In the emerald hollow of the Fraser Valley, some homes are not built upon the earth, but breathed into it. If you follow the scent of sun-warmed yarrow into the quiet, you will find old Mr. Burrows’ Under Hill, a little dwelling tucked beneath ancient roots.
His is a quiet life, attuned to the life beneath the earth and the small creatures that make their homes among its roots. Above the Under Hill’s weathered fir doors, washed by a thousand rainy seasons, is an inscription that could be translated as “A Sanctuary of Heart’s Ease.” To cross the threshold is to enter a world of amber light. Inside, lace doilies and patchwork quilts soften the rooms, while the old floorboards seem to hold the warmth of summer all year long.
Mr. Burrows has departed for the far horizon, leaving the keys to the Under Hill behind. While he is away, these quiet chambers await another gentle spirit.
