The summer after my sophomore year in college, I had a photography internship at National Geographic Magazine. As you might guess, that job is one for which every college photojournalism major in America would give up a lifetime’s worth of pizza and beer.
One of the first assignments the magazine gave me was to travel to the beautiful mountains near McCall, Idaho to photograph a Fourth of July rodeo. I was a 19-year-old kid from Ohio and had never been west of Missouri. When I set foot in the American West, I knew where I had to spend the rest of my life.
This past weekend--30-some years after my Geographic internship--my cameras took me to a job in the staggeringly beautiful San Juan Islands of Washington State. Just the ferry trip to Orcas Island where I was working was over-the-top amazing, and I was
reminded--for the eight zillionth time--how much I am smitten by The West. Mount Baker (which I’ve climbed a number of times) was a mama hen, protecting her island-chicks, and even a common seagull had a regal look about him.
I love where I live, and I promise I will never take that for granted.
