I love this photo of James. You can't tell at this size, but the focus is sort-of lovely, nice and crisp on James, blurry elsewhere. The kind of depth of field I like. We took it this weekend, when Jess and James and I spent an afternoon poking around the little acre that the mini-farm sits on. We couldn't get into the 1928 farmhouse, but when mom gets back this weekend, we will. From the outside, the house looked a little sad. A few remnants of the former owners, including a fantastic wallhanging sculpture thing, slightly abstract plant-like shapes, in a copper color? Plus a paint job in the kitchen that featured sunflowers and sky blue, so happy it looked like it was overcompensating for something.
I realized I was a goner when it started to remind me of Pam's ranch, how elated I am for the last thirty minutes of the drive up to the place, the feeling I get of wanting long days of wandering around the yard photographing every little nook and cranny. There was a little dead sparrow in the hay in one dark stable, a greenhouse filled with luminescent weeds, a wall of photogenic garden tools, and lichen on the fence rails, just waiting for me to load a roll of color film. I didn't take those photos just yet though, instead, the ones I took that day were of Jessica, and James, and Todd, who saw my car parked in the drive and pulled up in his VW van, grinning at the sight of me, Jess and James in the yard of the house he told me about just the weekend before. Who knows what will happen, but as I took those photos, I thought about how much I might one day like looking at them, that first day at the mini-farm with some of my dearest friends, back when we were young, and foolish in the happiest ways possible, and had no idea all the things that would follow.