The morning sun had barely cleared the granite peaks when the scent of crushed wild thyme drifted through the valley, carried by a warm, rising updraft from the riverbanks. Unlike the stiff mountain breezes of early spring, this air carried the true weight of the coming summer—thick, golden, and heavy with the hum of wild bees hovering near the lower terraced garden.
I stood along the eastern perimeter fence, holding an iron plumb line against the heavy white-oak corner post we had sunk into the earth two days prior. The cord hung true, its lead bob suspended motionless over the center marker driven into the gravel bed. Every line of this boundary had been surveyed with meticulous care, ensuring that our home remained perfectly integrated into the natural contours of the river basin witho
