Eight Years, Somehow
I wasn’t planning to be out front that much. Most days, I’m behind the scenes—that’s where I’m comfortable—building, fixing, adjusting, making sure things run the way they’re supposed to. So when I got a text from a my best friend asking where I was, it made me laugh. The answer is usually, “around… just not out there.” But this time, I stepped out, and it hit me pretty quickly that the day was going to feel different.
There were people I didn’t expect to see, big hugs, and a lot of genuine excitement—“eight years,” “you made it,” “this place means a lot.” It caught me off guard in the best way. While people were celebrating, all I could think about was how many hands it took to get here. This place has never been one person’s story.
The day unfolded easily from there. DJ Snowflake got things going in the afternoon, the Funnicators picked up the energy, and by the time 3D Man took over, no one was watching the clock anymore. We went longer than planned, and no one seemed ready for it to end.
What stood out most was how well everything held together. It was busy—the kind of day that can tip if something goes sideways. We had a team member call out, but instead of it becoming an issue, the team just absorbed it. Erin stepped in wherever she was needed, Kar, Mel, Eric stretched their shifts, picked up extra tables, Ryleigh, Kai, Persia, Lashaw stayed later without hesitation. No fuss—just people showing up for each other and making sure the experience stayed strong.
I jumped in here and there, but mostly I got to watch, which is rare for me. What I saw was a team that genuinely cares—about the work, about each other, and about every person who walked through the door. That kind of consistency doesn’t happen by accident.
And then there was the feedback. If you’re usually the one fielding problems, you get used to hearing what’s not working. So hearing people talk about the food, the drinks, the music—even the QR codes—lands differently. It felt like a quiet confirmation that what we’re building is connecting.
But more than anything, it was the people. Friends showing up unexpectedly, locals who have been with us from the beginning, and new faces who instantly felt like part of it. There was a shared sense of pride in the room, like this place belongs to all of us in some way. Because it does.
Eight years out here isn’t just about staying open. It’s about choosing to keep going—through everything, including the years that tested all of us. Doing it in a place like the Lost Coast only works if people believe in it enough to keep showing up.
As the night wound down, there was a moment to take it all in—the team, the space, the people still lingering. It felt simple: this is why we do it.
It felt like a true kickoff to the 2026 season—grounded, supported, and shared. I’m grateful for the team, the community, and this place we get to call homEight years in, and still building.