a woman stands in a mountain wilderness

Formerly a musician and educator (25+ years), soldier (8 years, SSG), combatives instructor, stage photographer, portrait photographer, stage manager, word processor, at-home caregiver, truck stop hotel housekeeper, front desk clerk, bus girl, corn husker and bean walker, among other things—all work that taught me important lessons about nature and humanity—I grew up in the rural Midwest, land of big rivers and tall corn, exploring the forested loess hills, sitting in trees reading and writing poems in my free time. I feel at home in the most remote and quiet places where the more-than-human outnumber the human.

My love for the mountains developed from a family trip to Colorado in the summer of 1990. Since then I've spent countless hours in mountain wilderness in a wide range of terrain and weather conditions. On most occasions you’ll find my beloved dogs at my side. I enjoy guiding others in their first deep wilderness experiences and sharing, through images and words, the beauty and peace of wild places with those who are unable to experience it firsthand.

In 2016, I stepped off on The Colorado Trail just west of Denver with my dog, Mani, and walked sections of the trail with her every season until 2019. That year, just a few weeks before Christmas, I lost Mani to Lymphosarcoma. Shortly after, I adopted Japhy, and we picked up the trail where Mani and I had left off. I now have two dogs, with the addition of Hazel to the pack in 2020, both of whom I’ve trained for wilderness backpacking. On August 20, 2023, we finished The Colorado Trail, seven years after Mani and I started it, and I’m currently working on a photo memoir about the experience.

After completing The Colorado Trail in August 2023 I recommitted to living life on my own terms, circling back to what's always been most important to me: wild places, creative expression, and dogs. I made a goal to buy an old van and hit the road full time by the time I turn fifty and ended up reaching that goal sooner than anticipated. The dogs and I have lived full time in a 1995 Dodge Ram B2500 named Guinevere since March 2024, and I'm embracing online platforms like YouTube and Patreon to create a meaningful life doing what I love.

A worldwide pandemic may have been the driving force behind my shift from full time portrait work to nature work, but it feels right. While the challenges of trying to make a living as an independent artist and freelance creative are very real, my soul is at peace and my heart is full.

...wilderness areas have continued to provide me with the most spiritually, emotionally, and physically significant experiences of my life.

My life, for as long as I can remember, has been deeply rooted in the outdoors. I owe this to my father, who for much of my young life was active in conservation efforts in the state of Missouri. Because of him, I had a very strong understanding of the interconnectedness of the more-than-human world long before I knew the buzzwords that others were using to talk about it in books and poems and academic research. The first time I read a deep ecology essay by Gary Snyder was like returning home but with different words to describe it. Since my childhood, wilderness areas have continued to provide me with the most spiritually, emotionally, and physically significant experiences of my life. Now inching ever closer to half a century on this earth, I’m just beginning to truly grasp the role my upbringing and connection to nature played in developing my creativity and resilience. Without the wild places of my youth, I would never have dared to imagine, to grow, to persist, or to love quite so deeply. While all of this exists beyond my identity as an artist, I have found solace and sustenance in making this my work. It is an expression of my gratitude for these places and experiences, and an urgent plea to others to take responsibility in honoring and protecting wilderness and its inhabitants for future generations.
Person hiking with a backpack and two dogs in a mountainous landscape with snow patches.
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