March arrives on the mesa as wind — long combers of it off the open grass south of town, rattling the junipers and dragging dust across the road toward Galisteo. All Tractor Works takes on the wide lots out there, the acre-and-more yards where grass runs all the way to the fence line and the weeds get ambitious between storms. Mowing at that scale is patience and straight passes: cut low and even, trim in tight to the posts and the coyote fence, then clear the windrows off before the next blow scatters them. By evening the ground reads like a swept floor, out to where the light goes violet on the far ridges. Big country, tended close.