Little House on the Prairie

If you get the chance, there’s nothing more centering than hand-feeding kale to a litter of hungry baby rabbits.

We spent our last camping trip of the summer in a pretty atypical setting, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. Instead of picking a spot in a state park campground, we found a farm that was offering up space on their land to intrepid campers like ourselves. My friend Carolyn and I, with our respective significant others in tow, set out to spend the weekend on a hilltop overlooking fields of vegetables and edible flowers, with a soundtrack composed by the resident roosters and hens. And we befriended the aforementioned rabbits, which was certainly the highlight of our time at Willoway Farm.

Perched on the hilltop, our campfire eventually reduced itself to embers, and the last s’more of the season became a memory. We were left with dozens of constellations overhead—and the knowledge that it had been a wonderful summer, indeed.

Camera: Mamiya 6
Film: Kodak Portra 400

Call to Post

I took my first darkroom photography class in junior high, and my most memorable assignment was the one I shot at Arlington International Racecourse. Like many girls my age, I was horse crazy, and Arlington was the perfect place to bask in the glory of these powerful creatures.

After each race, the grooms rushed onto the track to cool down their charges: stripping off their saddles, walking them out. I stood watching from the grandstand, camera poised, as one groom threw a bucketful of water over the back of his horse. When I developed my film in class, my lightning-fast shutter speed had captured each drop of water suspended in midair.

That was the moment I fell in love with photography. So when I visited the racetrack with my family this summer, I couldn’t help but bring my camera—for old time’s sake.

Camera: Mamiya 6
Film: Kodak Tri-X 400

Best Coast

Our first hike along the Oregon coast took us straight up a mountain; upon reaching the top, we were rewarded with an unreal aerial view of our surroundings. On our way down, we encountered a few others ascending the switchbacks, and offered them smiles and words of encouragement.

One frail-looking hiker must have been in her seventies, and was moving slowly with the aid of a walking stick. “Almost there!” we said as we passed each other on the trail. “Oh, I know,” she said, kindly but dismissively. “I do this walk three times every week.”

I want to be her when I grow up.

Here’s what else I’ll remember from our drive up the coast:

  • Our neighbors in the Umpqua Lighthouse State Park campground, who donated their own firewood when our campfire was burning low.
  • The tidepools at Cape Perpetua, littered with inky mussels, purple urchins, green anemones, and pink sea stars.
  • The dozens of tsunami evacuation zones we drove in and out of.
  • The jewel-toned seaside motels and B&Bs in Yachats.
  • The seafood at Local Ocean in Newport—roasted garlic and Dungeness crab soup, lingcod tacos, pan-fried oysters.
  • The world’s smallest harbor at Depoe Bay.
  • Watching the sun set over the beach from our hotel balcony in Lincoln City, wrapping myself in blankets to ward off the chill.
  • The drive through miles of wheat fields to reach De Garde Brewing, where we enjoyed the best sour beers of our trip.
  • The marionberry cobbler ice cream at the Tillamook Cheese Factory, worth every bite despite the inherent tourist-trap nature of it all.
  • The dramatic sea stacks at every scenic viewpoint, from Cape Kiwanda to Three Arch Rocks to all the nameless others.
  • The insanely fresh halibut fish and chips at the Old Oregon Smokehouse.
  • The weather-beaten brown clapboard beach houses of Manzanita and Cannon Beach.

On our last day in Oregon, we woke to overcast skies and drizzling rain, and spent the morning in gritty Astoria before taking the scenic route back to Portland. We stopped at the Coffee Girl, which is propped precariously on a drive-in pier (!) in the Columbia River, next to the old Bumble Bee canning facility. We sipped our coffees and watched the fog roll in over the water, trying in vain not to think about our impending flight home.

Camera: Mamiya 6
Film: Kodak Portra 400, Tri-X 400

The Blue of Distance

“The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost. Light at the blue end of the spectrum does not travel the whole distance from the sun to us. It disperses among the molecules of the air, it scatters in water. Water is colorless, shallow water appears to be the color of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance.”

Camera: Mamiya 6
Film: Kodak Portra 400

A New Flame

The longest relationship of my life is the one I’ve had with running. And we’ve made incomparable memories, running and I.

Over the course of thirteen years, though, we’ve had our share of rough patches; there have been long stretches when heading out for a jog felt like more of a chore than a joy. But the moment I set foot on the Shevlin Loop Trail in Bend, Oregon, a flame was rekindled—and it’s been burning brightly ever since.

The sun was sinking as I set out, and almost immediately, the trail began climbing over burnished orange hills. My usual runs are conducted on city sidewalks in the Great Plains; this roller-coaster trail was studded with tree roots, and should’ve felt out of my league. But there was a creek rushing below, and evergreen-scented air all around. The more difficult the trail became, the more I craved the challenge.

For years now, I’ve been trying on cities like they were pairs of jeans, trying in vain to find one that fit. Bend was the first place to check almost every box, and I’ll be fervently awaiting the opportunity to return. And as I wait, I’ll be lacing up my shoes every morning in Chicago, running out the door with renewed vigor—and training for the day when I can make myself at home on the trails.

Camera: Mamiya 6
Film: Kodak Portra 400