In my travels around Pioneer, I found many burning bins. This made me think of the morbid question: Are the pioneers all dead? I took a couple of photos of the insides of the burning bins and saw the moon. This made me think that maybe they went to the moon – a metaphor for them passing on. The poetry that accompanies the images were transformed from being just a narrative of the pioneers passing away to my reflections on the difficulties in connecting with the pioneers. In the poem, there is a progression from the ease of communication between kids and grandparents, to inexplicably losing it in our youth, to its complete loss when our grandparents have passed on – perhaps to the moon.