Seven years after we (myself and Bekky) found my Grandfather’s grave on the other side of the world - literally having to dig up his overgrown temporary headstone after several panicked hours of worrying if he was buried in Clarkston at all, I found myself beginning this trip where my very first had ended. Well, not literally - I flew into Seattle yesterday and drove the five hours through the Pacific North West’s dramatically changing landscape to get here, but the real journey exists within Clarkston and it’s surrounding area; the last place my Grandfather called home. In 2018, four years ago, I last came here for a month in an attempt to get to know Joey through the place he’d chosen to move to in order to escape the vices he tried to leave in Reno. I though that if I get to know the city and it’s people, maybe - just maybe, I might get to know him somehow. And, well, I don’t know if I did or not that time, but Clarkston feels like home to me now. A place on the other side of the world where I developed wonderful friendships in a very limited time. The clouds circled the valley as I got closer, rain lashing down and puddles forming across the road. As I reached the turning for Vineland Cemetery I knew it before my satnav did and drove up to it’s office building. I thought for a second about returning tomorrow when the downpour had stopped but swiped this away with overwhelming romance for the moment to embrace the drips. I kissed my fingers and passed it to his headstone, lying back on his grave in the slight shelter of a tree. This first picture is a view from where I lay. The rest are from the drive inland from Seattle. ~~~~ #usa #journey #grandfather #history