Floating Stone Ranch is a place shrouded in stick-like Aspens and iron-backed, hard dirt. Land that still sees newcomers, even after Canada's earliest Western settlers have teased out a peaceful existence from the place. A single store sells sustenance, liquor and scratch-card lottery. Gravel roads lead in compass directions, and wild grasses are broken and peppered by lakes and hillocks. In one of those lakes resides a stone big enough to be seen from the shore. It stubbornly waits, half-seen, for something to transpire.

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Grit-built folk live and work the land, putting back more than they took. Most of us have lived next to cattle our entire lives in a repeating loop of generations. These cattle speak to us, with no words. We live together, giving ourselves over to each other, animal and human, in a union at once art and alchemy.