Bordered to the west by the vast Pacific ocean, and nestled right into the wild and remote edge of the western Olympic Mountains, in an enchanted valley that is home to several of the world's largest trees, is Quinault.
The very definition of verdant, if there is such a place that could sustain you by environment alone, it is Quinault. The dewy wet air, the lush tree-covered mountains, the glacial rivers ripe with fish, the pristine lake, the mammalian mossy forests, herds of wild elk, the sweet earth fragrance so palpable...
If breathing is our umbilical cord to God, to the unified field, I've never felt it so potently as I do in Quinault.
Each time we've gone there, it does feel like entering a portal, and the entire outside world feels very far away, if it exists anymore at all. Eric and I both feel held, nourished, and begin to think crazy thoughts like how we could just stay there and never have to leave for anything... couldn't we though?
We would buy real estate there and disappear into it, certainly, but... in the two years I've been checking, I've never seen a single property go up for sale. Not that there are many homes out there to begin with. In fact, there's only one road. I'll never stop keeping an eye out, though....
Can you imagine calling such a place home!?
Somehow, without plan, we found ourselves in Quinault again last weekend. Which is odd, considering it's about 4 hours away and we had no real intention of going to begin with... but you know how things can turn out when love and longing are involved.
