Right outside of our town is a spot that used to be called Milk Farm. It was a diner, and I remember stopping there with Steve, maybe 25 years ago. I have always loved the sign, and at one time fantasized that I would pay $10,000 to have it as my own (that was pre-recession fantasizing). The diner is gone, but the sign still stands. Despite passing it several times a week, I have never stopped to photograph it. Until Saturday.
It was a little tricky. Fence, barbed wire, a ditch and plenty of tall, wet grass and mushy mud. And a pesky tree in the way. Though I didn’t scale the fence, I did manage the ditch and the grass.
I took this one as I was driving away. Please don’t tell my mother I did this. Or my husband. Or my children. Or the Highway Patrol. Or anyone who would think I was being irresponsible. It was for context, you know?