A silver-grey light washed over the high mountain ridge long before the sun showed its golden rim above the peaks. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the fragrant, sharp scent of pine balsam, wild sage, and damp earth. A gentle breeze rolled down through the valley, swaying the heavy lower branches of the white pines that fringed the eastern orchard. In the grass below, fat drops of morning dew hung like clear glass beads on every blade and clover stem.
I stood by the low stone retaining wall near our newly laid paddock trench, holding a smooth wooden rasp and a pair of steel drafting compasses. I was fine-tuning the cedar templates we would use to guide the masonry arches for the paddock's shelter doors. The timber under my tool was dense and dry, giving off a warm, sweet aroma as the
