A family autumn day in the Douro Internacional: the farm and donkeys at Casa d'Abó Anica, watching vultures over the cliffs, and the olive oil the region is the cradle of.

You close your eyes. Your cell phone has been in your pocket, silent for twenty minutes. You hear water—a stream you can't see, but you know it's there, somewhere among the ash trees. The earthen and shale ground creaks beneath your feet.