The Barn I Drove Past for Years

For years I drove lumber deliveries up to Washougal, and every run took me past this barn. It sits up on a hill in the middle of an open field, and something about the color and the way it's positioned up there always caught my eye. Every time I passed it I thought the same thing: I need to come back here with my camera.

I never did. I'd forget, or I'd be busy, or I'd tell myself I'd catch it next time. That went on for years.

Then one night I looked outside and realized the sun was about thirty minutes from going down. I grabbed my camera, got in the car, and drove out there as fast as I could.

I made it, and the conditions were perfect — the sun was barely peeking over the hilltop, throwing this orange-red glow across the top of the barn while the bottom stayed in shadow. The sky behind it had gone purple. There were daisies all through the grass out front, and up on the face of the barn there's a white circle painted on that reads like a smiley face looking right back at you.

I found somewhere to park and spent about twenty minutes working it — moving up and down the street alongside the field, grabbing every angle I could get myself to, fixing my settings as I went.

These are some of my favorite frames I've shot recently. I'm glad I made the call to grab my camera and head out that night — I had a feeling the sunset was going to be worth it, and when I got there it looked almost exactly like what I'd been picturing on the drive out.