The Art of Letting Go (of the Doorbell):

How Self Check-In Saved Our Souls and Our Sanity

The Madness at the Door

There’s a peculiar madness in hospitality. You open your home to strangers, smile until your face trembles, and hope they find comfort in the bed you’ve fluffed within an inch of its life.For years, we did it the old-fashioned way—doorbells ringing, warm greetings rehearsed, handshakes extended like peace treaties at the end of long wars fought in traffic.

We were earnest. We were polite. We were doomed.

Because what no one tells you about running a bed and breakfast is that every cheerful greeting hides a battle—one fought between the human bladder and Canadian courtesy. Guests would arrive after seven hours on the road, eyes glazed, knees tight, and there we’d be, standing in the doorway talking about the weather, the Wi-Fi, and the local charm of Hope, BC.

And all they wanted—all they truly wanted—was the bathroom.

2016: The Year We Bought the Circus

When we took over The Evergreen Bed & Breakfast in 2016, we thought we were buying a dream. We got three rooms—Harmony, Serenity, and Tranquility—each a small symphony of warmth and clean linens.We also got laundry that never ends, doorbells that ring just as you sit down to dinner, and a daily existential crisis that smells faintly of lemon cleaner.

We loved it—every awkward hello, every story told over breakfast. But love doesn’t pay for groceries.

By 2019, with two kids, two overworked adults, and a fridge that mocked us with its emptiness, we realized we couldn’t keep living on other people’s timetables.We needed to breathe.We needed to see our children before they turned eighteen and left home.We needed, in short, a revolution.

The Self Check-In Rebellion

Enter self check-in—the great liberator, the invisible butler, the code that saved our lives.

To some, it might sound impersonal. To us, it was holy.A small miracle that said, “You can still be human and run a business.”

It meant we could go to our son’s skate lessons or make dinner without waiting for headlights in the driveway. It meant we could teach jiu-jitsu classes (yes, that’s a real thing—Smoky Mountain Jiu-Jitsu, right here in Hope) without the constant hum of what if someone arrives early?

It gave us our lives back—not in grand cinematic ways, but in small, sacred ones: a quiet cup of coffee, a hike at dawn, laughter from the kids that wasn’t drowned out by the vacuum.

A Word on Awkwardness (and Bathrooms)

Before self check-in, there was The Doorstep Dilemma.Guests would arrive in states of polite desperation, eyes darting toward the hallway as we introduced ourselves like cheerful gatekeepers of misery.Every hostly instinct told us to smile and welcome them in—but every human instinct knew what they really needed.

Eventually, one brave soul cracked. “I’m so sorry, I just need the washroom.”

That was our enlightenment moment—the spiritual awakening that came not through meditation or incense, but through the undeniable truth of biology.

Hospitality, we realized, isn’t about control. It’s about letting go.

Freedom Looks Like a Keycode

The first time we emailed a door code instead of standing at the door ourselves, it felt like treason.But then something beautiful happened.Guests arrived, slipped in quietly, and settled into their rooms without ceremony. The house exhaled. We exhaled.

And somehow, the experience became better.They didn’t have to worry about knocking or apologizing for being late. They could just arrive—tired, free, and grateful for a hot shower and a bed that didn’t judge them.

We still see plenty of our guests, just not on cue. We chat at breakfast or wave as they pass through the garden. It’s human interaction in its natural form—unforced, real, and mercifully bladder-friendly.

The Philosophy of a Quiet Welcome

C.S. Lewis once said that humility isn’t thinking less of yourself; it’s thinking of yourself less.That’s how we see it now.

Self check-in isn’t cold—it’s humble. It puts the guest first, gives them peace, and gives us balance.We’re not hiding behind screens or locked doors. We’re just living, breathing, existing as real people who want to offer warmth without burning ourselves out.

Our rooms—Harmony, Serenity, and Tranquility—are still polished to perfection, because we believe the spirit of hospitality lives in the care, not the choreography.The Evergreen is still the cleanest and coziest B&B in Hope, BC, only now it runs on something far more sustainable than caffeine and politeness—it runs on peace.