Many years ago, I went to a presentation about scrapbooking and journal-keeping given by a passionate historian. Sure, she said to document major social events, but remember to snap pictures of your everyday environment.

She mentioned something that got me thinking: Ever since Route 66 sprung into being, it’s been incessantly photographed. Despite being supplanted by interstates, people still take pictures of the Mother Road.

Yet, the historian wondered, who is photographically documenting the interstate highways?

She suggested that we spend at least a day each year going around our neighborhoods, taking black-and-white photos of things that seem as ordinary as dirt. Why use black and white film? Its negatives are archival and, unlike digital images, will not depend on possibly ephemeral technology.

It’s even a good idea to archive digital images on film.

The historian had some specific stuff she thought we should capture. You’ll probably chuckle — I know I did — but she was all about telephone poles, transformers, transmission lines, you name it.

But when you think about it, this makes sense. These things are mundane and ordinary, but they’ll be as rare as a dial-up modem one day. Tech moves fast, and soon all those cables and poles will be tucked away out of sight, underground. When that day comes, a humble photo collection becomes a precious historical record.

The point hit home for me in the early 1990s when I was living in Denver. I decided to photograph the soon-to-be-closed Stapleton International Airport. Man, did I pick a day to do it — it was snowing cats and dogs. But I’m glad I braved the cold. The snowfall added a certain magic to my photos. They aren’t just pictures anymore. They’re slices of history, proof that an era once existed.

Regular stuff only stays boring for a while because once something’s gone, it’s history.