What should WDR feel like?

It should feel like somebody thought about your group before you arrived

It shouldn’t feel like a hotel. It shouldn’t really feel like an Airbnb either. And it definitely shouldn’t feel like somebody simply built a very nice house and added a few amenities.

You arrive and quickly realize there is an almost ridiculous amount to do. Someone is heading toward the pickleball courts. Somebody has discovered The 109th Hole. Someone else is looking at the Jacuzzi and plunge pods. There’s soccer, basketball, the chipping area, the Hurly Burly slip-and-slide, the firepit, competitions, food, golf and whatever the WDR crew has dreamed up that week.

And yet, crucially, you don’t feel scheduled. There isn’t a clipboard-wielding activities director telling you Family Pickleball begins at 2:15. Everything is simply there, waiting for you.

It should feel slightly ridiculous, in a wonderful way

You keep discovering things: Wait, there’s a TrackMan in there? How long is that slip-and-slide? We can have somebody come here and cook hibachi for us? There’s an actual family penalty shootout? Why is Grandma taking the penalty?

Eventually somebody says the sentence WDR should make inevitable: We’re going to need another day.

Most vacation accommodation is somewhere you leave in order to have the vacation. At WDR, leaving the property can almost feel like you’re missing something.

It should feel thoughtfully personal

You’re not Guest 427 checking into Room 312. The people looking after you know why you’re there: a golf trip, family reunion, Auburn weekend, birthday, or old friends who haven’t all been together for years.

The Chief Memory Maker isn’t simply checking that the Wi-Fi works. They’re quietly thinking: What could happen this weekend that this family will still be talking about five years from now?

The Penalty Kick Shootout, Waggle Dance Cup, Pirate Treasure Hunt, Family Film, TrackMan competitions and all the other silliness become more than amenities. They become memory-making machinery.

It shouldn’t take itself too seriously

The property can be beautiful. The beds can be superb. The towels can be fantastic. The food can be excellent. The service can be meticulous. But WDR itself should always have a slight twinkle in its eye.

There are rules for The 109th Hole. There is serious commentary for completely unserious family sporting events. A referee may take a children’s penalty shootout considerably more seriously than FIFA would.

The humor works because WDR never winks at the joke. Everybody plays it straight.

Checkout should feel like WDR too

When you’re leaving, instead of being handed a list telling you to strip the beds, start the washing machine, take out the rubbish and clean the kitchen, you’re told:

What do we want you to do when you check out?

NOTHING.Niente. Zilch. Nada. 何もない。 什么都没有。

There’s only one thing left.

Coordinator

Promise you’ll come back.

Guest

I promise.

Coordinator

You swear?

Guest

I swear.

Coordinator

Do you diggedy double-dog swear?

Guest

I do.

Coordinator

No cap?

Guest

No cap.

Coordinator

Excellent. Checkout complete.

Someone took care of everything, so you could concentrate on each other

That’s really the product. Not the TrackMan. Not the pickleball courts. Not even the house. Those things are tools. The actual product is getting people who rarely manage to be in the same place anymore to spend a few days playing, competing, eating, laughing and doing stupid things together.

WDR feels like summer camp for grown-ups, except the beds are fantastic, the food is better, there’s a TrackMan, and nobody tells you when to go to bed.

And when families come, the generations mix rather than separating: Grandma takes the penalty. Dad becomes absurdly competitive about pickleball. The kids eventually put down the screens because the adults appear to be having too much fun without them.

Then there is the quieter side: coffee, croissants, a fire, grandparents and children together, and everybody in the same room with nowhere else they need to be.