Living in Wyoming means waking up surrounded by the rhythm of the wild. Every season paints a different story — one written by God’s hand through the animals that share this land with us. As a wildlife photographer, I’ve learned that peace often comes not in the silence of the wilderness, but in the heartbeat of His creation — right outside my own home.
One of the greatest blessings of living in Wyoming is sharing this land with the wild. Out here, nature isn’t something you visit — it’s part of your everyday life. It breathes around you, wanders through your yard, and reminds you that we’re guests in something far greater than ourselves.
Depending on where you live, your “neighbors” might look a little different. In the town of Pinedale, moose often roam between cabins and creeks, tall and gentle like shadows moving through the willows. But just outside of town, where my husband and I live, our regular visitors are pronghorn and deer — wild, watchful, and beautifully free.
Each season brings a different rhythm. In spring, the pronghorn gather near the bottom of our neighborhood. That’s where they choose to bring new life into the world. Every year, the whole neighborhood quietly waits and watches for them — it’s almost like a shared secret, a sense of reverence in the air.
This year, I was blessed to photograph a pair of newborn pronghorn fawns — barely a week old, still wobbly, yet already filled with energy. Watching them get the zoomies for the first time melted my heart. I couldn’t believe how fast they were! It’s no wonder pronghorn are the second-fastest land mammals in the world.
But photographing them isn’t easy. Their mothers are fiercely protective — and they have every reason to be. The moms form what I like to call a “sisterhood,” caring for one another’s young as if they were their own. It’s beautiful to witness. I’ve even been snorted at a few times by some of the more protective mamas — their way of saying, “You’re close enough.”
By mid-summer, when the babies are a few months old, the herd relaxes a bit. In the golden light of the evenings, they often wander into our yard. I’ve watched them for three years now, and I’ve noticed they seem to follow a pattern — visiting the same houses, around the same time each day, as if keeping a quiet appointment with us. Watching the little ones play fills me with pure joy. Their innocence, their freedom — it’s a reminder of the simple beauty God placed in every living thing.
Then autumn arrives, and with it, the rut. The males appear, their energy wild and restless. They chase, posture, and fill the air with strange, echoing calls — something between a snort and an eerie laugh. It’s a season of chaos and power, of wild purpose. I often step outside and just listen. The sounds of the rut rolling through the valley feel like an ancient hymn — nature’s raw truth on full display.
By winter, the herds gather tighter, moving together through the snow until it grows too deep and they head south. Sometimes, I catch them sprinting through our neighborhood in small groups — a flash of tan and white against the cold. I swear, they recognize each other. Maybe even care for one another in ways we don’t fully understand.
Every year, I thank the Lord for these moments. For the chance to live among His creation, to see His care reflected in the eyes of a pronghorn mother, to feel His rhythm in the change of the seasons. These animals remind me that life is sacred — that even in the wildest, most ordinary corners of Wyoming, God’s hand is at work.
Every photo I take is more than an image — it’s a prayer of gratitude for the life around me. Wyoming’s wildlife continues to teach me patience, peace, and faith in the unseen. If you love the quiet wonder of creation and want to bring a piece of Wyoming’s heart into your home, visit my online store The Overland Diaries, or consider supporting my work by donating on Buy Me a Coffee. Each photograph is a reminder of God’s artistry — and the beauty waiting just beyond our doorstep.
