I've been thinking a lot about legacy, and inheritance lately. I've also been thinking a lot about how family can be a joy and comfort, and also a thing of unrelenting frustration and resentment.
There's a thing that runs in my family. It's not a sickness, exactly, but as far as I can tell it has afflicted every male on my father's side. It's a compulsion, a need to collect. Some might even say to hoard. Because most of them have had full run of endless space and wives to kind of keep the worst in check, it's never quite turned into, "The stack of newspapers fell and killed him". But. It's a quiet, festering thing.
In my case, there's also this weird romanticism about the "self-reliant farmer" going on. The, "It's perfectly good" and, "I might need that some day". The "I made this rototiller work by cobbing together parts from the 4 other dead rototillers! Only took me a week of pondering and 6 hours of tinkering!"
When if it was a fairly new and cared for machine that broke, a part could be ordered, replaced, and the machine would likely run in far less time, and effort.
It drives me absolutely insane. The visual clutter has, at times, made me ill with anxiety. But it is what it is, and the person sees no problem with their behavior.

So I'll see art in it. I can't figure out how to caption these, I'll try to get back and do it later.