Mountain of My Dreams

Prologue

No wonder skies upon you frown;

You’ve nailed the horseshoe upside down!

Just turn it round, and soon you’ll see

How you and fortune will agree.

The Lucky Horse-shoe (James Thomas Fields)

Shared joy is joy doubled.

Shared sorrow is sorrow halved.

Anonymous

When I heard Sandra scream my name, I knew something dreadful must have happened. Dropping the post hole digger, I ran toward the sound of her voice. As I crested the hill, Sandra saw me and yelled again, “Our house is on fire!” My God! How could this be! I’d finished building our future home more than a year ago, but we hadn’t moved in yet.

During the early years of our marriage, we lived in a comfortable three-bedroom house in the Washington, DC suburbs just a mile from my office. Sandra and I both enjoyed our neighborhood, our neighbors, and our large, productive, vegetable garden. We frequently took meditative walks in the wooded areas surrounding our subdivision, or when the mood struck us, played tennis at the nearby recreation center. Life had been good.

Then came my inspiration to give it all up, move to the Blue Ridge Mountains, and start an azalea nursery. I’d spent my entire life in the suburbs, so I had only a vague notion of what such a lifestyle makeover would ultimately entail. Neither of us had any horticultural training or business experience. I knew next to nothing about farm life, farm equipment, and dirt roads. Still, I couldn’t wait to learn about these things. Young, enthusiastic, and restless, I felt up to any challenge that might lie ahead.

Our decision to abandon suburbia had been anything but whimsical. I’d spent years planning, then re-planning every detail. My motivation for leaving the well-traveled road had deep roots, but sprang largely from a desire to find a simpler and more satisfying life beyond the status quo.

When I first began contemplating these things in the mid-1970s, I’d actually been quite happy. Sandra, a former elementary school teacher, had a good position with the Federal Government working as a contract specialist. For my part, I enjoyed both my profession and my job. Although I saw our jobs as an excellent way to put food on the table, I had a problem with the idea that we might end up committing our lives to them. Beyond just job-related issues, I disliked the urban rat race where everyone seemed to be scrambling after position, status, and wealth.

Lowering our expectations and actively seeking a slower-paced way of life seemed a far more promising path to contentment. Making our living the old fashioned way, by the work of our own hands, felt like a step in the right direction. Besides being good for us, living in a rural community would allow us to raise our children in a more nurturing environment, insulated from at least some of the many temptations found in modern suburbia. Not surprisingly, my friends thought that I needed to consult a therapist.

Sandra and I understood that running a commercial plant nur