We spend an afternoon chatting, warmed by the sun. She gives us a tour of her backyard. Every turn here reveals a secret garden. We stumble into an a-frame woodshed that happens to be her husband’s woodshop. He stands there, lit by a single sunray, in a room brimming with projects in various stages of completion. In front of him is a custom lamp; he is in the middle of sanding. He pauses to wave, and dust particles hover in the air, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun.