When I was visiting my parents over the weekend (who were both wedding photographers for thirty years), I pointed out my favorite portrait of me as a child. In the photo, I'm five or six, with a big floppy hat and floral dress in a summer field at dusk, reaching down to pick a flower, a serene look on my chubby face (not much has changed since then).
My mom told me the story behind the photo. She said, "I was just finishing up another portrait session with someone's children in the field behind our house. I was walking home when I met you in the yard, with big fat tears in your face. You looked up at me and said, 'Why don't you ever take my picture anymore?' It broke my heart. The next day, I cancelled all my plans for the afternoon and evening and spent half the day photographing you instead."
In the midst of our busiest season ever, I've thought about that conversation. While we don't have kids, we have our fur babies, Glaumur and Arlo, and taking a moment to spend time photographing them, our nearest and dearest, is such a delight.
Because of this, I cancelled all plans this morning and spent a quiet foggy hour in our backyard, photographing in the early-fall crisp.