For most of us, the Wild West is a thing of the past. It must be, because even the first movies made about the West are “retro” now. Those of us who grew up in coastal cities might think it strange to happen upon a real-life cowboy, complete with spurs, hat and free spirit. We know that the American West was a defining feature of our country at some point, but we hesitate to distinguish between myth and reality. We hardly think one can ever go back.

This past week, I went back– sort of. The charming town of Moab, Utah is nothing like what Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid must have encountered, but the spirit of the West can hardly be contained by buildings. Instead, it’s in the earth. It’s in the mesas and buttes, the muddy Colorado River and dusty wind. The Wild West may refer to an era past, but its pieces remain….Continue Reading

Friends, within a few short days I think Utah has done something to me.

There’s something so wild and uncanny about the landscape here that really wends its way into your heart. I don’t know if it’s the dramatic red rock towers or the ubiquitous dust that is now permanently stuck in my hair, but there’s a part of me that I’m letting go of, and Utah is helping.

That part of me is perfectionism.

I’m under no delusions that I am perfect in any way, at least not in any conventional way. I’m well aware of my flaws, but there’s a part of me that still desires to be perfect. Or at least, the image of perfection….Continue Reading

Happy Monday, friends! I’m spending this week traveling with family in southern Utah and I am so excited to share all of our best rock photography throughout our travels. After planning this trip with the excellent help of the Internet we are finally here in a rural town called Moab.

Our trip got off to a rocky start on Saturday when we missed our flight to Salt Lake City. It was one of those I-could-have-sworn-the-flight-was-at-7:40-not-7:10 moments, and we were on our way to the airport when we realized our plane was about to take off. Whoops.

In a frenzy to still make our connection, we redirected ourselves towards a different airport, repurchased tickets to Salt Lake, only to find that the flight was delayed. I found myself sprinting like a maniac through the Salt Lake City airport only to barely see our plane to Moab back away from the gate. Darn.

So, in an effort to make it to our hotel by nightfall, we decided to drive to Moab instead. It would take 3.5 hours– no problem.

We took turns driving. I was the last of course, and not far into my stretch of the drive I see blue and cherry lights twinkling at me. A curt, blue-eyed officer asked me if I was aware that the speed limit was 55. No, the last sign I saw said 65. Without a sign of sympathy he wrote me my very first speeding ticket. Great.

There were no mishaps that followed, and we did make it to our rooms at Sorrel River Ranch by nightfall. And today we explored our first national park: Arches.

…Continue Reading

As a child of the San Francisco Bay Area, one of my favorite road trips was driving down to the Monterey Peninsula. It was such bliss to be by the Pacific ocean–cold, windy and salty– and to be far away from the worries and stresses of life at home (yes, I was stressed even back then). After a day on the coast, my hair would be stringy, my heart content, my feet cold, and my worries far away. For a long time, it was my most favorite place in the world….Continue Reading