Field Notes: What We Carry Home

It's funny what we remember about a place.

Not always the things we expected to remember.

Sometimes it's a particular stretch of road, or the color of the grass late in the summer. The smell of sagebrush after rain. Wind coming through an open car window. A sky so wide that everything beneath it seems a little smaller.

And sometimes we bring something home.

A stone slipped into a pocket. A photograph. A little thing found along the way that probably wouldn't mean much to anyone else.

Maybe that's part of why I've always been drawn to objects that carry a sense of place with them. They don't have to explain where we've been. They simply remind us.

The Wyoming Found Necklaces feel a little like that.

Each one is different—a small collection of warm brass, stone, glass, and whatever details seemed to belong together. At the bottom hangs a hand-stamped tag with one simple word.

WYOMING.

There isn't a perfect one.

There is only the one you notice.

The one whose stones are the right shade of blue, or whose little arrangement catches your eye for reasons you may not be able to explain.

Perhaps that's how the best keepsakes find us anyway.

Not because we went looking for them.

Because something made us stop.

Crow Note

Some things are worth carrying.