What was unique, we didn’t visit four different areas of the country and observe people, we lived in homes. And so that was, I think, the real key or trick to this whole thing was we were instantly immersed into a family and a community in an area. Sometimes accepted, sometimes maybe not accepted right away but we were in there. We weren’t like in a motel and having a different life and then going out each day and observing things. We were living in a small house with a couple of bedrooms and five people and it was cold, a fireplace, no running water — outhouse. I did that for four or five weeks in February, in the winter. I slept on a little pallet bed with one of the younger brothers, I think two or three of us. They gave me these handmade quilts. Not puffy quilts, but just the flat. They kept saying, “Tell us how many you need.” They just kept, like “Two, three, four, five? You needed to stay warm.” At night I’d get under those quilts and I don’t know how to — I was forced to kind of find the things inside of me that could help me live through that experience and not freak out or run away or, you know, want to give up on it. The family I was with, they were on food stamps. Everybody was pretty poor. The husband had kind of a part-time job with a local rancher who was raising Black Angus cattle. He was actually — it was a cow calf farm. He didn’t raise them to slaughter. He raised the calves and sold the calves and other people would raise them for the beef. And so each day, in the morning, we’d take hay around on the pickup truck and drop it out in the fields for the cows. Some days we would be repairing a fence. Just kind of odd jobs and then some days there wasn’t much of anything to do.