Jaclyn and Alex

Last Autumn, Jaclyn began noticing the light - when the leaves ignited with color, what time the golden hour began, and which day would likely host the perfect scene for her wedding.  Everything revolved around what would be most beautiful - and I was afforded the rare pleasure of photographing my old friend on her golden day at this the golden hour. 

Not only has she been my friend since freshman year of college - which now counts her as one of my long-standing friendships - she is currently my housemate, along with her now husband.  Little did she know that the freshman year floor-mate who ate crackers on her dorm room bed - getting crumbs everywhere - would stick around this long.  Little did I know, one of the few people on our floor to have a car and never offer me rides anywhere, would become more of the most generous, caring, and hospitable people I know.  Here we are: 12 years and counting, dozens of wine dates, countless conversations, and thousands of moments shared.  I am so thankful for all of the laughs, food, cocktails, and quality times shared that have gotten us both through so many ups and downs. 

As for Jaclyn and Alex, well, they've known each other even longer - age sixteen - and here they are today.  They are two people who - if they had truly had it their way - would've preferred to quietly sign marriage papers and have a small dinner with family and friends afterwards.  Yet, here they are, intentionally sharing this moment with their closest friends and family.  Many people idealize having a simple wedding, but the reality is that it can be very challenging to pull off - with everyone suggesting what you "need" to do and who you "need" to invite.  I think these two pulled it off though, in the only way that I know the-girl-who-collected-recyclables-in-order-to-pay-for-college-books would know how to do. 

Cheers to Jaclyn and Alex! 

I like [the United States of] America.

From my float down the Deschutes River

Identity is often thought of as this fixed sort of thing and I also find that my identity shifts depending on location.  Being on the West Coast, I cling to traits of an East Coaster - relishing the word "wicked" and venting about the humidity and unfriendly, abrupt, and grumpy people over there.  When in Scotland, I become an American - searching for tasty beer, using "awesome", and defending aspects of America's worldview and culture to people.  When in developing countries, I become a Westerner - mindful of individualism, efficiency, and competition.  When on the East Coast, I either become a New Englander in New Jersey or a Jersey-er in New England or a Northerner in the South. 

Being an American boils down to these instances at times (for me): 

I ask for coffee "to go" when abroad and walk with it in hand, down the street - and notice that I am the only person on the street doing this - and I feel, for some strange reason, satisfied. 

I pass through Times Square and feel this energy in the air - this vibe that I attribute to an "immigrant energy" or "anything is possible" still alive from all the people who first entered through there, and still do.  As I look around the streets, I can't get over the incredibly diverse amount of people walking alongside yellow taxis and beneath hovering skyscrapers.  

On the red dirt road of Uganda, I listen to my big white original Ipod while walking to my homestay.  I can see tall shadows in the dirt of a couple boys following behind me.  I stop and let them listen and they are beside themselves - squealing and laughing until they run away. 

I buy a Vitamin Water and a pack of gum.  I don't know what exactly is in a Vitamin Water but revel in the creative description on the label and the idea that they're created for different moods and personalities.  I chew this gum that I know will last longer than any other international kind. 

***

I'd like to say I feel proud to be an American (and I do), but at the same time, I didn't do anything to become it.  I feel grateful to have grown up here.  Despite traveling other places - and really loving life there, too - there's something about coming home.  I like my life here and I also struggle with it sometimes - the consumerism, white noise, stale air of shopping centers, not to mention a variety of other "issues".  I get angry with Americans and I love them, too.  When I see a person dressed and painted with red, white, and blue, waving that American flag and drinking a beer, I think, "Yep - I get that!"  

Cheers to this big ole mess of a crazy country. 

And Then I wrote a "Rap"

"Haha, look at your pants!" laughed one of the wilderness girls as I appeared out of the darkness, through the tall grasses, and marshes of the meadow.  I walked towards her with my "cookie monster" jacket on (a blue fluffy jacket), headlamp beaming out of my forehead, and dressed in red, white, green plaid pajama pants.  Navigating a tornado of a crisis at the moment, I had forgotten that yes - I was romping around a meadow, in the dark, still wearing my pajama pants.  

"I was all nice and cozy in my sleeping bag, staring up at the stars, when I heard the sound of footsteps running on the road and saw a head lamp go by."

That signaled a turn of a events. 

"Unconventional" is one way I could describe moments out in the field.  After that: "raw", "fragile", "rich, & "magical".  Hearing myself explain the situations we find ourselves in, I can find myself laughing, bewildered, fearful and at times wanting to let all the thoughts in my head explode for just a second.  There are extremes of joy and fear we encounter; vulnerable moments we traverse together.  Pajama pants reflect the immediacy of our attention and concern at times.  

Recently, the same client mentioned above challenged us to write a rap about "Therapy".  I don't listen to rap very often, but above is one of my favorite rap songs (perhaps a softer rap).  Thank you, Frank Ocean.  The live version is a bit different from his recorded one, but I like it because you can see his emotion.  (I think this one also relates to some of the clients we work with in the field.) 

She said that we would probably write "Therapy is blah blah blah".  I can't say mine is a true "rap" - because I don't have a beat yet (for one).  I think it's a mixture of myself, inspired by this girl, and thoughtful of therapy. Here's what I came up with:

My face smiled

inside of my mother

for nine months I grew

pushing, squirming, kicking -

moving - rearranging herself

making room for myself

pain connected ourselves -

until the final cut.

I breathed as my mother’s face lit up,

sparked by my cry -

I wish I could remember.

Up we grew -

my parents did, too -

they watched me walk

heard me talk

while my feelings hide

I laugh and I cry -

looking for a place for me

to cut myself free

and decide who I am

and am not meant to be.

I’ve built wall after wall

keeping them out there

as I stay close to me

I want to get out -

I can’t see

why I’m here

no one seems to care

wish I could remember -

what good is it to share

I feel pain I hope means I’ll be born

into something new

I’m trapped in this body, and -

I don’t know what to do.

I want someone to listen -

to listen and hear -

to the words

I’ve got to say

I just want to say

be tied to you again -

let me breathe.

Often we talk about how sharing vulnerable moments in the field is an honor.  It was an honor to hear this girl's rap; it was amazing.  And when I read my own, I felt honored that she liked it and sat cross-legged, tying up a blade of grass, seeming comtemplative.  I thought about how music, poetry, art - these creative movements - can communicate more deeply than words in a normal sentence seem to be able to do. 

The-rap-y.

The Field

Around Bend

Meet Bend.  It's a nice lil place. 

Hissing of the Summer Lawn

Hey, Elliot. 

Backyarding

Mountains, Bikes, Trees: Check check check

Yes.

Mmmhm.  Except for pets. 

Des Chutes

The Town of Colorful Chairs

Aqua Chair

Courage!

Green Chairs

Gray and Green Chairs

Tiny House - maybe?  And Kayak. 

Swing Chair

Colorful Porch

Wooden Bridge

Hammock by the River

SUP

Back Streets Back

Biking

Hi hi

Rock Down To

Ander!

Such a Good Idea

Seedling

Health!

Macha & Sarah

Art + Books = Good Day

By the Ford

Sunglasses

When You Extend the Bendy Straw, You Don't Need to Even Bend Your Neck to Have a Sip (of Kombucha)

Cheers to good, sunny, adventurous days!

Ponder-osa

Ponderosa Pines
grow above our steps
from grass to grass.

Thin giants with
circles of years -
rings we'll never
live up to.

Mystified as to
how humans cry,
these trees remain
stumped.

Five songs blasted from a Jeep,
while wilderness girls lay
staring up at
memories in the sky
from sounds and words -

the feelings come out.

The trees,
confused by novels
about this life
and feeling -
anything -
grow roots -

while we get to feel it all.

Sunrise, Sunset

Sunset at Pilot Butte

"Of course she glared at Maytree that fall when he came by barefoot at daybreak and asked if she would like to see his dune shack.  Behind his head, color spread up sky.  In the act of diving, Orion, rigid, shoulder-first like a man falling, began to dissolve.  Then even the zenith and western stars paled and gulls squawked."  - Annie Dillard, The Maytrees, p. 11

I love that description of the Sunrise.  I think it even beats my drawing of the sunset... maybe.

:)