BOOK EXCERPT Tending the Valley

At first, just knowing the valley was enough. As my relationship with Laird grew, we visited more often, learning and naming the varied flora, delighting in finding caves and grottoes. Laird’s cousin David and his wife Shelley were also enthralled with the valley and often initiated a visit—to see what was happening, to explore, and to discover. We reveled in the sweaty exertion of climbing higher and higher through the tallest pines, scaling the sandstone cliffs on which they clung, and sitting there on top, among the wild huckleberry and pipsissewa. Velvet mosses cushioned us, soft and damp, and lichen adorned the rocks like green lace. We listened to the hushed sough in the pine tops. That was enough.

By 1985, we visited almost every weekend. When I wasn’t there, the valley existed in my imagination—my own green garden, waiting for me to reenter its paths when I needed comfort from my other life. For ten or more years after discovering the valley, I was working in Madison as a corporate communications director for a large firm—the lone woman in a male-dominated world. The work was stressful, and I needed respite. Since the valley was only about thirty-five miles from Madison, sometimes Laird would pick me up from work and we’d drive to the valley for a quiet picnic, sitting in rickety chairs on the old deck—me