ref·​uge ˈref-ˌyüj 1 : shelter or protection from danger or distress

I grew up in Lawton, Oklahoma near the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge. As a kid, there were several family and field trips over the years, and the space always felt somewhat mythical. Longhorn and bison roaming the fields and streets, mountains here and there in our flat midwestern landscape. Miles of trails to get lost exploring, making the town seems hours away instead of the actual minutes. And then ascending Mount Scott to see everything spanned out below, framing any fears of worries as something so easily conquerable.

Picking a favorite lens is like picking a favorite child - I love them equally for different reasons. But I suppose if someone forced me to throw away every lens and just keep one, I would choose my macro. It makes me embrace what made me fall in love with photography to begin with - noticing the details that I might otherwise overlook.

One morning, hazy light shone through the breakfast table window and I couldn’t ignore it. It was just one picture, but then the light called again later that week. Then it became a daily ritual, me lying in the field behind our house in every element and season, waiting out the night sky until that little hint of orange hit the horizon.

The best part about bird photography is the hunt. It’s the perfect combination of predictability and pursuit. Most birds can be pinpointed to a general location (with intel from other birders, free bird apps, and general bird habits) but that doesn’t mean the birds are right there waiting in plain site. Once you arrive, it’s a game of being very still and attentive. You’re watching for a flutter, listening for a tweet, praying for a new bird even as you are simply hoping the one you hear singing decides to take flight. It’s an exercise that makes you more patient, more attentive to detail and, above all, appreciative of beauty and diversity. I tell my kids this is my Pokemon experience - gotta catch ‘em all, but it will never happen, so I take pleasure in the never-ending hunt for that new capture.

I once submitted a lifestyle portfolio for review and one of the comments was, “you have so many faceless images of your subjects, most from behind them.” Well, as a mom, that’s usually where I am, watching from behind as my kids move through their lives. The comment was meant as negative critique, but I took it as my reality and ran with it, photographing my life from where I stand.

In my puddle stories, I can get lost in the water, focusing on the love instead of fear of loss, on the now instead of the fleeting, on the awe and imagination instead of the the cynicism.