Lifting the steaming dessert from the oven, I inhale its homey fragrance, marveling that such simple ingredients—apples, flour, sugar, butter, eggs and cinnamon—result in something so satisfying. A good day is somehow similar. Beloved friends, festive food, mountain water, art and light, a little labor, fresh air and even a good scare make up a day that grooves with good vibrations.

The morning air slides softly over the meadow, low in humidity, lofty with sun. The day begins with steamy coffee and visiting friends who’ve filled the fridge with assorted cheeses, home-cooked pasta sauce, even pagach, an anthracite region delicacy.

Afterwards, it’s off to Barryville, NY, to check out Spruce, a new shop opened by other friends. Trey and Roswell are hosting today as we browse the funky furniture and gifts after touring the upstairs art gallery. Trey’s extensive collection of paint-by-number art is soon to be replaced by fine photos of the popular ornamental chickens owned these days by everyone from Martha Stewart to my parents.

Next up, a cup of chai and one of Red Rooster’s crumbly sour cream muffins. Folks are gathered around tables, slowing down on a Sunday. Sylvie is there, too. She asks me to remind readers of the dangers of leaving dogs in cars on sunny days. A dog panting in a car might appear just a bit overheated, while internally, it can be in serious danger. Immediate first aid is administered by immersion in cold water. Though not the original context, Rumi’s sage advice is worth considering: “The fire under the kettle is the appearance. The boiling water is the reality.”

We depart for nearby Kudzu, where organic goods are available from a family who always manages to make you feel like old friends. Then we’re off to mix in a healthy measure of physical labor to fortify the brew.

Back home we turn to wood chores and yard maintenance. I am trimming hedges, enjoying the upper body workout, listening to the rhythmic swish of blade over blade. Slicing into a thick clump, I hear a swiftly accelerating buzzing sound. I’ve heard this once before when my dog, Bu, stuck his nose into a hole in the ground and disturbed a hornet colony.

Today, I fare much better than Bu, and make a hasty retreat from the daunting nest that swings like a paper lantern buried within the bush. I thank the graces that guard me, consider possible outcomes had I been using a trimmer with a noisy motor, nod respectfully to my preference for manual tools and resolve to let the shaggy bush remain in its ungroomed majesty until the hive’s inhabitants have flown to warmer climes.

In the post-adrenaline fade, I have plenty of time to contemplate a quote by meditation master Chogyam Trungpa: “In order to experience fearlessness, it is necessary to experience fear.” And Aldo Leopold, in “A Sand County Almanac,” asserts, “It must be poor life that achieves freedom from fear.” I must be one step closer to a rich and fearless life.

It comes time to close the day and I do so by cavorting with canine friends down to the creek, where they heartily drink the crisp mountain water. Olive is a lapper. Bu and Willy are sippers. The guys drive their fuzzy muzzles through the glassy surface, slurping and sputtering. With their bellies filled and chilled, they roam back up the hill, shaking off the icy water that falls like a brief rain of diamonds through the fragrant air against the canvas of dusk’s golden light. For the moment, everything’s right.