strawberries for dessert.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about strawberries, canceled flights, and seizing moments. Let me explain.

I'll never forget the night last month I sent my mom a text to let her know I had never made it back to Durango at the end of my almost two week trip in Montana. The plane home had mechanical issues so instead of being curled up in my bed with my cuddly dog, I was stuck in Billings with my best friend, her boyfriend, aunt, and hilarious (but very forgetful) grandmother. My mom replied, very confused, with a text that said "So...you're not upset?" This tickled me because in contrast to what could of been a shitty day I actually ended up having the most delightful evening. It's partly due to my new outlook on life this year, and partly because Montana has a happy-go-lucky effect on me. I find that in Montana it's kind of impossible to be in a bad mood. It's especially impossible when burgers are on the grill, the sky is promising a warm spring rain, wine is in hand, and for desert there are Strawberries. But not just any strawberries. THESE strawberries...

It was on this night last month that I discovered the delicious simplicity of strawberries dipped in Mexican sour cream then sprinkled with dark brown sugar. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Actually I've been thinking about it every. day. since. I've also been thinking about how the cloudy diffused light looked that evening through my camera, and how my cheeks hurt from laughing so much, and so hard. I keep thinking about Claire's grandma asking us to turn the volume on the T.V. up so many times while watching "The Voice" that I thought the glass picture frames were going to shatter. Or how I played along with her every five minutes when she (grandma) forgot who I was and introduced herself again, and again, and again.... Or the way the thunder rumbled as we drank wine, chopped veggies, fixed screen doors, and played crossword puzzles. How much of a great, memorable meal has to even do with the food? Someone asked me recently about the best meal I'd ever had. I'm still not sure but, that night, with it's burgers, frozen french fries, salad, and strawberries, may just be the best meal I've had in a while. Clearly the best meals aren't always what you eat, but who you eat them with. Something tells me I will forever be thankful for that canceled flight home.


what was.

I'm not sure why, but as I sit here in my cotton summer dress, skin still warm from this morning's farmer's market, all I can think about is winter. The mountain sides surrounding this little town are emerald green with new growth and the summer festivities are in full swing. Patios are open, burgers are grilling, and lawn mowers are trimming. My head lately is swirling with ideas, to-do lists, social agenda's, and the energy that new season's bring. Somehow though, in the midst of all the excitement, my mind lands on winter and the quiet that it holds. I yearn for the stillness of a January night, the warmth of bourbon on my throat, the slowness associated with bread rising, snow gently accumulating, soup simmering, and thoughts that are able to marinate quietly in the back of my mind, never rushed into fruition.

Don't get me wrong; I'm thankful for the sunshine. I just felt the need to officially acknowledge what was, before I could fully dive into what has become. This winter was kind to me. And for this, I am grateful.


oatmeal for dinner.

It hit me while I was at the grocery store this evening, buying ingredients for some sort of made-up vegetarian burrito thing, that I didn't want to cook dinner. I didn't want to talk to one more person, write one more email, or think about one more photo related thing I needed to cross off of my gigantic list. At that point I didn't care that I had an aging avocado, lime, jalapeno pepper and bag of cilantro at home that desperately needed to be wrapped into a tortilla with black beans and cheese before it went bad. It occurred to me at that moment that lately I have said "yes" way, way too much. I have slept way, way too little. I have stretched myself far, far too thin.

So what did I do? I ate half a banana, two tortillas, and a hunk of cheese on the way home from the grocery store. I didn't make burritos and instead made lists. I made lists of everything on my brain right now, which filled up several sheets of paper. Then I did laundry, talked to two dear, far-away friends, and ate a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and sea salt. I didn't even bother to add nuts, or fruit, or butter. (And if you know me, I always, always add butter.) It was a weird day and an even weirder dinner. But that bowl of oatmeal was full of simplicity and comfort, the two things I had craved all day.


This is how I ended my day yesterday:
good friends
good views
good beer

I am blessed.



My mom (hi Mom!) knows that she's my #1 - always has been, always will be. So I think she's pretty comfortable by now knowing that I have another "mom" (aka "Missoula Mom" or "Mama Carol") that I adopted 3 years ago while living in Montana. I say I adopted her, but I think she adopted me. She said I was the daughter she never had. I lived in her home, cried on her shoulder, and even shared my bed with her dog. I'll never forget the time she loaned me money when the brakes on my car needed mending, or the time she first told me she loved me, the way family does. So when she asked me to come to her wedding last month, as both her "daughter" and her photographer, I obviously couldn't say no. Of course I'd be there. I thought it was silly she even felt the need to ask. 

So I went.
I shared the house with family, slept in the basement on an air mattress, and I went to the wedding both as a guest, and as the photographer. But it wasn't until the day after the wedding that I realized we had no proof I'd even been there. I hadn't seen her in three years. Our reunion was a big event, not to mention the marriage, but not one photo was proof that I was a part of it. Not one photo was proof that for the first time as the photographer I didn't wear black, but rather emerald green tights and a floral dress with boots. Not one photo was taken to prove that I had tears in my eyes during the ceremony, or that I danced, just once. Except this one:

I can't believe a month has already passed since this special day and I can't believe the only proof I have is the magic I created, behind the camera, not in front of it. But I wouldn't trade it for the world. I love you Carol! You made a beautiful bride.

Pictures coming soon! :)


This week marks the two year anniversary of "Everyday Sunday" and today is the day that it comes to an end.

I don't remember the exact moment or day it happened; I just know that four or five months ago the thought occurred to me to stop. As the idea washed over me I felt the way it must feel to truly betray a dear, dear friend. How could I do such a thing? "Everyday Sunday" was a part of my photography and an even bigger part of me. It was what started as a personal project and became so, so much more. It was a weekly promise to myself and a way of photographing my life that felt magical, beautiful, and raw.

I decided to let this thought sit in my gut for a while. I wanted to leave it there and see how it felt. I was surprised to discover just how okay I was with putting it to an end. It was obviously the natural thing to do and I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't bring me great relief. The creativity, the inspiration, and even picking up my camera - it all felt forced. I just realized one day that if I felt it, then my readers were feeling it too. I also realized all good things must eventually come to an end.

I'd also be lying if I didn't say that some of my absolute favorite blogs were shared on Sundays. And although Sundays may look different around here from now on, the idea of "Everyday Sunday" won't ever die. I'll still post too many pictures of my dog, my feet, and the food I eat. I still want you to know who I am, what my weaknesses are, and what my life looks like in between being a professional photographer. I still (and always will) find life in the in-between some of the most enchanting. I have new ideas that excite me though: new projects that I can't wait to start working on and sharing with you. In the mean time, I want to leave you with an extremely LONG list of Sundays that I adore. Which Sunday's do you remember? What were your favorites, and why?
(please click the links below to reminisce)

Words can't describe how it feels to let go of something like this. Words also can't describe just how grateful I am to all of you that read what I write each week. And to this I say thank you. No really, thank you. I hope you stick around.

"I see Sunday as kind of an excuse to revel in the importance of doing nothing, and doing it slowly."

Happy Sunday :)