The Western Lands

I’ve been on the road a while. After a decade away, I went home to the American West, wanting to see it all at once. During the past year, I spent time in Marfa, Albuquerque, Las Vegas, Austin, and Reno, before landing in Portland, Oregon.

Of these cities, the most vivid was Las Vegas. Mornings there, I drove my daughter to preschool, then drove myself to work. If I paid even a little attention to the streetscape—which I often did, because at this time I was deeply unhappy and children moving from one unstable housing arrangement to another. These folks carried their belongings in trash bags, Kmart backpacks, and shopping bags from big-box stores. The volume of stuff, balanced on backs and shopping carts and stroller rigs, was not much more than a midcentury over-packer might’ve brought on a glamorous Vegas vacation, yet I sensed I was seeing everything they owned.