There’s a power to places we often forget about until we break out of our normal routine. We get dulled into the home – work – grocery store – home – work routine and don’t stop to really think about the place we’re spending our days.
Often it takes travel to break that routine.
Flying through Salt Lake yesterday, it hit me hard. The Wasatch is familiar — I lived there are a kid — and it always has some odd feeling of home. The mountains, the breath of the valley, the halls of that airport… all familiar. On approach, I looked down at landmarks I knew as a kid; that particular foothill, the university, that copper smelting plant. It’s comfort on an unexpected level.
I then flew on into Dallas; back into Texas after having not set foot in the state for nearly two years. Familiar things niggled at my ear. The accent of the guy behind me talking endlessly of football, the BBQ restaurant in the terminal. Stepping outside, there it was. Cool-warm air with a hint of salt, just a tang, thanks to the southerly breeze. It wasn’t the cold mountain air of Bozeman, it is familiar on a different level
I’m getting ready to spend most of January on the road — I’ll be home in Bozeman fewer than 10 days — and can’t wait to see some familiar places (the Denver and Somerset shows… see some of you there!) and one that can’t be announced quite yet but will be rather interesting. My blood jumps a bit a the thought of being on the road with the camera, of new people to meet, new smells, new locations. New fish.
I reminded myself this morning as I woke up to a freight train in small-town Texas, to take a moment to appreciate where I am. The little details of different places. ‘Cause we might be living in weird, messed-up times, but there are still some incredible things out there.
