Seven years ago, I was a solitary professor living in Wisconsin with my three cats. Last month, Steve and I headed up into the mountains with our doggy to celebrate our seventh anniversary. Seven is a magical number, often referenced in fairy tales, and seven years is enough time to see into the heart of the matter. So here’s the truth as I see it: these past seven years have been improbable and miraculous, the very best years of my life. Certainly, we’ve experienced grief and illness and loss–much like any protagonist in Andersen or Grimm–but we’ve also felt more joy than we ever expected, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’m grateful every single day.

“Happily ever after” sometimes involves a bit of work, and we did work hard on our anniversary, hiking up to the iconic Crystal Mill and encountering a real-life avalanche on our way. But we also loafed about in the town of Marble (famed for its stunning white Yule marble), and had lunch beneath the towering peaks of the Maroon Bells.

Meanwhile, back at Avalanche Ranch, we played a politically relevant game of Scrabble, toasted marshmallows while singing “Seven Bridges Road,” splashed around in the hot springs, evicted a bat from our tiny cabin, and fed the local sheep. We took the long way home, driving over the Kebler Pass to Crested Butte, where there were scones in the coffee shop and wildflowers on the slopes. We’ve now returned to everyday life, but we’ll remember this sabbatical, and we’ll remember how miraculous and improbable it is that we found each other.