The early sun had barely cleared the high serrated ridge of the southern rim, but the lower meadow was already alive with the gold-and-vermilion light of late summer. Down in the bottomland, the morning dampness clung to the leaves of the wild currant bushes, forming micro-droplets that glistened like glass beads in the stillness. A light breeze stirred from the river gap, carrying the crisp, resinous scent of crushed larch needles and damp granite.
I sat on a low three-legged stool near the southern wall of the workshop, a fine copper rasp in my hand and a notched ash frame rested across my knees. We were building a series of suspended solar-drying screens to process our first yields of orchard herbs and early hops. Unlike the heavier oak framing of our storage bins, these screens demand
