A sharp, dry wind swept down from the high northern cirque before sunrise, scouring the remaining dampness from the terrace stones and driving the ground fog far into the lower valley reaches. By eight bells, the sun emerged as a pale white disk behind a thin sheet of high cloud, casting crisp, pale shadows across the workshop courtyard. The chill was clean and dry, carrying the brittle scent of frosted pine needles, dry fern dust, and cold river gravel.
With the western wall’s chimney cleanout completed, our focus turned toward the south-facing timber porch. The summer heat and recent autumn moisture had caused the outer ledger beam—a twelve-foot span of squared red fir that supported the front deck—to settle slightly against its stone piers. Left unadjusted before the heavy winter snows
