Bark-and-bone décor meets Scandinavian simplicity as the Grimshaw Wendigoes prove that ancient hunger spirits can have impeccable taste in throw blankets.

Deep in the boreal fringe of northern Manitoba, past a tree line that your GPS will flatly refuse to acknowledge, sits a 740-square-foot cabin that has officially broken the internet — or at least the cryptid-adjacent corner of it. The November issue of ‘Cryptid Living’ magazine has devoted a full twelve-page spread to the home of Harlan and Meredith Grimshaw, a wendigo couple who have been quietly perfecting their aesthetic for what Harlan estimates is ‘somewhere between two and four centuries, honestly time gets slippery.’ The spread, photographed by renowned cryptid interior photographer Oleander Finch, is titled simply: ‘Lean Into the Hunger.’ It is, I will admit with some professional reluctance, stunning.

I visited the cabin last Tuesday with a recorder, a thermos of coffee I was too nervous to drink, and three witnesses — local birdwatcher Donna Pryce, off-grid homesteader Reuben Taft, and my own editor Gerald, who insisted on coming and then spent the entire visit standing extremely close to the door. What greeted us was not the gore-draped nightmare lair you might reasonably expect from beings defined by an insatiable, cannibalistic hunger. It was, instead, an open-plan living space with exposed reclaimed timber beams, a poured concrete hearth, and a reading nook so perfectly lit that Donna Pryce whispered, ‘I want to live here,’ before catching herself and adding, ‘please don’t tell anyone I said that.’

Community Notice

The Philosophy of ‘Intentional Negative Space’ (Yes, Really)

Meredith Grimshaw, who stands approximately eight feet tall and has antlers that she has tastefully woven with dried foraged herbs — yarrow, mostly, and something I couldn’t identify that smelled like winter — walked us through her design philosophy with the calm authority of someone who has genuinely thought about this for decades. ‘The cabin is about honoring the void,’ she explained, gesturing toward a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the frozen treeline. ‘We are creatures of absence and craving. Your typical home fights that. We leaned in.’ The result is a palette of bone white, ash grey, and deep forest black, punctuated by what the magazine calls ‘visceral accent pieces’ — which turn out to be an artfully arranged collection of antlers, stripped branches, and what I am choosing to believe are decorative resin casts and not anything else.

We don’t do clutter. Clutter is a form of denial. You’re just filling space so you don’t have to sit with what you are. We know what we are. We made peace with it around 1887 and then we bought a very good area rug.

— Harlan Grimshaw, Homeowner & Ancient Hunger Spirit

Harlan, who is quieter than Meredith and somehow taller, took me through the kitchen, which is the cabin’s most philosophically complicated room. There is a beautiful hand-thrown ceramic bowl on the island. There is a bunch of dried flowers. There is a six-burner range that Harlan says they ‘mostly use for ambiance.’ The pantry door was closed and I did not ask about the pantry. What I will report is that the kitchen features genuine dovetail joinery on the cabinetry, honed soapstone counters, and hand-forged iron pulls that Harlan made himself. ‘I had a lot of winters,’ he said, with what I believe was a shrug, though the geometry of his shoulders made it hard to confirm.

The Throw Blanket Question

I have to address the throw blankets because the internet has been asking and frankly so have I. Draped over a low-slung platform sofa — walnut frame, no legs, intentionally grounded — are two blankets in a warm oatmeal wool that photographed so beautifully in the ‘Cryptid Living’ spread that they inspired a Reddit thread with over 4,000 comments and a petition to identify the brand. Meredith would not tell me. She said, and I am quoting directly, ‘Some things are sacred.’ She then offered me tea, which I declined on the advice of literally every cryptid field protocol I have ever read, and she seemed to respect that. ‘Good instincts,’ she said. ‘We like that in guests.’ This was reassuring and deeply not reassuring in equal measure.

I’ve been doing birdwatching for thirty years and I have never seen a space that balanced negative and positive space that well. Also I’m pretty sure one of the ‘decorative branches’ moved. I’m choosing not to pursue that.

— Donna Pryce, Birdwatcher & Reluctant Witness

My overall assessment, offered here in my capacity as WTC’s features and opinion correspondent: the Grimshaw cabin is a legitimate achievement in interior design, a surprisingly warm argument for minimalism as a spiritual practice, and an object lesson in the fact that taste does not require a pulse — or, in this case, whatever Harlan and Meredith have instead of one. ‘Cryptid Living’ editor Pasha Okonkwo called it ‘the most important shoot we’ve done since the Mothman bathroom renovation of 2019,’ and after seeing it in person, I find myself unable to argue. Whether you are an ancient boreal spirit, a lifestyle enthusiast, or a birdwatcher who is still processing what she saw in the corner of the reading nook, the Grimshaw cabin has something to teach you. Probably about negative space. Possibly about yourself. Either way, I’d go back. I just wouldn’t go alone.