This morning we drove over to the house that my parents lived in when I was born. We were killing time before an appointment to renew our passports. As we ambled by my dad said that it looked exactly the same now, more than 25 years later. Nary a change to be found, as if it was just preserved there forever, locked in time. Framed by the car window, you could almost imagine it being a photograph.

As long as you’re diligent about backing up (and backing up and backing up) your files, there’s no real reason that you won’t have all your digital photos available to you and your children decades from now. But nothing really replaces being able to carry a memory in your hand.

To that end, I recently introduced this bad boy to my camera collection: an instant film camera. In terms of operation, it’s about as easy as it can get. There are very limited settings, most of it is automatic, so all you really have to devote your attention to is moment, composition, setting. All the core elements of making a photograph. Pop the shutter, pull out the film, and minutes later, voila, your handheld moment.

This past Saturday I returned to my old haunts and photographed some of the delicious Colorado color offered up each fall. There’s a definite old-timey feel to the resulting images, which I love. (What I have scanned and posted here is the true size of the film.)

 (Can you tell what’s going on in the bottom-most left image? Taking guesses now.)

There’s a certain amount of trial and error associated with film photography of any kind, but I’m pretty excited to usher this little fellow into my arsenal.

I found a little silver jewelry box to contain the photos.  It’s sitting on top of my grandmother’s old desk, in my little studio apartment, in Denver, Colo.