Whidbey Island Tree House Suite

Just about an hour north of Seattle — assuming the ferry’s on your side — you’ll find yourself somewhere totally different: Whidbey Island. It’s one of those places that feels like it’s quietly keeping a secret. And hidden among the tall trees and soft trails is the Tree House Suite, a cozy little octagon that’s, well… kind of a dream.

This place isn’t pretending to be anything it’s not. It’s not glamping. It’s not a luxury spa with a fern or two thrown in for effect. It’s an actual treehouse — built 13 feet up in the woods, wrapped around a living cedar tree that grows right through the middle of the room. You walk in and you’re literally face-to-face with the trunk, and it’s somehow the warmest welcome you’ll get.

The staircase up is solid — thankfully — and opens onto a covered little deck where you can sit, sip, breathe. From up here, it’s all forest. Cedar, fir, maple, hemlock… names you probably forgot you knew, but here they are again, everywhere. The air smells like it’s been filtered through a hundred years of green.

Inside, it’s small but smart. Not cramped, just intentional. Windows all around make the place feel open — like the forest’s inside with you, in a good way. There’s a bed (comfy, by the way — no lumpy mattresses here), a cozy little sitting area, and skylights that give you glimpses of sky when you wake up. Sometimes it's blue, sometimes it's just clouds drifting by slowly, which honestly feels perfect either way.

You’ll see deer. Probably. Maybe more than once. You’ll hear owls at night — actual owls, not some soundtrack — and if you look up, you might catch eagles doing that slow, serious soar overhead. It’s quiet here, but not the kind of quiet that’s empty. It hums.

And if you wander just a little (less than half a mile), there’s a beach. Not one of those touristy beaches with souvenir shops and snack bars, but a real one — driftwood, smooth stones, the kind of sunset that makes you stop mid-sentence. The Olympic Mountains go gold out there at the edge, and you’re just… there, watching.

Evenings usually end by the fire pit, where you can grill something simple — burgers, marshmallows, or whatever you remembered to bring. And in the morning? A homemade organic breakfast from the hosts, who somehow manage to be warm and around when you need them, but never too much. They’ve nailed that.

It’s not fancy. Not at all. But that’s kind of the charm. No Wi-Fi to distract you. No TV. Just the creak of the tree in the wind and the kind of stillness that makes you think maybe — just maybe — you’ve been moving too fast.