Bonny Doon House

Cradled by coastal forest and mist-covered meadows, Bonny Doon House is a Tudor Revival—equal parts wild refuge and timeless relic. There’s a deep hush here, a kind of living stillness where pine sap, sea air, and woodsmoke converge.

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From the moment you step through the weathered gate, you feel it: the gravity of place. Terra cotta, wrought iron, old brick, and hand-laid tile compose a tactile story—one that unfolds slowly, like a walk through the woods after rain.

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Inside, rooms are cloaked in texture and shadow. The light pours in at an angle, warming antique spindle beds and casting golden reflections on the black lacquer of the upright piano.

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The bathrooms are pure poetry—each one a quiet ode to water, steam, and solitude. Clawfoot tubs anchor the spaces, resting on hex tile worn soft by time. Fixtures are stripped of excess, chosen for their honesty and form.

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The kitchen and dining spaces carry the rhythm of gathering: spindle-back chairs, timber tables, ceramic pitchers, and the kind of weighty silence that invites slow meals and longer stories.

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There are layers to this house. Its beauty is not in shine, but in shadow. In the heavy velvet of dusk settling in a corner. In a chipped tile that holds the memory of every footstep before you.

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Bonny Doon is a place that holds you. It doesn’t need to announce itself. It asks you to linger, to listen. To return to the earth, to ritual, to reverence.