This old pile of trash in the back yard of the house in Land Surfing (#36) looked so well-placed like it was in a museum exhibit or art installation.
I’m sure that was a coincidence, just like the hawk that hung in the air for a moment while I snapped this photo.
I love these moments.
Not entirely sure what the story is, here. It looks like someone built a building next to a wash, ravine, or small canyon. Weather did what it all too often does so well, and caught them by surprise one day. As you can see, the back of the building has fallen into the ravine.
Near the old Shoe-Tree sat this imposing old building. We didn’t go much closer to it than this.
What a great moment:
This lonely old horse was just hanging out in front of the the old cabin, and was really more interested in smelling my camera more than anything. Pretty thin and looking fairly bored, it certainly enjoyed the modest company that we afforded it- but a horse sniffing the lens just isn’t as interesting as it could be…
Then Jayda stood nearby and offered the hungry thing a carrot. Here’s that moment.
The main difference between Oregon’s high desert and the surrounding farmland? You’re looking at it.
This old house has seen some better days.
The front door is riddled with shotgun blasts and the front porch (or is that the roof of the front porch?) has completely collapsed.
Like memories in bloom, the overgrown flowers keep singing their old yellow tune.
Something about thewear and tear of sun, wind, and time on wood…
I think these boards were cut from Pine, but I really don’t know Oak from Madrone.
Out here in the Eastern Oregon high desert, the wind-born sand and dust really tears up the softer parts of the cut boards. I dig the contrast.
I can’t tell if this had a porch or a covered porch exactly, but walking up to it revealed a lot of boards laying about the front. The door had been kicked in and shot numerous times with a shotgun. Whatever happened here, I bet it made for a great plot twist…
Another angle of the two gas pumps, this time looking north.
Maybe it’s just my over-active imagination- but the moment I saw these two with their hoses laying in the grass like that… I immediately felt like I was on set of some surreal film or animation, in which the pumps were slowly making their way past the gas station and down the road. Very slow, very retro robots…
Only 66 and 1/2 cents per gallon!
I love how in the old days, there were often less printed laws that presumed the customer might be up to no good and more printed laws reminding the customers to ALSO keep an eye on the proprietor!
Right above the GALLONS dial, you can see “Gallon and Sale indications must be at zero when delivery is begun, under penalty of law.”
Hm… Did old America used to have change for fractions of a cent, or what?