Back in 2010, life felt uncertain. The economy was in shambles, Ramon had been laid off, and the Bay Area’s relentless grind and focus on money had started to wear on us. We found ourselves daydreaming about a different kind of life. One rooted in nature, creativity, good food, and connection.
At the time, we were staying for long stretches of time at Donner Lake with a group of friends. We had a ski lease for a few years, and 2011 brought record-breaking snowfall to Tahoe. There was a point when I-80 even shut down entirely—no one could get in or out. It was completely still. The world had stopped, and we were already there, snowed in and working remotely (before that was a thing).
For days Tamara spent hours shoveling the deck to keep it from collapsing under the weight of the snow that kept falling and falling. It was during those long, quiet stretches of shoveling—nothing but the crunch of snow and the rhythm of her breath—that she started daydreaming in earnest. About a place. A possibility. A space where people could slow down, reconnect with each other and with the land. And that’s when the name came to her: Reverie Retreat. It was born out of those very daydreams, aided by the prolonged endorphin release shoveling snow, lost in a reverie.
We didn’t know exactly what form it would take, but we knew the ingredients we wanted to work with: hospitality, wellness, food, nature. Tamara had been experimenting with farm-to-table cooking and catering for friends. We both craved space to grow a garden, to welcome people, and to create something that felt meaningful and healing.
We were nervous about going it alone, so we started sharing the idea with friends. Over time, that turned into a partnership with another couple who helped us feel brave enough to move forward. We spent nearly a year searching for the right piece of land, wanting it to be at a high enough elevation that it wasn’t super hot in the summer, but low enough that we could have a year-round garden. We spent many weekends driving from Oakland to different communities in the Sierra foothills (our standard was no more than 3 hours from San Francisco), and just as we were exhausted with the search and ready to take a break, we found the property that would become Reverie Retreat.
It was 32 acres of tree-covered land with breathtaking views—and we were smitten. Water was everywhere, with several springs, two ponds, and streams running through the property—a rare find in California. The main house was a modest 1,000 square feet, with just one bedroom and no interior doors—not even on the bathroom. The 250-square-foot guest cottage, built in the early 1970s, looked every bit its age. And the third structure, a “miner’s cabin” from the 1940s, had been occupied by a chain-smoking quasi-hoarder and was completely uninhabitable. But the access road was solid, the setting was magical, and the price was right.
Financing was another mountain to climb. It was still the middle of the financial crisis, and banks weren’t handing out mortgages—especially for a rural property whose only water source was a spring — no well or public water. After months of searching (and quite a few sleepless nights), we found a small local bank that was willing to loan on our unconventional property. The sellers were also very motivated and helped make the deal possible.
Eventually, our original business partners stepped away for personal reasons. But thanks to their early support, we had the foundation and confidence to keep going on our own. I’m not sure we would’ve taken the leap without them.
Today, when guests arrive at Reverie and take in the view, soak in the tub, or wander the trails, we often think back to that deck at Donner Lake. To the snowfall, the quiet, and the dream that slowly took shape with every shovel of snow.
We’re so grateful you’re here and part of this story.
—Tamara and Ramon