Dear Reader

We would drive half the night to get there, north through the Central Valley, then northeast on 299 to split the gap between two volcanoes, Shasta and Lassen, before entering Fall River Valley, elevation 3,000, population 1,000, watery and moonlit. The pitch-black last mile by dirt wound eerily through forested lava rock, rabbits and coyotes darting into the headlights. When we got close to the cabin, the kids, Rachel and Neil, would sense it, waking to shout as they spotted it yards from the narrow, spring-fed river.

At dawn, Neil would rise to the honking geese overhead, and he and I would head out. Imagine a stretch of pristine river in California’s empty corner framed by meadow, a small peak, and birdlife that practically roars. Neil was born a birder, and within a minute he’d have identified up to 15 species. By the time we’d stomp back onto the porch to show the others our loot—owl pellets, squirrel skulls, hawk feathers—susan would be making coffee and

Rachel deep into a book. The day unwound in chapters: a canoe ride downstream to Carl’s haunted cabin, wrecked but ghostily upright; a yelp-inducing dive off the dock into 59-degree water; a trip up the scrub road to a neighbor’s ranch. There, we’d peer into the dark at great horned owls living in the barn and climb the stacks of horse feed we called “blueberry hay” for its color and scent. The memories triggered by the photo above may be rose-colored, but they do not lie. Fifteen years of those journeys to that valley forged our family of four for the long haul.

It’s not easy to express the power of family. But a single photo can occasionally do the trick. That’s what we sought in this year’s reader photo contest, and you came through.

Please enjoy the winning submissions on page 68. I find deep meaning in the stories they tell. I hope you do too.