We bought this forest for its trees.
And we built the Forest Housefor you.
For the trees
It started because we couldn't bear to see this forest go.
Thirty-year-old Taiwan incense cedars, mossy stone walls, lichen on the bark: they were all here long before we were. We bought the forest so they could stay.
Our favourite time is still around seven in the morning on the forest path, when the light comes down through the trees in long, slanting beams.
Out here, we're the forest's guests.
For you
We lived here ourselves, and we were happy. We wanted other people to feel that too. So we started opening the whole house to guests, just one group a day.
We once asked our guests what makes this place special. Some said the forest, some the bonfire, some the films under the stars. But what they talked about most was the time they'd spent together.
When did you last laugh until it hurt, or stay up talking half the night, with the people closest to you?
Cooking, singing, playing cards, and then breakfast together the next morning.
Out here, the world goes quiet. All that's left is the people you came with.
All grown up
How many more chances will we get to be a little reckless, to drop everything and just go?
We knew we should get some sleep, and talked until dawn anyway. Even the strongest of us didn't mind crying in front of each other here.
Whatever brought you here matters less and less. This place is just where it happens. The story is really about you, together.
You make the memories here, and take them home.