We weren’t actively searching for a cabin. What we were really looking for was space—to breathe, to disconnect, to be. After years of city life, we found ourselves craving something slower. But we weren’t ready to leave Toronto completely.
Then something magical happened: a friend who owned a charming cabin we had visited and adored let us know they were letting it go. They asked friends first—and we jumped at the chance.
We already knew the land, the feeling, the silence. We knew it was home.
This desire grew when I realized I needed a change from working at home full-time—and for Phil, who’s been retired for several years now, the idea of maintaining and improving the cabin became an appealing new hobby. The work we do here—whether it’s building a woodshed, trimming apple trees, or just managing the day-to-day of an older property—feels purposeful.
The timing wasn’t perfect. Renovations were needed. Then the pandemic hit. With the cabin being in the U.S., we were cut off by closed borders. It took time, patience, and faith.
But when we were finally able to return, it was like stepping back into a dream. The property hadn’t changed—but we had. We were ready to embrace this life fully.
Part-time cabin life works for us because it offers balance. We still enjoy city conveniences and career opportunities, but we also get to unplug and reboot. We don’t have to give up one life to embrace another—we get to have both. It’s a privilege we hold with deep gratitude.
Our friends often ask: “Isn’t it exhausting going back and forth?” Sure, it can be. But the emotional renewal we get each trip far outweighs the inconvenience.
There’s something almost sacred about our routine: driving in with music low and windows cracked. Watching the dogs perk up as we near the cabin. That first deep breath when we step out of the car—it’s like letting go of the whole week.
Here, we found joys in things we used to rush past: how dew collects on the grass, the way firewood smells, the exact moment a chickadee calls at dawn.
This life has slowed us. Grounded us. And most surprisingly, it’s made us better at city living too. We’re more patient. More intentional. More alive.
We chose this because we didn’t want to wait for retirement to start living slower. We chose it because we needed a rhythm that matched the beat of our hearts.
And honestly? Inky and Callie seem to love it even more than we do—the wagging of their tails says it all. And Miles? Always ready for the next walk, sketchbook in hand, taking in every bit of inspiration the woods offer.
