By late 2007, the Caldwell ranch had begun resembling the map in Curtis's notebook.
Broad bands of mature nopal stretched across the southern slopes.
Young plantings covered additional suitable terrain.
Native vegetation remained protected along drainage corridors, and the carefully managed access lanes made it possible to inspect, harvest, and maintain different sections without damaging the entire operation.
The system now involved nearly three hundred acres of established or developing cactus plantings, with the remainder serving supporting functions.
From the air, the property would have looked like a green mosaic.
From the county road, it looked like a woman had somehow persuaded desert plants to march across the hills in organized rows.
Marlene loved the sight.
Sometimes she drove to the northern ridge just before sunset and looked down at the ranch.
She imagined Curtis beside her.
She could almost hear him explaining which areas held moisture after a storm.
Then she would open the notebook and compare his drawings against the land.
They weren't identical.
She had changed dozens of details.
But the original idea remained.
Stop fighting the terrain.
Protect what the land could provide.
And build a business that didn't require rain to arrive exactly when human beings wanted it.
One evening, Daryl joined her on the ridge.
They stood beside the pickup watching the sun lower over the cactus.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then he asked, "Do you ever think about how different this place would've been if we'd sold?"
Marlene smiled faintly.
"Sometimes."
Daryl looked toward the valley.
"I still remember telling you the land was worthless."
She nodded.
"So do I."
He sighed.
Then looked at her.
"I'm glad you didn't listen."
Marlene laughed softly.
"Me too."
Daryl's expression became serious.
"Dad would've been proud."
She looked toward the green hills.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then whispered, "I hope so."
Daryl placed one hand on her shoulder.
"He would've."
They stood together until the light began fading.
And for the first time in years, both Caldwell children felt that their father's work had become something more than a memory.
It had become a future.
The first warning of the coming drought appeared in the summer of 2008.
Rainfall had been uneven across the region for several seasons, and the summer heat began earlier than some ranchers expected. Several stock tanks on neighboring properties dropped noticeably, even though a few isolated thunderstorms had passed through the county. Marlene watched the weather reports, then returned to her father's notebook and compared the conditions against similar periods he'd recorded.