The last lingering embers of twilight faded into a rich, deep indigo across the sky, leaving the southern river valley bathed in the soft, argent glow of a crescent moon. A brisk autumn wind swept through the valley basin, rustling the heavy boughs of the apple orchard and carrying the clean, sharp scent of mountain pine and damp river silt.
Overhead, the wooden framework of the homestead stood complete, its tall oak posts and crossbeams silhouetted against the starry sky like a proud, silent sentinel. Below it, the thick granite foundation sat solid and dark against the earth, anchored deeply into the soil where my ancestors had once walked.
I sat on a smooth, flat granite block near the center of the future hearth room, holding a warm iron cup of mountain tea between my palms. The smal
