Fantasy Farm, Don Valley
I photographed this from across the street — an outsider to the gathering, watching from public ground.
An old buggy rests under the shed, sheltered where the people are not. Above it, the sign makes its claim: FANTASY FARM. On the left, four guests in formal dress stand in conversation, faces blurred. They would know themselves here; no one else would.
What I saw was antiquity and modernity in one frame — a cart and a shed holding their ground while a new occasion passed at the edge of it. The shed shelters the buggy. The guests stand apart. The sign names the place, not the people.
I hesitated over this image, then looked again. Nobody in it is diminished. It’s just a moment I wasn’t part of, kept honestly.
