Still Standing

January 2013 — Quechee, Vermont

In January of 2013, I visited the Quechee Antiques Market. Snow covered the grounds, softening edges and muting the landscape. It was quiet in the way only winter can be.

The truck was sitting off to the side, partially surrounded by snow. It wasn’t displayed. It wasn’t staged. It was simply there.

What struck me first was the front of it — the grille exposed, the headlights clouded, the metal worn thin in places. Rust had overtaken the body, but the structure held. The truck stood upright, facing forward, as if it had decided not to give in completely.

The snow changed everything. It settled along the hood and fenders, tracing the contours of the metal. The white against the deep brown of the oxidized steel created a quiet contrast. Winter wasn’t attacking it. Winter was resting on it.

I moved in close and photographed it head-on. The composition became about symmetry and presence. The grille read almost like a face. The missing pieces didn’t feel dramatic. They felt honest.

I’ve always been drawn to objects that show evidence of time — not as symbols of decline, but as markers of endurance. This truck wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t nostalgic. It was simply still there.

Still upright.
Still occupying space.
Still standing.

I returned recently, and the truck was gone. The space it occupied had closed in. Snow and ground and time had evened everything out.

Photographs do that. They hold what no longer remains. In that winter light, the truck held its ground. Now the image does.

And that is enough.