As we drove down to Boise I kept seeing these houses along the side of the highway and they seemed so exposed, so laid open to the eyes of those traveling down the highway. And each house was like a piece of micro fiction: the toys little dots of colour on the green or brown lawns; the collections of broken down farming equipment or old cars; the trailers, leaning warmly against the houses or seemingly banished to a lonely corner of the property surrounded by poplar trees (for a relative down on their luck? For an estranged spouse? For a teenaged child needing more privacy, wanting to express their independence?).
My husband’s family tradition every Christmas is to go to Boise, where my mother-in-law‘s family live. We didn’t do this last year due to the fact that I was hugely prego and past my due date of Dec, 17th (he was ten days late), but this year we agreed to make the trek despite our misgivings about an 11 hour drive with a 1 year-old. Henry did surprisingly well and I annoyed everyone in the car snapping pictures of the breathtakingly desolate landscape as we drove through Washington, Oregon and Idaho. We were concerned about the weather as we had to drive through the mountains, but aside from some fog the weather was amazing.
I’ll be posting more pics from this trip. This first batch is the mountains in mist.