The first time I remember thinking about it was a long time ago, when I lived in Louisiana and was not yet a photographer. We were driving around in the rural areas north of Lake Pontchartrain. Somewhere. I don’t know where we were. But the details I recall are as clear as though it happened earlier today: it was muggy and cloudy; it was a narrow two lane road; there were dense stands of tall and skinny pine trees; the cemetery was on the left; there were graves right up to the edge of the cemetery. And one of them had a toy truck, a red one that may have been a fire engine, placed just next to the headstone.

It impacted me then. And still does.