valley of memorialsPosted: August 5, 2011
6 am wake up call isn’t so bad when I know a misty summer drive awaits in the Sierra valley.
Currently visiting my in-laws, who reside just outside of Tahoe, always leaves me with a freshened inspiration in most of my exhausted reserves. We are spending the next few days floating from grandma’s to the lake and back in time for a game of horseshoes. Spoiled with outdoor feasts while being eaten alive by mosquitoes. I spend the nights stirring in the starlit deafening silence, and I can’t quite decide if it’s good or bad thing.
The soul feeding continues with the scenery. And we can all imagine the rolling evergreens, the rocky uneven trails, and the morning dew that blows away like a smoke, but I have a thing for all thats dilapidated. You know…the humble thumbprints that us humans have built, lived, loved, and forgotten. For years we have driven by just that. A magical (in my eyes, anyhow) cemetery that held so many stories. And this was the trip we were going to capture it. So we set our alarm for sunrise, grabbed some mud of coffee on the way out of town, and drove to the valley of memorials.