Franklin County, Idaho at my grandparents’ place:
My son and my maternal grandpa, 5 and 85 years old.
Look at the deer-proofing on this triangular eden! I’m green with envy, Grandma.
Some people are incorrigible collectors. I could spend a day looking at all the stuff my grandpa’s found: rocks, bones, seedpods and strange stuff. I wish I knew where he found them. I wish he knew.
The shop. Keep in mind that these are only two shots; a full 360-degree view would astound you. Say it with a Bjork accent and you’ll be close to the brilliance of peacock feathers next to rocking horses next to drill bits next to scrap lumber next to saw bands next to a dead television next to business signs from decades ago. It’s like walking into a dense poem. I’m working on it.
No more horse means the lower meadow grows as high as my hips.
Colorful, clever idea with the cups, S.
The uncut grass next to our campsite at Riverdale: