We sat listening to the wind hit the windshield.

“There are license plates from Colorado and Iowa,” I said.

Luke stared at a row of clean luxury SUVs parked near the red barn.

They looked completely out of place next to the rusted farm equipment.

The barbed wire fence along the ditch leaned hard to the right.

Someone had tied a bright orange survey ribbon to the corner post.

We opened our doors and stepped out onto the dirt.