The Season That Holds My Heart

Autumn has always been my season.

Maybe it’s because I married the love of my life, David, in October — when the air turns crisp enough to make you reach for a sweater and someone’s hand. Every year as the leaves begin to change, I feel our vows flicker through my mind like candlelight. Not on a specific date — but in a feeling. A knowing. A gratitude that I get to walk through another season beside him.

But even before that, I think my soul was wired for fall.

It’s the sound before anything else — the rustling shimmer of aspen leaves dancing like tiny brass bells in the breeze. It’s the smell of woodstove fires curling through the evening air, clinging to hair and flannel. It’s the labor and reward — gathering the last of the greenhouse harvest,drying, preparing. There is satisfaction in the work well done, in knowing we will taste summer’s sweetness all winter long.

Autumn is both celebration and preparation. 

Seeing Deeper Than the Color

People often talk about fall in broad strokes — “Look at those colors!” they say. And yes, I see the blaze of orange, the deep reds, the gold against storm-blue skies. And trust me — I took those sweeping landscape shots too. You can’t stand in front of the Tetons and not press the shutter.

But that wasn’t where my heart settled.

While most photographers would have stayed focused on the grand view, I felt something tugging at me to look closer. To go beyond the obvious. So after capturing the classic scene, I stepped away from the postcard and turned my lens downward. Inward.

I searched for what made the landscape feel alive — the texture, the tangle, the tapestry beneath it all. Because autumn isn’t just color. It’s movement. It’s emotion. It’s quiet fire.

That’s how Autumn Tapestry was born — not from the view, but from the feeling behind it.

Wildlife Knows What We Forget

Animals move differently this time of year. There’s a tug in the belly — urgency. Elk call into the dusky air. Bison graze harder, longer. Birds gather in restless congregations. Winter coats begin to thicken on backs that were sleek just weeks ago — a quiet armor growing day by day.

And yet, even in their preparation, there is joy.

On the warm afternoons between frosts, I still see the summer babies — kicking up their heels, bursting into little fits of zoomies as if the world has no edges. It gets me every time. There’s nothing like watching a calf or colt buck and spin with full body joy while its mother keeps grazing, utterly unfazed. It’s impossible not to smile.

The whole world hums with purpose — but not panic. They know winter is coming, and yet they don’t fear it. They prepare for it... and they still dance in the in-between.

There’s a lesson in that.

A Season of Faith and Fire

Spiritually, autumn always draws me closer to God. Maybe because gratitude comes easier this time of year. Not just for the sweetness — but for the challenges too. Because both are teachers. Both refine me. Both remind me I am held — not only in sunshine, but in the lengthening shadow as well.

I think that’s why I photograph fall so fiercely. Because it mirrors us — vibrant, fleeting, imperfect, resilient.

If You’ve Been Waiting for a Sign…

If you’ve been thinking about scheduling an autumn session — with your dog, your horse, your farm or ranch— let me gently say:

Do it.

The grasses will soon turn to frost. The leaves will crumble. The golden light will give way to gray.

But the moments you save now?

They’ll burn warm for years.

You don’t need to know the perfect location or what to wear or whether your dog will cooperate — that’s my job. All you need to do is say yes to this season before it slips away.

Reach out. Let’s make art  — while autumn is still singing.