In the late fall of 1997, Melissa Meier and I moved across The United States from Seattle, Washington to the Washington, D.C. area (known in Seattle as The Other Washington). Our household goods were being carried by someone else so we were free to make the most of our journey. And I think we did. Because of the late start, we decided to cross at the southern-most point of our country, hoping to avoid a surprise blizzard or some other trip-affecting weather phenomenon.
We are not Southern people, and in fact I, who am a native Californian, am definitely not a Southern Californian. Growing up, I always thought you needed a passport to go south of San Luis Obispo, and wouldn’t have bothered, anyway.
So, this meant it would be an interesting trip, for all sorts of reasons. We decided to keep a journal, and it was immediately apparent how wise this was. It focuses your attention on what is happening to you and what you are seeing, because you know that later that day you’re going to be trying to describe it in words. Life doesn’t happen in words.
We are also photographers, and although at that time Melissa was more photographically active than was I, I brought out the old Nikon on several occasions. I’ve never seen Melissa’s photos, and had pretty much ignored my own, but I recently ran across them again, and felt several are pretty good. They’ve largely lost their illustrative significance, but I’ve tried to pick those that seem to me to stand alone as objects of the photographic art, however humble.