In the Pisgah National Forest, near Brevard, North Carolina, there is a waterfall overlooking Glass Creek called Sliding Rock, where you can slide down the broad, flat rock into the plunge pool below. One summer day 45 years ago, my brother Charles and I slid down that rock until our jeans were worn through and our bottoms were red. Not long after, our big sister Hilary was hit by a car and died.

Today we share a Thoreauvian essay, written in 1977, by a talented writer describing her neighborhood. “What I like best about my neighborhood,” she writes, “is the fact that we’re all so close. The land, the people, and the vegetables all depend on each other for their survival. My neighbors are my friends and my life.”