Swanton House

Tucked into the trees along a fog-draped bluff, Swanton House is a woodland homestead that speaks in whispers—of rain on the roof, pine needles underfoot, and long dinners lit by oil lamp and firelight.

Originally built in the early 20th century, the home carries the stillness of its age—weathered redwood, mullioned windows, and an unmistakable gravity that only time can lend. This is a place where you rise with the birdsong and rest with the wind, where the architecture yields to the landscape rather than contending with it.

The interiors feel cloistered, soulful. Rich wood-paneled rooms glow amber in the evening, offset by heavy iron fixtures and thick woolen blankets. Every room draws the eye outward—to dense tree lines, pasture fences, and that ever-present ribbon of coastal fog.

The kitchen is unhurried and earnest—deep counters, a working hearth, and a long table carved with memory. Daffodils bloom at the window. Boots gather by the door.

Upstairs, beds nestle into alcoves like dens, wrapped in linen and flannel. A clawfoot tub anchors the bath, resting under a skylight where you can watch the branches move in moonlight.

Swanton House is a testament to land and legacy. To the idea that homes can be shaped by climate and silence, by hands and seasons. This is a place to remember what it means to live slowly, rooted, and in rhythm with the woods.