There’s something timeless about a morning here.

By 6:30 a.m., the sun has crested the northern hills, casting golden light across the walking labyrinth and waking up the garden. Dew clings to the tips of early daffodils, and the only sound is the quiet chatter of chickadees in the treetops.

I start my day the same way most guests do—tea in hand, seated on the deck with a view that never gets old. The herbs in this morning’s cup were harvested right here, in the garden I’ve tended for over 30 years. There’s lemon balm, peppermint, a touch of wild chamomile. Every sip is a season in miniature.

Labyrinthia isn’t just a place to sleep—it’s a place to be. Whether you’re working on a novel, hiking the trail, or simply watching clouds drift over the mountains, this space gives you permission to slow down. And that, I think, is what makes it special.

If you haven’t yet visited in the spring, now’s the time. The garden is waking up—and maybe it’s time we all did the same.

— Kevin