19/04/2026
Behind Hop Farm Beach, we don’t usually talk about us. We keep it about the cabin, the beach, the forests, the guests, the experience you’ll have when you arrive. But last night, for the first time since the cabin arrived, our family of five slept there.
We know what we’re pushing. Phones went in the box the minute we walked in. They stayed there.
The kids took a set of kubb into the forest and started a game on the mossy ground. We watched them through the window, the way you watch someone enjoying a thing they don’t know they’re going to remember. Our daughter found the hammock and her harmonica. She’s been teaching herself. Wrong notes, right notes, the hammock keeping time.
First fight of the night: who scoops the sauna water. Second fight: who takes the first cold shower. Fights with laughter. They kept coming, and it was perfect. A checkers game running next to a chess game. Bowls of chips and candy. A couple of beers, a glass of wine, a glass hit the floor and somehow didn’t break. One kid rolled three yahtzees in a single game and still came second.
One daughter wanted to sleep by the window to see the stars. She saw a shooting one. Whether she knew to make a wish, I have no idea. I haven’t gotten around to teaching her that one yet. Soon.
In the morning, we cracked the window for fresh air. The birdsong came in with it.
We drank coffee in bed. Never do that at home. Pulled out the little tray table, the one I sometimes wonder if anyone ever uses. Now I know someone did. Love that thing.
Our son climbed into bed to do a crossword. A small bird landed on the sill. A squirrel ran past, stopped, looked in, kept going.
Later, we walked 200 metres down to the beach. Our little family project. We raked the sand. Lit a fire. Roasted marshmallows. The whole thing was built for a picture: kids tearing across this beach barefoot, sand between their toes. Looks like this summer we get the picture.
One of our kids, walking out the door: ‘I want to live here.’
None of us argued.
