“Rose Wilder Lane’s own description of her first view of the mountains surrounding the Shala Valley is hard to beat: Like thin sharp rocks stood on edge, they covered hundreds of miles with every variation of light and shadow, and we looked across their tops to a faraway wave of snow that broke high against the sky. The depths between the mountains were hazy blue; out of the blueness sharp cliffs and huge flat slopes of rock thrust upward, streaked with the rose and purple and Chinese-green of decomposing shale, and from the tops a thousand streams poured downward, threading them with silver-white. A low continuous murmur rose to us – the sound of innumerable waterfalls, softened by immeasurable distance.”