sense that, for a little while, there is nowhere else you need to be.

I am watching the late afternoon sun filter through a crab apple tree. In front of me, a cluster of globe thistles catches the light, their fierce, spiky heads, an impossible purple-blue against the earthy greens of the tree.

To anyone else, these thistles are landscaping. But to me, they are a living promise. When I look at them — as I do nearly every day — the last twelve years vanish, and I am standing once again at the beginning.

Twelve years ago tomorrow, Hailey and I were married. Wanting our celebration to feel entirely like us, we had tucked tiny seeds into the soil of our first garden — watering them, watching them break through the dirt, and grinning like fools when they finally bloomed. They became my favourite wedding flower: a literal piece of the home we were building together, carried in her hands and tucked into my lapel.

When the time came to sell that house, leaving was bittersweet. We were moving on to a daunting dream: building the Hazelnut Inn from the ground up.

It was a massive undertaking — a chaotic season of blueprints and construction dust. But when we packed up our old life, we didn’t leave everything behind. We carefully uprooted our faithful thistle, and brought it with us.

Gardening, like marriage, requires a quiet kind of stubbornness. It’s about anchoring yourselves through shifting seasons and trusting that what you have nurtured in the dark will eventually reach for the light. As we declared twelve years ago:

“I love what I know about you and I trust what I do not yet know.”

Today, that same thistle is growing strong. Its roots have claimed new ground, just as Hailey and I have grown into this life we’ve built together — twelve years of shared mischief and of holding fast to each other through every unexpected turn.

Happy anniversary, Hailey. Twelve years later, our love — just like our thistle — is deeply rooted, wonderfully vibrant, and growing stronger every single day!

Behold the Copper Crown, where a bridge crosses a quiet moat and leads into a private courtyard garden. Roses bloom beside bubbling water, with a place to sit beneath the open sky and let the world fall away.

Step inside, where timber, stone, and warm light shape a room that feels timeless and enchanted. Above, a tower bedchamber offers a peaceful place to rest, while a deep soaker tub awaits to wash away the dust of the road. Below, a galley stands stocked with food and drink for the evening or tomorrow’s adventures. Tucked away beyond a hidden passage, a quiet reading nook invites you to lose an hour or two among old books.

These spaces come together as one secluded retreat: part castle, part hideaway, and entirely your own for a night or two.