There were 130 logs on the ground when we got here. A previous clearing project, years before us, had taken down a small forest's worth of trees. We hadn't decided what to do with them. The arborist had a recommendation. Alex said no.

We hired the arborist to come look at the bluff. That was the brief. What we got, by the end of the morning, was an untapped, magical space - an alley of alders, a hidden campsite, a chapel in the trees, and the two specific trees that would one day hold a treehouse.

We assumed we would buy a house. We ended up buying land. Five acres, west-facing, high bluff, with a view of the Olympics that wouldn't let us go. The day we walked onto this property, the list got quiet.