Another year has come to an end, and as I look back, my heart feels full. Not because every moment was easy—but because God met me in so many quiet, unexpected places. In cold Wyoming mornings. In long waits behind the lens. In moments when my legs were tired, but my spirit needed to keep going.
This year held both loss and new beginnings. Saying goodbye to Mosby early on was heavy, a reminder of how deeply we love and how deeply we grieve. Welcoming Levon into our family brought hope and tenderness, reminding me just how fragile and beautiful life truly is.
Out in the field, I often sat with that tension—grief and gratitude living side by side—while watching baby ground squirrels dart through the grass or locking eyes with the largest moose I’ve ever photographed.
As a wildlife photographer in Wyoming, there’s a side of this life most people don’t see. The waiting. The doubt. The wondering if anything will happen at all. But I’ve learned that this is where God does some of His best work—shaping patience, teaching trust, and reminding me that the real gift isn’t just the photo, but the experience itself.
This year, I witnessed brand new life right in my own neighborhood. Newborn pronghorn—baby antelope—running, playing, and discovering the world for the first time. Nothing brought me more joy than watching their energy and innocence unfold just steps from home.
I followed a sandhill crane family through the season, capturing moments I’ll always treasure. One of the adults had a curved bill, making it a truly unique bird and a reminder that creation is full of beautiful imperfections.
For the first time, I experienced the rhythm of nature in a way I never had before while photographing the sage grouse lek. There was something ancient and humbling about it—a sacred rhythm that reminded me I was standing in something far bigger than myself.
Our birdhouse was taken over by tree swallows, and watching their dedication as parents was nothing short of incredible. Seeing them encourage their babies to take that first flight felt like watching faith in motion—gentle, patient, and brave.
One unforgettable day, we flew above the Wind River Range thanks to Nathan. Seeing those mountains from above is something I’ll carry with me forever. It was a holy moment—quiet, vast, and awe-inspiring.
I visited Grand Teton National Park nine times this year. Nine times where God’s grandeur stopped me in my tracks. Moments that left me breathless, reminded me to slow down, and called me back to wonder.
Even my own yard surprised me. I discovered tiny ground squirrels living there—and of course, I photographed them. God’s creation doesn’t always wait in far-off places. Sometimes it shows up right outside your door.
The highlight of the year was witnessing the Northern Lights for the first time—two nights in a row. I was completely blown away. Standing under that sky felt like heaven brushing against earth, a reminder that God still paints in colors we can’t fully explain.
These moments are shared with you because I know you’re searching too—for meaning, for wonder, for a reason to step outside and breathe again. My hope is that these images and stories remind you that adventure doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable. And sometimes, it’s exactly what your soul needs.
We can’t wait to discover more of God’s creation this year.
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Every single bit helps—and every bit is deeply appreciated.
Thank you for walking this journey with us.
