August 24, 2006

When my van broke down for the 5th time in a row last month, I spent three long hours in a cornfield near Highway 7 wondering why the telephone wires leading into the nearby farmhouse were cut. I couldn’t see the house from where I was parked — just telephone poles standing stupidly stripped of their essence.

So the other day, four of us grabbed our cameras and went towards the farmhouse to investigate. As it turns out, the farmhouse itself is in a state of beautiful abandon, its walls vibrant with colour and memories. We went inside to find room after gorgeous room stripped of everything but bright plaster and shards of beer bottles.

I was filled with such joy that I danced naked in the attic on broken fragments of glass.

Side note: Martin has some great photos. So does Curtis and Kevin, who also don’t believe in tags.