February 1, 2026

Two Months at The Close: Settling into Off-Grid Life

It's hard to believe we've been at The Close for two months already. Time moves differently here—measured not by calendars but by the rhythm of the land, the changing weather, and the work that needs doing.

These first weeks have been a beautiful immersion into what it means to truly care for a place. We've spent our days keeping up the grounds, repairing bridges that ensure our trails are fully accessible, and clearing debris left behind by seasons past. There's a meditative quality to this kind of work—each cleared branch, each mended board feels like we're learning the language of this land.

For the most part, winter has been remarkably mild. We'd almost grown comfortable with the gentler temperatures, the easier access to all corners of the property. And then Winter Storm Fern reminded us that nature keeps her own schedule.

When Fern arrived, she brought ice—lots of it. Living off-grid means we're well-equipped for storms in many ways. We have our systems, our backup plans, our resources stockpiled. But ice is a different beast entirely. It transforms familiar paths into treacherous routes and turns a simple trip to town into a carefully calculated decision. Access to the property became challenging; leaving it even more so. We did lose a few trees in the storm—a reminder of nature's power and the constant evolution of this landscape.

But here's the thing: we're safe, we're warm, and we remain absolutely thrilled to be here. There's something about weathering a storm in a place like this that deepens your connection to it. You're not just living on the land; you're living with it, responding to its moods and seasons.

Perhaps most rewarding has been welcoming our first retreatants to The Close. Meeting these souls who've chosen this place for their own renewal has been a genuine pleasure. Ensuring they have a positive retreat experience—that they find the peace and space they're seeking- the heart of why we're here. Each person who passes through adds their own quiet story to this place.

As we move deeper into our tenure here, we're learning that being stewards of The Close means being students of it too. Every storm teaches us something. Every repair reveals another layer of how this place works. Every guest reminds us of the gift of offering sanctuary.

Here's to the journey—ice storms and all.

— The Colters at The Close