Hill folk hold their closeness as a rite: close to the neighbor bounded by the hill, close to the soil, of course, and to the hard sharp business of surviving. And they hold their motivation close: why they must plant more beans than they can eat, stack all the wood unsuitable to sell, disdain the light. They hold their fire, though, when someone returns who blazed a trail outside. They share the hearth, and with the guest half started on his way, they offer him a tree to plant beyond their watershed. They even wave goodbye.