I just spent three days back in my hometown of Grand Marais, Michigan. After a year with a lot of loss and most recently the passing of my father, it felt grounding to return and tend to my roots. Growing up, I was so eager to leave the place I grew up. Yet now, there are moments when I ache to return—to wade into the cold water, wander the dirt roads, and feel the warmth of the sun on my back.
Photography has always been how I process this human experience. I can’t fully explain it, but it’s been with me since childhood. At 13, I would save the few dollars I earned picking up sticks in our yard or shoveling snow and spend them on a $5 disposable Kodak camera during our family grocery trips to Marquette. That small act of preservation—capturing what I saw and felt—still echoes through my work today.
This trip reconnected me to those younger parts of myself, the ones who found comfort in the water, the dunes, and the sun. These landscapes are more than just scenery—they hold memory, healing, and belonging.
As I share these photos, I hope they serve as a reminder of the beauty and fragility of nature. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the Great Lakes (HOMES, as we learned in school), and all the wild spaces that sustain us deserve to be protected. They are more than backdrops to our lives—they are vital, living parts of our stories. Conserving them ensures future generations will also find the same peace, wonder, and connection that I continue to find each time I return home.
