Chicago, IL / Hammond, Indiana July 2025

July 15th

I’m back in the midwest. Chicago is where I landed - the place I grew up until the end of the 7th grade. Currently in Hammond Indiana with my Tio Beto (my mother’s brother) and his wife, My Tia Vianey. My entire life, since I was in the first grade, I have wanted to spend time with My Tio.

He lives a humble life, he and his wife live in a home on Kenwood ave. the next house over he owns as well. The home he lives in is a fixer upper. The outside of the home on one face is raw with insulation uncovered. The stairs leading up to the front door, steep, rickety, wood peeling up as if corroded by the seaside. There aren’t any doors in the house except for the front door and the back door. Even the bathroom has no door. Small patch jobs line the walls and ceilings. None of the walls match the adjacent in color. Patches are a completely different color that layer one another. The second floor barely holds up. There is nothing to see on the second floor. The basement is storage, a work bench, new washer and dryer, a powerful fan-like vent that circulates air, a drain for water and a toilet beneath the stairs. The toilet works and serves as my uncle's private restroom away from his wife. Good water pressure. His kitchen is like any you've seen before. The dining area just a table, four chairs, some shelves with pigeon statues and other birds, a recliner that holds old laundry that's been clean for days, two female pigeons in a cage topped with dry plants, next to it a pellet gun and a 22 rifle that can only hold one round. It’s broken or something. The backdoor opens into the backyard. Peach tree to the right, the peaches mostly ripe and delicious, to the left beyond the mound of lawnmowers and other tools, a garden with chilis, zucchini, tomatoes and a male weed plant- no buds grow on it. Two huge pigeon coops one with hundreds of pigeons, the other with a few that are either sick or prefer to be away from the others. It’s a playground, a playground that I as a little boy would have loved to run around. One that I appreciate being a part of today.

July 17th

Tonight I’m sleeping in a cot, close to the floor and looking up at patches on the wall. Earlier today the storm came pouring down so hard the apricot tree out back split in two. The heat made outside feel like fish bowl. It would cool down every couple of minutes as the sun would hide behind the clouds. It made for a welcoming summer day where I could take my shirt off and walk around the block - a luxury I know little of living in San Francisco. My Tio Beto, although 60 years old, is much more lively than my other uncles. He invited me on an adventure today beyond East Chicago toward Lake Michigan. We pulled off the road to an abandoned rail yard, where a small dilapidated dock that connected to the river made for a scene out of Stand by Me or The Goonies. We climbed over fences, carefully balancing over metal grates and broken concrete holed platforms. Admiring the large Catfish that would bob up to the surface poking their heads through the water. My Tio Beto is filled with many a story. This walk was nothing short of those. We walked over to the opposite side of the grate and down the rail yard adjacent to the lake. The sky, clear and bright, the water gleaming - so did the oil and floating glass bottles reflecting the sun light. My Tio and I would laugh, make jokes - Me balancing on half a concrete wall. I didn’t want to walk all the way down, my hunger was settling in. We turned around, back over the grate, “¿Ya tienes hambre?” (Are you hungry?) asked my uncle. “Si” “Pues vamos Ala Birria”

We drove back to Hammond toward a small restaurant that would really only seat ten. “Esta es la mejor Birria - Ni en pinche Chicago es bueno como esta pinche Birria” My Tio said with the most sailor of mouths. The bells chattered as the door swung open. He passes the yellow container “Cuarenta de Birria” I saw a photo opportunity and ran out to a small church. Walking over I remembered a small apartment on the second floor my mother and I stayed in for a week during what felt like a manic episode of hers. The details are fuzzy, that’s what I remember. Checking out the church and fumbling with the video camera I have - I see this guy half way down the block. Shirt off, bloody and bruised, looks like he’s the one that lost. I walk back into the restaurant my Tio tells me about the guy. On our way back to his house, we pass by the Laundromat I have vivid memories of, it used to be called Bubbles, it’s just “Laundromat” now. My mom would go so fast down that road that she would get a little air on the railroad tracks right before the turn into the laundromat. I still remember the sensation I felt as kid, the smile in my young mother’s eyes.

July 18th

I rented a car to travel between Hammond Indiana and Chicago Illinois. It was the easiest and most time efficient thing to do. Otherwise I would have to take the Amtrak from Hammond at 6am and figure out how to get back. That’s a stress that would take away from my mission at hand. I’m filled with excitement and anticipation to go back to my middle school home. 3646 Oak Park Ave. Berwyn, IL. It has been since the 7th grade since I’d been back. Other than a one hour detour prior to a flight back to San Francisco, a year or two back while on some off the cusp job I found on Craigslist.

I drove up to the apartment, it hasn’t changed a bit. I parked down the street, grabbed my cameras, headed toward the apartment. As much as I wanted to take images, the urge to remember or to literally walk down memory lane won. That and the fact that it would just be a picture of a house with no real story telling beyond this writing. I didn’t feel the need to approach the building for detailed inspection or even to knock, after all the house holds memories but the memories are not really there. I walked down the alleyway, the old basketball hoop two doors down above the old man's garage is gone- he must've died. Further down, nothing much has changed. My best friend in 7th grade Drew’s house is still there and much the same. I remember the day I lost my phone in the snow for 10 minutes thinking “My mom’s gonna kill me”. At the end of the alleyway a sign “Rats” was posted. When I lived in Berwyn the town had a pride that the rats weren’t there like in the City, guess they migrated. Hung to the left, the Walgreens is still there, across the street from the Little Caesars and across from there the BP where I would buy long distance phone cards. During a time when that was around. Maybe it still is? I walked down Oak Park ave toward the middle school, about the same route I would bike to school. I cut through the alleyway before the train tracks. I’d use that alleyway to race to the train tracks before the train passed to get to school on time. Back then it was a freight train and not a passenger train to the city like it is now. I snapped a photo juxtaposing a tag from the “Latin Kings” gang (Prominent gang growing up, by the looks of it still around) to a white pole and beyond that a STOPP sign- two P’s. It was kind of funny to me as Berwyn isn’t a graffiti town as I remember it. Heritage Middle School was just down the street, the 7th grade felt like three years wrapped into one. The summer before the 7th grade my mom bought me a pair of Champion sneakers. They have always been my favorite shoe even though I have never owned a second pair. I took the shoes to the middle school playground and ran around with my little sister Jackie. There's a photo of that somewhere. All memories that flooded back in. But, the photo did not seem possible. It felt like I needed a model of sorts to bring the illustration to life. After some more walking, mile after mile, I made my way back to the car. It was time to go back to Little Village. The first neighborhood I landed in when I moved to Chicago sometime in the year 2005. It’s where the majority of my memories stem from both good and bad. Central Park and 26th st were my cross streets- the catholic school I went to still there, the old Burger Joint on the corner I would go to for a cheese burger, fries and Mr. Pibb is gone. A mental image of me at the counter could be seen between the reflection of my glasses, their glass and my mind. La Chiquita across the street is still going strong. A Mexican market but in the back attached is a Mexican restaurant. I sat in the same booth, ordered the same tacos de bistec and looked up at the same mural that has never changed. A typical desert scene of Mexico flowing into the Hall of Famers from the sports teams of Chicago. My tacos arrived, the same smell, the same taste, I felt 7 years old again. I finished going out the back like I had when I was a kid, walking around 26th street. Trying to find all the spots I would go to as a kid. They aren’t there anymore. Little Village is now only a part of who I was and have become but is no longer a part of my identity. I don’t belong here.

Yet, down Central Park, about 23rd and a block west, is a park with a basketball court. I would go there some days with my Dad, mostly during the Fall before the snow fell. The last night I went to that basketball court was the same night if not close to the last night I saw my mother and father together. I left there, that was my last time in Little Village on this trip. I don’t need to go back for the memories, just the tacos- if that. I went to the north side for the first time ever. Played pool, 4 rounds, the fifth I lost. Made my way back to Hammond. The front gate leading to the backyard was unlocked and open. My Tio’s van wasn’t there. I was alarmed- prssttt a familiar whistle came from the back. My Tio signaled me to come back there. His van was on wood blocks, jacked up, he just put the O2 sensor back in. A scene that I had seen many times before- luckily now I had a camera.

July 19th

July 20th

A slow day. One that was more about bonding with My Tio Beto. Going back to my old Elementary school, where I didn’t want to be because I was away from family. A park where he and his dog Nieves would climb to the top of the hill and sleigh down during the snowfall. A pond near there where fishermen catch Brim and throw them to the birds instead of back in the pond. A religious town I forgotten all about, where my mother would take me for pizza “Squigis” and watch me play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the arcade game. One quarter at a time. As the sun set and the humidity dried up we went on a long walk. Past a half worked on bridge, down to train tracks that overlooked a river. Below our feet, under the wooden railroad and metal grates, the water treaded. Evening breezes brushed over the tall wheat grass fields. We just admired the view- cars in the distance, no sound other than what was around us.

July 21st

Afternoon

50 W Washington Street.

Down to the basement in a government building that does not allow firearms or cameras, two weapons that allow one to shoot for different reasons. Without the camera I was left to the feeling of being a boy that couldn’t look over the counter. The basement grew darker, the people seemed more annoyed, mean toward me the thought of not being free to capture what I once knew was alarming but rewarding. That feeling of being a little boy gave me the perspective I was looking to tap back into.

I remember coming to this building time and time again with my mother. Court case after court case, for many different things. Custody, money, fines, traffic violations, domestic disputes. A favor for my uncle who is afraid of approaching a federal building to fix his citizen status. A reality that has been a constant worry in my family but a relentless fear in the political climate today.

Morning

6am my alarm goes off, I look around and my Tio Beto isn’t around. I thought I was still waking up but I fell back asleep. “Mayco!” I jolt awake paddling around me like I’m drowning. Peering over me with shorts and a Hawaiian shirt like all the days before is my Tio. “Vámonos de nos Va ser tarde pa volar los palomos.” Sandals slapping feet and growing fainter. I jump up, grunt, throw a shirt on, then my pants, pants back off, uh-oh I kept my shorts on, shorts off, pants on, sandals on- I never wear sandals but it’s too early and I slept like shit. Grab both my cameras out to the back. “Trienta y dos, Trienta y tres…. Trienta..” my uncle is counting the pigeons he wants to fly today. At my feet a crate of pigeons over filled. “Abre la puertita” I open the the latched door, a pigeon pops into the crate. “Ayúdame a mover los en la troca.” We stack the crates of pigeons, slap the back door of the van and drive off. The Walmart is 3.7 miles by car, as the crow flies, more like 3 miles? Parked, door open, my uncle records the time, a video entry to archive and send to friends. I’m ready with my cameras as he unlatches the doors, they all flood out. In less than a minute all three crates are empty. Two swells of pigeons flutter in the sky. Coordinated they fly, it was magnificent. I’ve always been attracted to birds, to see my Tio with a trained group of birds gave me a sense of peace. “Van a llegar aya ala casa” “Si, vente vamos de regreso para que veas” it took us 15 minutes to get home and not 5 more minutes passed when the first swell of birds came in. I couldn’t believe that these birds would come back home! I’d figure they would just leave- be free, maybe they are free, what they feel is free. Free with a purpose. Free and safe.

July 22nd

The last day in Indiana- a full circle moment, it felt like I was here for 10 days or maybe even two weeks but yesterday felt like I was waking up to fly here and start my project. The car I rented from a private party needed to go back. I dropped that off quickly- my uncle and aunt trailed behind me, I jumped in and drove them to the BMV. A quick quarter hour to get their plates renewed.”Que quieres comer Mayco?” Mayco is how you would read Michael as a native Spanish speaker. “Vamos por la Birria, eso si me encanto!” I drive us to the house, drop my aunt off, grab a tupperware for the Birria To-Go bomb over to the east side of Hammond Indiana, pick up the Birria, come back, enjoy. The day was zooming by and I wanted to do so much more. I even wanted night to fall so I could try to get a photo of a dog barking through a fence. One of the few planned images I didn’t get. The Birria was as great as the last time but it was too hot outside to enjoy hot soupy food. “¿Aún quieres ir a ver ese carrito?” My Tio Beto asked. “Vamos,” I replied. Around the corner a less than 10 minute walk was this stick shift Honda Fit, 2009, 220,000 miles on it a mere 2,500 bucks. We ask to check it out, jump in with one of the dealership guys- we were all a total of 600 pounds or so. The car was great. The guy did not want to go down to $2,000 but he might soon and that would be the next project. Fly back, buy the car, drive coast to coast and make a body of work while learning stick shift.

At this point it was time to start heading to the airport. A long, story filled car ride that seemed to have lasted 2 hours. It did. I was ready to shoot out of the Van, I’m not much of a Goodbye person. My uncle puts the Van in park, gets out and hugs me a might, what a father would do to a son. His voice cracks and his eyes water, he will miss me and is grateful that someone would come to visit him, remember him, enjoy time with him and he enjoy their company. I smile at him “Te veo pronto”

A quote from My Tio that I wrote in my journal- “La vida es un circulo- lo que tu haces, te va tocar de nuevo”

San Francisco to Calgary 2023

July 27th 2023

San Francisco to Twin Falls, Idaho. Got a speeding ticket in Truckee. Ate burgers at Beefy’s in Reno, Nevada. Drove to Winnemucca, through Winnemucca. Lovelock was empty. Twin Falls is an odd stop. We each had four slices of Dominoes pizza we purchased with a coupon and fell asleep at 1am.

Golden Gate Bridge- San Francisco, California

Burial Site -Imlay Nevada July 27th 2023

Motel 6- Idaho Falls, Idaho July 27th 2023

July 28th 2023

We woke up to the idea of a continental breakfast provided for free by Motel 6. Powder eggs heated into slightly puffy pucks, sausages that were previously wading in their own juices in a ziplock bag under a metal lid in a metal can filled with hot water to keep them “fresh”, Sausage gravy over day-old biscuits. Salt and pepper made them tolerable. On our way back on the road, after circling around the town of Idaho Falls for a cup of half decent coffee, we settled on the classic Starbucks route but me. On our way out of town we passed over this canyon with a body of water at the bottom, we stopped thinking we could get to the bottom. We made our way down this dusty dirty little path, surrounded by cobblestones, the chainlink fence that read “DO NOT ENTER DANGER!” was riddled with locks for love promises. As the three of us, Saul, Daylon and I were overlooking the beyond, massive canyon, more people rushed down, a man said that three guys were getting ready to base jump to the bottom. 200 yards out or so, from the side of the freeway, over a rail, one by one, a man would get ready to jump and then off he’d push. One, two, three, seconds in the air, then the parachute would deploy and he would try and land on what seemed to be a tiny target out in the distance at the bottom of the canyon. Daylon thought we ought to get a photo of one of the guys from above as they jump, we ran up the stairs, down the walkway and before we were even close, the last guy jumped. Back in the car we went and after many stops to cornfields, a river we couldn’t swim in and a small very Chrisitian like town, we ended up in Jackson, Wyoming. It was thick with tourists being a hot weekend in the middle of summer. Food was the only thing on our minds and the collective decision was Mexican food. We ordered plates, Daylon got Enchiladas, Saul got Tacos, and I got a 3 inch 20 dollar burrito that left me sour for the rest of the night. We all still had a good laugh. We hauled ass to Butte Montana for the night. Slammed our luggage on the bed of another Motel 6, freshened up and made sure to head out to whatever bars they had to offer. Needless to say, we got back to the hotel around 1am, happy as clams.

Eggs, Sausage, Biscuits n Gravy Continental Breakfast- Motel 6 Idaho Falls, Idaho

Dead Mouse- Idaho Falls, Idaho July 28th 2023

Fleeting Bird- Idaho Falls, Idaho July 28th 2023

Saul- Lake Walcott, Idaho July 28th 2023

Abandoned Car- Pocatello, Idaho July 28th 2023

Day and Saul, I-15N, Montana July 28th 2023

July 29th 2023

Engrossed Ford Taurus behind the Lake in Montana

Abandoned Buick behind the Lake in Montana

July 30th, 2023

Oil Spill, Ford minus bumper -Eureka, Montana

Brick, Hole in Brick, Fire Hydrant - Eureka, Montana

Buck Head + Modern Light Fixtures - Sparwood, B.C.

July 31st, 2023

Big Beef Breakfast Sandwich- Alberta, Canada

Waldo and the Lake- Emerald Lake, B.C. Canada

August 1st, 2023

Don and his Clicker- Fort Macleod, Alberta, Canada

Don's Wall- Fort Macleod, Alberta, Canada

Don cutting Saul's hair- Fort Macleod, Alberta, Canada

Saul Napping- Two Medicine Lake, Montana

Bulldog Saloon Pisser 1- Whitefish, Montana

Bulldog Saloon Pisser 2- Whitefish, Montana

August 2nd, 2023

Daylon and the Geyser- Yellowstone, Wyoming

Daylon+Stick+Geyser- Yellowstone, Wyoming

August 3rd, 2023

Day Under The Engulfing Sky- Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah

Saul, The Sky and the Storm behind the Mountains- Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah