Several years ago, when my wife was pregnant with our son, we went prowling the antique stores of Riverside, just off this same highway, in search of knickknacks to decorate our nursery back in Iowa City. My wife fell in love with a wooden, handmade barn with a hinged roof that opened to reveal perfectly rowed stalls. When I lugged it to the counter, the woman who ran the store told me that the toy maker was a local man and would be pleased that we had chosen this item. His arm had been ripped off at the shoulder in a farming accident only a few years before, and he now passed his time making replicas of the farm he could no longer work. She didn’t say it to be shocking or to elicit my sympathy; it was just the way things were, and she was bringing me up to speed. Continue »

Listen to the photographer talk about his desire to escape:

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