Tucked away on old dirt roads and behind big old maple  trees in my country are some abandoned old family farms and farmhouses.  They are touching, haunting, symbols of a different time, different values. The family farm is struggling everywhere in America, deemed by economists to be inefficient.

I try to pay them visits, stand quietly with them, photograph them, soak up the very powerful feelings of these places. This farmhouse is 15 miles from mine, like mine it was well and lovingly built, silos and crumbling barns behind it, the echoes still of the cows and maybe sheep that once lived here, the children that played and ran freely here, the families that worked so hard for so long and did so much.

I want to keep visiting them, I have this dread they will be completely forgotten one day.