I walk out past the barn, past the sheds, and through the gap in the fence that is old, twisted barbed wire to my left, and old wood plank to my right. Grasshoppers leap up and out of the path of my feet, an unending cascade of dust-brown bodies parting like waves before me. Out of the cascade every so often, one takes flight, bursting from a tight bullet body to a frenzy of black, yellow-tipped wings.