Ten Minutes.

Being a photographer, I’m privy to some of life’s most precious milestones.  I witness women transforming into Mothers, men into husbands, babies into children, teens into adults.  I celebrate the passing of school years, birthdays, anniversaries with perfect strangers who welcome me into their lives with open arms.  This job comes with a heavy sense of responsibility that I am well aware of, and I do my best to exceed the expectations that are laid out before me. 

I am lucky to be part of a tight knit group of ladies.  We’re all very different - we come from different parts of the country, our ages span a few decades, we’ve all lived wildly different lives and chosen different paths for ourselves.  We’ve settled into our little group with a snarky fabulosity that we all appreciate, giving us a safe place within each other.  Earlier this year, one of our own received devastating news about the love of her life.  We’ve rallied together to provide her with whatever we can, but you know how it goes : it’s never enough.

She came to Kentucky in May, and I hurried out to visit with her.  We stood together in a barn aisle and cried together - her heart aching because of the unknown, mine because I couldn’t fix it.  Life brought them here permanently over the summer and I promised her one thing : I would make photos of them when they got settled.  

I was on-call for a birth, so I was hesitant to schedule them.  My client ended up going postdates, so I checked in with her and asked her for more time.  She graciously gave it.  Then, on the morning of September 17th - it was gray and rainy and generally disgusting - she asked me to come.  I took the risk.  I headed the opposite direction of my notoriously-precipitous-third-time-Momma with a packed bag, unsure of what I would be able to do for them.

But together, we did it.  He wore a sweater that she knit for him.  We spent 10 wonderful minutes in their back yard, overlooking the rolling bluegrass that makes up their farm, in the spitty rain.  He was able to give her this wonderful gift, and I was able to be there for it.  Their love?  It is palpable - you can see it in the way that they look at one another, you can see it in their touch, their body language.  They needed little to no guidance from me.  And it was everything.

Today, I am thankful for that rainy September Saturday.  I am thankful for the lives that I am able to be a part of.  I am thankful for the people that allow me to step in and make something beautiful for them in a time where life is so gray and dreary.  Kim and Derrick, I am thankful for you.

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