I found myself lost. I took a turn too soon and could not find my way out again. All roads seemed to circle around back into themselves. This place seemed a little out of time with front doors left open and bikes left prone in the middle of yards, things no longer seen in most city neighborhoods. These yards looked and felt like the yards of my childhood. I started to drive with purpose, looking at the streets, finding it to be a large contained area that was perfect for my work. Here was suburbia before the change to houses with big footprints without much in the way of yards. The neighborhood, I later learned, had been built for WWII veterans and their families. Modest brick homes with unassuming yards and driveways, a park with trees and a playground about center. Here too, were the ubiquitous streets, Elm St, Maple St, Chestnut St., names that occur in many small US towns and suburban neighborhoods. I eventually found my way out that first day, but I came back for two years, repeatedly, to photograph. As I walked around I was stopped several times and asked, “How do I get out of here?”. “There’s, only one way, and that’s the way you came in.” was always my reply.