room’s got the blues
For the past 17 years, I’ve driven by this farmhouse several times a week. I’ve stopped to look at it twice, a sort of embarrassingly low number.
The first time I stopped, there was a bird nest in the mailbox, a couple of barn owls, and a snake. And a bunch of junk piled up inside.
The second time, I didn’t see any wildlife but the bird nest was just as I remembered it. The junk was still there, only with more rodent/bird droppings and increased disintegration. But what I somehow don’t even remember from the first visit was this very-blue room. It must have felt so design-y and original when it was new, which makes it feel even sadder now.
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 5.31.2026
I expected to see Brandon
I’ve been wandering through rural West Texas towns for a long time and have made thousands of photos of things I’ve seen. I’ve come to expect certain standard markers of life out here. Like campaign signs for people (white men, almost always) shouting about their conservative credentials, businesses that deal in agricultural/oilfield stuff that I don’t understand, Dollar General stores every place, a smattering of Confederate flags, pro-Trump signage (although there seems to be way less of that).
Anyway, when I saw a window painted with “Let’s go…” I absolutely, completely expected the next word to be “Brandon.” Just goes to show that I don’t know everything, which comes as somewhat of a surprise to me, if I am being honest. Yet here we are.
Sundown, Texas
photographed 6.14.2026
let there be light (fixtures)
It was a cold day. And it was raining. And it was also (bonus!) windy.
So naturally, we took a drive to Sundown, Texas, to find possible photographs. That part of the trip was a letdown because there wasn’t much there…although I was fond of these gigantic light fixtures, hovering with no real purpose above what was left of a fueling plaza.
Today it is supposed to be 108° here, which makes three days ago seem like a dream.
Sundown, Texas
photographed 6.14.2026
tank and ladder
I always think I ought to stop and photograph one of these tanks but I never do. Honestly, I think I want to photograph them out of a decades-long habit of thinking they are Very Important Subjects, which may or may not be true.
So, finally, I did stop and get a photo of one. But now I wonder why I didn’t even bother to get closer, or to look at that ladder, or look around the other side.
But it’s a start. Or an end. I haven’t decided yet.
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 6.14.2026
fresh water (in the rain)
If you want to get really worried about the future of water in places that are above the Ogalalla Aquifer, you could read Running Out: In Search of Water on the High Plains, by Lucas Bessire.
Or you could look at the shifts in annual rainfall and think about how long it takes to recharge our aquifer. And think about how farmers are already moving away from growing certain high-water-consuming crops. (Who REALLY needs corn, anyway?)
Or you could think about how rural counties are falling all over themselves to get data centers to come here. And then think about how the data centers claim their eventual water usage will be “about the same as two houses.”
And maybe, sometime in the future you can think fondly about the days where there WAS fresh water out.
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 6.14.2026
One Day | One Image 