Occasionally I like to photograph scenes that feature derelict elements. I don’t know why. I can only speculate. Time worn? Stories to tell? Withstanding the elements? Maybe it’s because I’m in my later years, but then again, I have photos of such scenes I shot when I was in my late twenties—especially old boats, vehicles, houses, sheds, and barns.

Nevertheless, I had to capture the front porch of this house in Pioneerville, Idaho, a few autumns back. Pioneerville is a ghost town about 55 miles by road, northeast of Boise.  It was a mining town during the late 19th century. The scene spoke to me. But what was it saying?

I think, “transience.” Here today, gone tomorrow (or years from now). Despite having emotional ties to our loved ones, our homes, our cities, and our countries—it never lasts. Either we depart, or the relationship with that which we love dissolves. It’s as if we are visitors in time. What we do hold onto, though, are memories.

For some, that’s all we’ve got of what once was. And that is why memories are treasured.