The mud arrived without asking. The grass is thinking about it. March out here is the season of almost — almost warm, almost green, almost done with winter. The Highlanders move through it without comment because Scottish weather prepared them for worse and they have a long memory. Zeus is watching the horizon. The horses are watching the grass. Everyone is waiting on May.

That’s when the calves come. We time it that way on purpose — deer fawn first, predators follow the deer, and by the time our calves hit the ground the coyotes have made their decisions for the season. You learn to work with the prairie’s schedule or you learn why you should have. We learned the right way.

The studio is open. The pasture is muddy. The waiting is its own kind of season.

— Lady Angeline