by Callie Mack and Phil Roullard
What comes to your mind when you hear the phrase “Anza-Borrego Sheep Count”? A dry, seared landscape, in which even the big black ants hide from the merciless midday sun? Sweat dripping down your back and into your eyes? The shrill buzz of the cicadas, growing louder as the sun climbs into the sky? Sitting quietly for hours, drowsy from the heat?