Idaho’s Teton Valley is not the same today as when I first laid eyes on it nearly 30 years ago.

To be sure, it's still heavily agricultural, with tens of thousands of acres under production (barley, potatoes and hay are the big crops). Pastureland accounts for another 15,000-plus acres. And Tetonia (population in the neighborhood of 300) still has the look and feel of the old west.

But just over the Teton Range lies the wealthiest county in America: Teton County, Wyoming – where, in Jackson, the median price of a home is north of $2M and the current median listing price tops $3M. Jackson depends on a workforce that cannot afford to live there. This, in turn, has driven growth in surrounding counties, including the Teton Valley. Population in the valley has increased from roughly 5,000 when I first visited in the mid-1990s to nearly 13,000 today.

(Ironically, the same thing that occurred in Jackson is now underway in the Teton Valley, with housing becoming more and more expensive.)

All this is a long-winded way of saying that the valley is changing: both in the way it looks as well as its character. To be sure, Driggs and Victor remain one-stoplight-towns, but the corporate jet traffic in and out of Driggs-Reed airport is a hint that this is not exactly a whistle-stop on the road to nowhere.

Miles away from the centers of town, where you'd once find nothing but acre after acre of wide open space, in many places now stand homes and/or building lots. Areas that had clean sightlines to the Tetons are now dotted with houses.

It used to be easy to drive around the valley and find all sorts of old barns, many of which probably dated back to some of the area's earliest farms and ranches. I was especially drawn to those that were in the twilight of their existence, having been relentlessly attacked over many years by the forces of nature. During those first visits I spent quite a bit of time photographing barns with weathered siding, sagging roofs, and disintegrating rafters.

Most of those have since disappeared.

Not long after I moved here I decided to pick up where I left off: searching for interesting structures that are souvenirs from another time. I've traveled many a dusty country road and expanded my search area to include both Swan Valley and portions of Fremont County (each in Idaho).

While it's not often anymore that I discover an abandoned house or old barn, I don't consider these drives to be empty exercises: they're treasure hunts. Getting a "little bit lost" - intentionally - is a great way to become better acquainted with an area.

If I do find something interesting, I respect private property. No trespassing. Instead, I try to figure out how to make a photograph whatever the restrictions may be.

Two old farmhouses in Swan Valley, both now gone, were favorites. Because neither one was far off the beaten path between my house and Grand Teton National Park, I was able to check on them regularly. I captured their decline over time with my camera.

Often, I wonder about the people who lived in homes like these or who built the barns and potato cellars and grain elevators now in decline.

These structures are fleeting: still here but only barely. Their days are numbered. Once they fall, they're gone for good. Each one will take with it a little bit of history.

This is one of the two farmhouses in Swan Valley I mentioned. Such a gem! Each spring I'd wonder whether it had survived the winter. Year by year it would sag a little more, until its condition became so precarious I wondered how it was possible that it remained standing. It seemed as if the vines growing up and over the structure were the only thing holding it up.

Though I'd made a handful of photos of the house over the years, this early summer evening was something special. I was on my way back to Idaho Falls from the park, where fantastic monsoonal activity had been marching across Jackson Hole much of the day. Eyeing the sky as I came over the Pine Creek Pass, I thought of the little farmhouse. It was getting close to sunset. Could I make it there before the sun disappeared? Would the stormy sky hold up?

Yes and yes.

This is the final photograph I made of the house in decline. I see a lot in this image: first, the culmination of what heavy weather - like the storm lurking overhead - has done to the place. Then there is a dialogue of sorts. The sky is sending a message: it is big and it is threatening. In the face of that, though, there is defiance. The plucky little farmhouse is battered and bruised but still it stands, refusing to give up. It can see the sun shining behind the storm clouds. It'll hang on and continue to fight the good fight.

The structure lasted through that autumn, but not the winter.

Though inevitable, it was disappointing when it collapsed.

The old Pillsbury grain elevator outside of Ashton, Idaho sits abandoned along the roadside. Its windows are broken and it's rough around the edges, but at least from outward appearances it's in much better shape than a lot of its compatriots.

Until this particular afternoon, I'd never photographed it. This time, though, on a day with quite a bit of monsoonal activity in the area, I sought it out. Processing in black and white gave me what I wanted: it feels a little bit ominous, with a sense of isolation.

To my eye, stormy skies often pair well with these abandoned buildings.

I got lucky with the image at the top of the post, made in the Teton Valley. I'd been storm chasing that afternoon without any success. Because I was in the general vicinity, I went by simply to check on this structure. By coincidence, I ended up being in the right place at the right time as heavy weather passed over the Teton Range (and over me, too - but I was able to make the photograph before things got a bit too rough).

I'll close with a schoolhouse I found last summer outside of Ashton, Idaho (Farnum Schoolhouse, 1909). I'm still working on this location. I check on the place when I'm in the area and am hoping I'll be able to do something with it at some point. The unsettled conditions on this August afternoon were promising, but the lightning got too close so I had to bail out. You can see the Teton Peaks in the distance, with nice monsoonal clouds towering over them.

Stay tuned.