A light northern air moved through the upper orchard before dawn, rustling the dry leaves of the sweet chestnut trees and shaking a thin shower of cold moisture onto the grass below. By the time the horizon softened into a pale, pearlescent grey, the mountain fog had retreated into the higher ravines, leaving the floor of the valley sharp, quiet, and smelling faintly of turned leaf-mold and wet river stone.
I was working at the far end of the western timber shed, inspecting a bundle of thick elderberry branches we had harvested two seasons prior to season for tool handles. The wood was dense, pale yellow beneath its dark grey bark, and remarkably light once properly dried. Using an iron drawknife, I peeled away the outer bark in long, curling strips, testing the straightness of each lengt
