A Shenandoah Valley farmer invited Phyllis and me into his home. He had built the cabin from the land where it stood. Trees cleared from the site became logs in the walls; chimney bricks were molded and fired from clay; shingles were rived from a stand of cedars that once shaded the ridge – all within the sound of an artesian spring.
In the kitchen window, a dipper floated high in the bucket. We drank from the dipper the pure, sweet-tasting water from the earth, looked where he looked and saw only close trees through distorted glass. It was a peaceful and refreshing encounter from which we were reluctant to leave.
Size: 30 X 22