The grass is tall and dry. It rustles in the noonday heat; the sun sits in the middle of the sky, still and unmoving. No clouds drift across the sky. Beneath our feet, the dust crumbles away into nothing. It is easy to imagine the wind kicking it up into great murky clouds. A few feet away, a log cabin shimmers slightly in the heat. The beams are dark and sturdy. Our class hangs back behind our teacher, waiting for the tour guide. He totters over, old and bent, a clipboard clutched between his gnarled fingers. We follow him tentatively, our eyes swinging toward the things he points out.