Horse Farm Engagement Session Ideas
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There’s something about looking out into a field from the wooden porch of a farm that makes you want to take a deep, full breath. Maybe it’s the way that twilight seems to color the evening sky a little longer than it does in the city. Maybe it’s the smell of dinner from the stove that sweeps through the house and makes the screen door squeak. Or maybe—it’s just the company that we find ourselves in.
Heather and I plan to create such a life on a farm together one day...but it looks like Anet and Ian are going to beat us to the punch! We can’t wait to photograph their wedding next May at The Farmhouse at the Grand Colonial in Hunterdon County, New Jersey because we love being on farms with wandering animals, freshly cut grass, and seasonal vegetables. And if it’s up to Heather, we’ll being feeding our horse, Limbo, through the kitchen window from the palms of our hands one day.
Funny enough, Heather met Anet over 10 years ago in the—you guessed it—horse world. As an equestrian novice, I’ve learned that the bond between a rider and their horse should never be underestimated; and apparently neither can the social ties between horse people. It’s one of the everybody seems to know everybody kind of communities; a blast to be a part of and an absolute mystery to the rest of us. In the years to come I hope to be integrated into the community through meeting people like Anet and Ian, who is also apparently a pretty deft hand at polo. (I, on the other hand used to think that the players hit the ball with the small end of the mallet. facepalm.)
For us, one of the most alluring aspects of the living on a farm is learning to utilize fresh produce all-year round. Whether you’re storing, preserving, pickling or crunching into a spear of asparagus fresh out of the soil, there ain’t nothing quite like biting into some really fresh, homemade food. Despite the fact that both Anet and Ian are afraid of birds, they’re also excited to start a farm and get some chickens—and we’re excited for them! (We miss our little Colorado flock!) Anet and Ian’s plan after their wedding is to begin their family farm in the hills of Ireland and we couldn’t be happier for them. As long as they share their vegetables.
Shooting weddings on farms feels like we’re part of a family or something. Like we can hear the dinner bell and remember to hide the grass stains on our knees. It’s the comfort of a shared table, the waves of chatter, and the clanking of glasses and silverware. It’s the raucous bursts of laughter. There’s so much warmth in my thoughts when I think of farm life that it makes photographing weddings on farms one of my favorite things to do. It may be because of the fresh food and long summer evenings—or maybe—it’s just the company we find ourselves in.
AS SEEN IN THE POPPED! MAGAZINE
Happy Birthday, Heather!
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Heather’s Birthday Post – November 15, 2018
Happy Birthday to the woman who has taken the best parts about me and brought them to the surface. Without her, I wouldn’t be a published author, small business owner, or husband—AKA everything that means something to me at this point in my life. I honestly have no idea where I would be without her—and I look forward to all of the places we will be together that we do not yet know.
Heather is the kind of person to triple book herself, crush each event, then ask for more. I’m the kind of person to bring her a bottle of whiskey and an empty tumbler. That’s how we differ yet that’s why we work. In a constant state of give-and-take, we spin through our days like ice in a mixing glass, swirling around our personalities like flavors, combining our contrasts into a well-balanced drink—smooth yet strong, and the lingering taste leaves you asking for more. It’s not perfect but it does keep us happy.
This time last year we were driving to an AirBnB tucked in the mountains, safe from the chill with a cozy wood-burning fireplace. This year we’re riding the LIRR to carouse about NYC and enjoy a different side of life. Seemingly always on the same page, Heather and I are writing our story together with a pen we share, speaking different voices onto the page with the same ink. Every year that passes every take stock of all of our experiences and each year exceeds the last. I’m just grateful to have a partner to explore so many worlds with.
In the last month we moved cross country, made all the food for our wedding, got married, took a honeymoon to Jamaica, and settled into our interim home in Long Island. Just writing that made me tired, yet at no point during it did I feel fatigued. We approached each day as a team, working towards a shared goal in each of our imperfect ways. By sharing our individual energies, we rejuvenate each other along the way with jokes, side dishes, and healthy dollops of silliness. It’s like when you work with someone behind the bar long enough that you know where they put the Maraschino cherries, only when you get there the jar is empty and you look up at them to see them making a ridiculous face. Everyday of our lives is like that and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Somehow on her birthday I started talking about the great things about us and strangely enough, I don’t know a better compliment for a person. Heather is a facilitator, a happy haggler, an absolutely messy chef, and will be an even better mother. When I think about the journey of life and how each year represents so much yet so little, I remember the infinitude of infantile moments we’ve laughed through and the major milestones we’ve high-fived to. It’s entirely too easy to get lost as we move through different stages of my life, but this day has me grateful for Heather’s face, happily illuminated over her birthday candle to help guide my way.
Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 6
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Final Day in Jamaica – Pam’s Birthday
Mid-flight en route back to New Jersey – Wednesday, November 7th, 2018
When I opened my eyes on the last full day of our honeymoon in Jamaica, the pale blue sky peered over the balcony and climbed into our four post bed into the space between dreaming and reality. Light and ethereal, each blink revealed a bit more of the world I’ve come to love, inviting me to ease down the floating wooden staircase one more time. I didn’t know then, but in those fleeting moments, the lens through which I’ve viewed the world finally lined up with the way the island of Jamaica communicates to your soul.
I started the day by setting down a steaming cup of coffee on a table right outside of Pam’s room. It was her 61st birthday and I knew that that would be the first thing on her wish list. Stepping outside into the blaring sun, we gently made our way down to the volcanically-formed cliffs of Negril at Sun Down Villa, careful not to spill any of our precious liquid energy along the way. We stumbled upon Rick and Steve lounging, plucking at a ukulele as the notes drifted and eventually faded into the warm, Caribbean air. Pam and Rick decided to take a cruise on their Vespa down to the beach where their love of the island first began over thirty years ago.
Heather, Steve, and I abruptly made a move towards Just Natural Fish and Veggies, the local food joint in the bush of Westmoreland. Our first trip there, Pam had her eyes on a locally-crafted blue canvas bag with a crudely-but-beautifully painted sunset and we knew we had to get it for her. We enjoyed another meal and chatted with our favorite hosts, Theresa and Christine, as they shared unsolicited marital advice about loving one another and your children. Our favorite anecdote was Christine’s memory of when she first got married: “oh in those times, we would make love anywhere it was dark — in the bush, in our bedroom, it didn’t matter. But remember, always lock your door and wear a nightie!” Satiated in body and mind, we scooted from the richest Jamaican experience we’d had to date.
All of us eventually regathered and began our trip to various cliffside resorts. It began at the Tensing Pen, where we were met at the gate by a security guard who stared at us like we stole her lunch money back in high school. After authoritatively mumbling into a walkie-talkie, she granted us access with a stern finger wag in the general direction of the bar. Nonetheless, the resort was cozy, kind of like the Lost Boy’s huts in Peter Pan, connected to one another by rope bridges and shaded winding cobblestone paths. We originally planned to go to there to jump from one of these wooden bridges suspended over the sea, so Pam could wave her proverbial finger to the process of aging, but we were told by the security guard that we weren’t allowed to enjoy any of the amenities. After quickly slugging our round of Red Stripes, we were on to the next one.
Lucky for us, the next stop was much more accommodating. No finger-wagging security guard, no restrictions, only a large modern lobby to welcome us like something out of Forbes magazine. We normally wouldn’t expect genuine hospitality from a place as lavish as the Cliffs Resort, but two men changed it all. Trevor, who went by Johnie Walker, and Omighty, shortened to Omight, rolled out the Jamaican equivalent of red carpets. These two healthy, young, vibrant Jamaican men made drinks while they sang to their favorite tunes like they were bartenders out of the movie Cocktail, giving us free shots and asking us if we wanted to snorkel on The Cliff’s private coral reef. Nothing like any of the other resorts we visited, we felt the camaraderie that’s typically found in Irish pubs in New York City, like you can have any conversation with the person next to you (for better or worse), all while gazing out at a pink Caribbean sunset.
Our final stop on our invasion of all-inclusive resorts was a place called Xtabi. The dining patio was sprawling with empty candlelit tables and vacant chairs, making the space seem sad with lost opportunities of romance. A small cat meandered between the legs of our chairs, quietly mewing and purring with the hopes of a free meal. Pam and Rick ordered their favorite dish, lobster thermidore, which I consider a cheap (albeit expensive) favorite, because anything would be delicious smothered in butter, garlic, and cheese. Steve ordered the shrimp scampi which strangely came with rice and it made me wonder how available pasta is on the Caribbean islands. I ordered fried chicken because my ambition at trying local cuisine hit the roadblock of Americanized resort food. The best part of the meal was walking beneath the resort in the caves, listening to the waves slam against the tunneled walls, echoing their strength into our ears. I felt like I was in a scene from the Goonies.
The first couple days in our AirBnB we were a little hesitant to walk the streets as motorcyclists tore by the vendors and local restaurants with reckless pride. We wanted to engage with the real Jamaican culture, but were not sure of a proper access point for two under-informed tourists. Yet like those hummingbirds in Barney’s garden, Heather and I hovered from place to place, learning to stop and trust the people inside those brightly colored shacks one at a time. We made friends at resorts, Johnie Walker and Omight, and local spots, Theresa and Christine, learning that there are friends all around us if only we are open enough to look. Upon our initial arrival, we stayed behind the high gated walls of Sun Down Villa, but in the end, we saw that the sunrise and sunset, in all of their naturally beautiful glory, were just as welcoming as the pairs of eyes that greeted us behind all of those brightly colored doors.
Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 4
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Jamaica – Day 4 ~ 8:00 am, local time
We woke again at sunrise, as the dark turned to light. The breeze from the fans and the sea swirled all around us, stirring us awake. We’ve adapted to a different sleeping schedule here, one that is dictated by the rising and setting of the sun rather than binge watching and rolling over in bed. You get more out of the day living this way.
We started the morning with breakfast at a local restaurant called Sips n’ Bites. It was one of the many colorful open places that lined West End Road with a chalkboard out front that listed their offerings. As Heather and I looked over the menu, a woman came outside to tell us that they only had a couple of the items. It was refreshing to know that they wouldn’t just serve us any old stuff laying around. I stayed within the familiar, ordering curried chicken while Heather tried to order something vegetarian. When our plates came they were heavy with Jamaican staples: festival, their version of a zeppoli; an unripe banana; sautéed greens reminiscent of kale; fried plantains; and rice and beans drizzled with coconut oil. My curried chicken was authentic and succulent while Heather was served something that looked like scrambled eggs. Tougher in consistency, we asked the waitress what it was and she responded that it was either cod, cat, or conk fish and it left our palates puzzled. We later found out it was ackee and salted fish, an acquired taste that we had not yet acquired. It was no problem as we washed it down with the freshest squeezed orange juice that I’ve ever tasted.
We saddled back onto the Vespa and headed towards Pam, Rick, and Steve to do some snorkeling. Right before we boarded the yellow and black boat, a storm passed through, throwing rain sideways beneath all the thatched roofs. After the sky cleared and the sun poked back through the clouds, we were well on our way to the coral reefs with our local guides. Gently coasting on the Caribbean, we peered through the six fiberglass windows on the bottom of the boat, watching sea urchins and starfish live beneath the sea. Once we dropped into the water, I rotated my head to the left and right like a security camera, trying to spot the exotic fish in their natural habitat. I’d been snorkeling in the Caribbean before and didn’t really see anything I haven’t seen before, when a sort of omniscient peace washed over me. It wasn’t about spotting the Moby Dick of the Caribbean anymore, it was just about swimming along, undisturbed, watching life as it unfolded whether I was there or not. I could’ve stayed there all day.
Instead, we coasted back to Rick, Pam, and Steve’s resort, the treehouse, before we made our way to Rick’s Café. Heather and I stopped at another local jerk chicken joint and I had my first favorite food item - jerk sauce - its sweet at the front like mole but packs a much bigger punch after a few seconds. When I’m at a new restaurant, I always sample the sauces on the table before the food arrives. We ordered a light pineapple cole slaw that made the ¼ pound containers from delis back home feel like a heavy glob of old cabbage and mayonnaise. The service was slow but warm-hearted, and I will take a delicious slow meal over a fast fake one anytime. By the time we got to Rick’s the sun had set and the cliff jumping suspended for the day. I wasn’t going to jump anyway, as I had far too many red stripes and pulls from joints to desire to plunge into the water from a fifty foot cliff.
We ended the night at a patio bar called LTC with a bartender called Jason, AKA Big Red AKA Porn Star. He’d gotten that last nickname working at another resort where he’d dance and eventually take his clothes off. He said it was just in his nature, then cackled to himself as if he was a schoolgirl revealing an embarrassing secret. In the comfort of a warm bartender, the company of family, and the cool of a Jamaican night, our minds had no other choice but to enjoy ourselves. It truly is the Jamaican way.
Colorado Adventures That Make My Heart Smile
4.5.18 - Vital Root on Tennyson ~ 12 PM MT
We’re sitting at Vital Root after enjoying a well-crafted, fresh, lunch filled with flavor and crunch. There’s a woman breast-feeding out in the open and it’s kind of hard for me to focus, but here we go. Heather thinks that breast-feeding in public should be less stigmatized and a more common practice, and it does make sense in the same way that we should be more in tune with where our food comes from. As we distance ourselves or create social stigmas around human practices that have gotten us to where we are as a society, we are very literally losing some of the community associated with our humanity.
The last three days have felt like a vacation in Colorado: on Monday Heather and I lounged in the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs outside of Buena Vista; on Tuesday Heather rode Limbo and I climbed at Earth Treks in Golden; and on Wednesday David Miller and I carved down the slopes at Keystone and smiled and laughed in our descent. Each day contained moments of levity that are within a couple hours of our home in Arvada, providing us places of refuge and relaxation to panoramic summits and high speed descents with meandering roads and adventures in between.
The common thread running through all of them was a sense of gratitude that continuously left our lips. Heather and I were borderline tripping balls as we gazed to the sky in a creek side hot springs pool, thinking upon where we are both literally and psychologically. The strong sunrays, the quickly drifting clouds and the smell of the fresh green pines combined with the sound of the constant trickle of the cold creek over the warm rocks lured our minds towards serenity. The next day, clinking our glasses together at Kline’s Beer Hall after each of our endorphin sessions on horseback and climbing wall, respectively, made the pints go down that much easier. On the chair lifts and on the slopes, Miller and I smiled and laughed, asked and answered, and thought, felt and shared stories. When we plopped down into lounge chairs beneath the blinding high-noon sun we were billionaires, basking between snowcapped mountaintops gazing upon the best that the world has to offer. There is luxury and then there is gratitude and appreciation – without the latter, the former is empty and broken, but without the former, the heart can still smile.
It’s weird to think about a person meaning more to you than your longest friends, but David Miller has achieved such status. There is significance in the way he approaches conversations, welcoming the mundane and the magnanimous with an equal hand as if each holds equal importance. In a paradoxical way there is wisdom in understanding the whole spectrum and listening to each wavelength as you try to hone in on someone’s frequency. We all walk around with our own thoughts, suffering through our troughs and celebrating our crests, and it’s easy to forget that everyone around us has their own path but when you talk to Miller you feel like he’s listening in an attempt to sync up. Being completely in concert with another’s wavelength is more than likely impossible, but that’s how I felt on the mountain with Miller – and that’s what happens when you listen to a song that resonates with you; or when you somehow spend an hour or two in front of a piece in a museum. What I’m trying to say is when you find someone who tries to sync up with your wavelength, don’t let them go, because they don’t come around that often, and human connection is invaluable.
