I grew up in a small summer town on Fire Island, New York. The island was 1/2 mile wide; a village wedged between The Great South Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Going to the beach was an every day occurrence, and you often would meet up with your friends and family at a beach stile, a marked entrance.

“The Last Stile” was the stile I went to when I wanted solace; when I wanted to read a book and be by myself. It was the place you most often could have a long conversation with an old friend when they strolled by on their beach walk - no action to distract from the moment between you and them.

I often wish I had The Last Stile in my daily life… Now, as I type my company name every day, I am blessed to remember and revisit the sacredness of that serene and perfect space.

May we all find our Last Stile.