I carry a relatively large camera, and often in places where people aren’t used to seeing one. As I walked through a new housing development on Omaha’s outskirts, a man standing on a lawn with his family asked me, “what are you taking pictures of?” Maybe he was a little creeped out by me.

“The housing development over there,” I replied, waving toward a new development, which was largely just a bulldozed field.

“For fun?” he asked quizzically. “Yeah,” I replied.

“Yeah,” I replied.

Up until the last part, none of that was a lie. Photographing sprawl on Omaha’s outskirts isn’t particularly fun. It’s mostly frustrating and a lot of work. The subject matter is depressing. It requires a lot of driving around and a lot of fairly uninteresting views before any pay off. Speaking of that part, I don’t get paid for any of this. Yet, I keep going out.

In truth, I’ve never found photography particularly fun. Any of it. And this is probably the activity in which I am most passionate about. What gives? I do find it rewarding and exceedingly challenging. Most importantly, I don’t have choice in the matter. I have to do it. The chase for that elusive frame that can tell an engaging story is a truly addictive one. And it gets worse the more I do it.

Photographing the sprawl on Omaha’s outskirts feels like an important project and something I can’t turn my back to. I don’t anticipate my work will sway any hearts and minds about land use. I’m a pretty terrible self-promoter, so people probably won’t even see these images. But I want there to be some sort of record. For the people that do run across them, I want people to think about these landscapes: what they were; what they’re becoming. What they will be. Who occupies the land? Who gets to decide what happens to landscapes and their inhabitants? Not fun stuff, by any means, for myself or the viewer.

That all being said, I present these images from west Omaha.

Avenue One is a new development in West Omaha that promises to cover 50 square blocks of old farmland with a variety of housing and commercial space. Signs advertising this new development adorn trailers along Dodge near 192nd Street atop its eventual home. A girl the size of a billboard seems to be broadcasting the possibilities. Bring your new family to a new home.

The signs got me thinking. Who will inhabit these new converted farmlands on the edge of town? Who are the intended residents? Who won’t be living here? And further: What does the loss of farmland—which was prairie before that—mean? What does it mean that existing homes in the older core of Omaha are decaying while we build new ones further out?

With the addition of this photo, I’m also retiring the old working title for my Omaha work Omaha Gothic. It never really fit. For now, I’m renaming this series Facades.