The little valley where we live and work has so much to do with how we came to live and do what we do. I grew up in the '60s outside of St. Louis in a new subdivision set among the last remnants of fields and farms. The little patches of woods and creeks were my refuge and solace. Growing up and watching these disappear made me seek out the wild places even more. Soon after I got my driver's license I drove as far back into the Ozark Hills, where I'd often gone canoing and camping, as I could go, and sat terrified all night in a pup tent as the worst lightning storm I've yet seen raged on and on.

But in a moment of blessed sleep I dreamed that a fine-dressed Indian man told me that I would give my bones up in a place like this and I felt my bones sink into the Earth, and there felt embraced and protected. I have been tied to the Earth ever since.