I arrived early, as I always do. The light was soft, slipping over the edges of the fields like a breath. I took my time walking the land before I ever took out my camera—just letting the day settle in, letting myself find its rhythm. This wasn’t just a job to document a place; it was a chance to listen to it.
Before I even picked up my camera or made my first visit, I’d already spent time getting to know Gwenyn Hill—through their website, their social media, and the way they speak about their work. This is something I do before every shoot, but especially for collaborations like this. I want their tone and ethos in my head so that my images don’t just show what’s happening—they feel like the place itself.
It’s more than prep work. It’s a gut check. Long before I reached out to Gwenyn Hill, I studied what they shared with the world because I needed to know: does this resonate? Does this feel like a place where I can do my best, most meaningful work? That’s how I’ve built my business—not by saying yes to everything, but by saying yes to what truly aligns.
And in full honesty, one of the greatest privileges of running a small creative business is this: I can choose work that fills me up. That’s the real luxury—not just doing what I love, but loving how it fits into the bigger picture of my values and my days.
Just as we choose where to apply for work, who we welcome into our lives, and what kind of home we build—I believe we should be just as intentional about how we spend our life’s work.
For years, my life’s work was raising a family. That was the season of growth, sacrifice, and devotion I poured everything into. And now, in this season, I get to shape work that reflects who I am, not just what I can do. I don’t take that lightly.
This is more than photography. It’s a chance to stay close to the things I care about—natural spaces, good work, and small communities that put care into what they grow and offer. I know how rare that is. And I’m deeply grateful that I get to choose work that feels not only meaningful but true.
This mindset—of choosing what matters most—isn’t just mine. It’s something I see echoed in the next generation, too. So many are choosing family, home, and a quieter kind of success. The rise of the homestead movement isn’t just a trend—it speaks volumes about a deeper desire to value quality over quantity. That same shift is what grounds my approach to both life and work.
It’s why I built my business slowly. Why I keep it personal. Why I choose clients and projects that align with a pace and purpose I can stand behind. Whether it’s a photo walk at sunrise or a growing folder of images that take shape over time, there’s no rush here. Just a quiet commitment to doing things well—and with heart.
That morning was the start of something. Not just a collaboration, but a conversation. One that will stretch out over seasons, as all good things do. There’s so much I hope to photograph here—so much I hope to learn. And in time, I’ll share it all. The behind-the-scenes. The overlooked details. The moments between the work. But for now, just this first walk. Just this first light.
A Wish List from the Farm
Before my first shoot, Gwenyn Hill gave me a simple list—just a bit of direction on the images they needed. It was clear, straightforward, and helped me understand how to begin.
That kind of clarity is always appreciated.
The list was rooted in the everyday life of the farm: farmers at work, produce, and moments. But it also speaks to something deeper—a desire to capture the full life of the land, not just its most polished scenes. The daily work. The rhythm. The relationship between people, place, and purpose.
It’s a wish list I’m honored to hold. One I’ll return to again and again as the farm shifts through seasons and stories unfold. Because this isn’t about showing up once and getting it all—it’s about staying present long enough to see what only time can offer.
So I’ll keep photographing. Quietly. Faithfully. Responding to the rhythms of the farm, the changing light, and the heart behind their work. And in the months to come, we’ll build something together—a living archive of a place rooted in stewardship and purpose.
Field Impressions
The highlight of my visit was walking into the fields. Row after row of produce, pollinator flowers, sunlight, and growth.
The smiling, warm, and welcoming faces of the staff really struck me. This is not an easy job. The physical effort, the weather, the daily demands—none of it is simple. And yet, these people move through the fields with a lightness and energy I admire. They smile. They work with purpose. There’s something quietly powerful about that.
As I met another staff member, their warmth and inviting nature made me feel so welcome. It only adds to the brilliance of this place.
I walked slowly, row after row, in awe of the healthy plants, the flowers, and the abundance of pollinators. As a bit of a science and botany nerd, I often find myself doing mental calculations—obsessing over how much pollen and nectar a space like this offers to the insect world. In the zucchini blossoms alone, I counted five or six bees gathering pollen in a single bloom. Multiply that by the rows upon rows of blossoms—three or four every foot—and my mind was off and running. The sheer volume of life here was incredible.
I found myself breathing deeply, moving in wonder, letting it all soak in. What an incredible place this is.
And while I’m “working”—a word that doesn’t quite capture the quiet joy of wandering through something this magical—I’m often caught in gratitude. Gratitude for this moment. For the chance to witness it. For the invitation to be part of something so alive.
There were snapshots of drying garlic in the greenhouse, armfuls of cutting flowers in bloom, produce in the fields, and cranes passing overhead. And it all felt so right—so natural. Like we belong in places like this.
Our lives are often structured away from this. Away from living, breathing plants. Away from the food we eat and the soil it comes from. To step into these spaces, even briefly, feels like returning to something we’ve always known. Like coming home.
What’s to Come
I’ll be returning to the farm soon with my faithful model—read all about that trusted relationship [HERE]. We’re already busy planning our shots, our wardrobe, and talking through what we hope to capture together.
There’s so much still to photograph. So much more to notice.
This is just the beginning of a longer story—one I’ll continue telling, quietly and carefully, through the seasons. I’ll be sharing more behind the scenes, from the perspective of both a photographer and an admirer. Because places like this deserve to be seen not just once, but often. And with heart.
Warmly,
Michelle