The snow was a steady stream of white and I so wanted to be able to capture it. The constant motion of falling flakes making everything seem still and calm. I knew the camera wouldn't be able to capture that, but I also knew I'd want to capture the newly snow covered items. I love being from a place where the snow draws you outdoors instead of forcing you to stay inside, or I guess I should say I love being from a family where the snow means time to head outside to play.
My jacket was too big for me, completely covering my hands, which made it easy to hold my camera and keep it tucked away in the sleeves of the jacket ready to pop out at the prime photo opportunity.
The landscape around the house where I grew up is primarily farm land, which peaks into lush greens in the summer. I tend to notice it more when its snow covered. The white vastness of fields untouched by anything but the flakes. However, as you look around at the items bordering these fields you'll find items that have been touched, by humans and time. The parking of a car next to a field, the sapping of a tree in a graveyard, the bending of wire and wood over time. These to me represent where I've grown up, where I'm from. They are the markers of time, the telling of a story, the signs of how people have moved and shaped the area.
The farm in the middle is the center of it all, what the fields have been built for, who the graveyard was created for, what has drawn the people that built a bench and parked a car. Its all those scribbled in pieces of the picture that make up where I'm from.