By edanThe air was crisp with the bite of early February's chill, and though frost lingered in the mornings, it was a familiar embrace as I made my way to Bainland Lodge Retreats. Poppy and I had been here before with Laura, and the thought of returning brought a comforting warmth to the cold beginning of the year.
The pace of my work in technology had been relentless, and this retreat was a much-needed escape. Even though my laptop tagged along, the setting gave me a chance to breathe, to step away from the screen and stretch my legs, with Poppy excitedly bouncing along beside me.
Upon arrival, my lodge felt cramped, a far cry from the open, airy space I remembered. Thankfully, Emily at reception, ever the accommodating presence, sorted a change to my familiar pond-side lodge. Soon, I stood at the threshold, greeted by the gentle ripple of water and the gleam of the hot tub under the muted sky. The lodge held an air of luxury, all soft-touch elements from the La Creuset cookware to the Elemis bath products that graced the bathroom—a refuge.
Wednesday's walk into the resort’s forestry estate was quintessential—a maze of concealed paths and bubbling streams. We used my Apple compass to trace invisible breadcrumbs, ensuring our safe return. Poppy leapt over expansive puddles, dirt-averse, while I relished the seclusion of the woods, the near solitude a balm.
Post-adventure, we settled at the on-site restaurant. I sank into a chair by a crackling log fire, a pint in hand, while Poppy savored her whipped cream treat, dubbed a Pupichino. Though wary of the fire's sudden snaps, she nestled close, satisfied by the day's escapade.
The staff, from Emily to Simon at the bar, lent an air of warmth to the retreat atmosphere. Even as work lassoed me back to my computer, the view of the pond, an idyllic backdrop, offered solace. Morning brought the sound of owls, and rumor had it that otters frolicked nearby.
Early in the trip, I chatted with the shop girl engrossed in a crossword puzzle. I pointed out overlooked clues, and we shared a laugh—a simple interaction that softened the edges of the day.
Champagne accompanied hearty pizzas and decadent chicken wings, mornings filled with creamy scrambled eggs and salmon. Poppy, ever my dining partner, shared in these indulgences.
This space and moment, despite work’s stubborn presence, allowed a semblance of tranquility—a brief respite in the whirlwind of obligation. Soon, Poppy and I would return home, to the routine and rhythm that waits, familiar and sure.