The Last Thirty 002 // JANUARY 1st 2024
IT’S BEEN A MINUTE! Hello and welcome. A little housekeeping first. I’m excited and rejuvenated after a year of big change! This means with better alignment, I will be taking on this project with more vigor and enthusiasm that will come with more consistent delivery. I’m super excited to get this off the ground, so thank you for being here.
At the beginning of this endeavor I was on a mission to share short stories of the last thirty days out here on the road and where that will still be the ethos of these photo essays, the timing in which these drop will really rely on my primary goal, telling a good story.
Accompanying these stories from time to time will be an additional assignment I’ve dubbed, ‘24 Frames’. The idea? As often as possible, pick up my camera and use only one lens per that day. Then I limit myself to just 24 frames, much like film. There is no deleting, no going back, no redos. The assignment was created to slow everything down. It’s also designed to keep my mind's eye sharp and to spend more time looking for the frame in the most unsuspecting places. This assignment has been a work in progress throughout the last couple of years and has really helped me stay creative in-between work projects. Not to mention I’ve been able to create some of my favorite pieces of the everyday that may end up in a book someday.
Without further ado, enjoy 002.
Home sweet home, posted up a few weeks to prepare for Mexico. - Ajo, AZ.
002
I’ve been digesting and processing many things since the first installment of The Last Thirty. I stepped away in order to rethink this process and then time caught up to me. There were so many times during the last couple years I’d be ripping down the highway pondering profound emotions, the kind that wrap the senses and get you so fired up, you drop the windows, slam back the sunroof, crank the music, and shout at the top of your lungs with excitement. All the while the wind rips through the windows stirring up everything as if a mini cyclone passed through. There’s a pungent smell that I’ve grown accustomed to, the kind that for me smells like freedom. It’s the smell of pine trees and tar swirling inward widening the eyes and broadening the smile. Each one of these moments however, I thought to myself, that could be a really great start to a new essay to share! Then the road stretched on and it was lost, much like a dream right after waking up. “I guess this is the beauty of this project!” I kindly tell myself. I can be a little all over the place and still manage to capture the current climate of my mind while sharing a few meaningful moments along the way.
“Seeking rehabilitation through silencing the mind can produce a profound perspective shift. This, I’m thankful for.”
- Insert in my journal, December 21st 2020, Gonzaga Bay, Baja California Mexico
Sequoia tucked into bed somewhere in the heart of Alaska, not feeling too hot.
August 21st 2022:
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN she’s not eating?” Rain drops spattered on the camper roof like little dancing birds while the sound of our furnace gently hummed in the background of our quiet concern. I’ll never forget, there was a mixture of smells, both of clean sheets, wet clothes, and wet dog. We were in Alaska in late August and the leaves were changing. After thousands of miles and a couple years of dreaming, we were all sitting in the middle of nowhere, a speck in the universe. Amongst the endless expanse of bogs, marshes, and stunted spruce, I realized that this had all been part of a dream that began over a decade ago. To live outside the snow globe and chase something different. A journey to see who I’d become on the other side. And Sequoia was there through it all. Meanwhile, on top of the small ridge the rain kept dancing, the furnace kept humming, and the girls buried their teary eyed faces in their little pillows. It was then I picked up Sequoia's face and breathed in the stark realization that my best friend and travel companion for the last 7 years, was dying.
Sequoia accompanied me on many hikes and here, like always, I catch her doing what she loves, stopping and taking it all in.
The end of last year was a tough one for this family. Sequoia took a turn for the worst near Tok, Alaska. The question was, do we head to Whitehorse or double back to Anchorage to get her looked at. With the weather being horrific we thought it wise to head for the Yukon. After all, they’re famous for the Yukon Quest and if anyone could help our sweet girl, the vets in Whitehorse could. Well, as luck would have it, the vets there said she needed a specialist right away which was only a short 1,500 miles away in Kelowna, BC. My thought then was to get somewhere beautiful to let her finish out our journey together. Then I could bury her where we could always visit. We chose Stewart, BC. The epic views and solitude would be perfect. Upon arriving in town, I went for a short walk with Sequoia to take in the views and have some time alone with her. She was still drinking water, but she was still a handful of days without food. The poor girl was pretty weak, but still seemed to be fighting.
Saying our goodbyes to one of the family. Rest easy beautiful. - Kelowna, B.C.
I came across a local and who greeted us and after a short time talking I explained our situation. It was only a mater of minutes it seemed before a number of townsfolk were involved and calling their vet a few hundred miles away. We then forwarded her paperwork and had to wait for a response in the morning. I couldn’t sleep much that night and thought it best to just head that way at the crack of dawn. Little did we know, this vet would have the same suggestion as the one before. Fast forward, four days, three sleepless teary nights while doing everything I could to keep her comfortable, 2,000 miles and $10,000 later, I gently held her in my arms for the last time. Just before she left us I made sure to hold her tight while looking directly into her eyes letting her know that I had her and thanked her for everything. She got me through many heartaches and she was with me during one of the most magical chapters of my life. And just like that, she went back to the stars. I was stunned. We all were numb. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard. The musty river smell of her shiny coat still lingering in the truck as we moved frozen down the road back to the US border. She was with us however, I had her remains with us and knew just where to take her to rest.
This is my favorite Redwood tree I call, The Mother Tree. I’ve been taking Erica and now the girls here for years. This is where we set sweet Sequoia free. We’ve been back to sit and be with her since. It’s pure magic.
Spring 2023:
Sequoia taking it all in. Baja California Sur, Mexico
We left Baja, Mexico this last Spring, our fourth season in a row, filled with a number of different emotions churning inside. All of us were still wrapped in a daze brought on by the glorious recharge of the remote Mexican beaches and every one of them reminding us of Sequoia. We as a family we were able to mourn and celebrate the loss of one of our own. Sequoia had literally been everywhere with us. From the very first day I rescued her at just six weeks old, she was with me almost every single day of her life. That meant that for almost seven straight years she traveled North America with me and for whatever reason when we got to Mexico, even she would slow her roll and take time to reflect. Most mornings she and I would hop out of the camper, tiny waves rolling gently along the shore just before the sunrise where we’d both sit and watch the orange glow slowly push the night sky up and off the horizon. The water like glass, neighboring pelicans glide silently over the mirror below them in search of an early morning snack. Meanwhile the occasional Osprey would torpedo out of the sky and hit the water with a surprisingly quiet splash and like a ball shot out of a cannon, it would launch out of the water talons gripping a flailing fish. All the while Sequoia with her head held high, eyes half closed, would just sit at the water’s edge absorbing it all. I’d be back at the palapa sipping on coffee doing the same. I could tell that for all of us, it was a complete recharge from the chaos of the previous year. This year however, it was just me imagining her at the water's edge. Wondering where her spirit might be. I still felt her energy and knew that wherever she was, those memories made me feel like she was there. She follows along no doubt and has become on of us out here. I still see her running down the beach and through the trees from time to time. Occasionally and out of nowhere, our youngest, Helie, will point somewhere near her and say, “Daddy! Sequoia is walking by me!”.
Erica and the girls looking out at our winter home telling stories of the late great Sequoia.
Losing myself in one of my favorite places on earth. - Redwood National Park
Present Day:
Following Mexico and throughout the year I have been on a mission reconnecting with myself by way of this hyperbaric chamber called the road. 2023 has been unlike any other year before. We have spent a number of months working on ourselves, house sitting, and really trying to hone in on where we belong. Along the way, I began by thumbing through the rolodex of my memory banks buried deep in my hard drives. I’ve been on quite the soul searching mission and there’s nothing better than to look back to see where you came from for the answers. I found many stories along the way, a lot in which I hope to flush out more on here. In the meantime however, I have reflected on these chapters of my life in order to see where I went right and where I went wrong. I found it so refreshing to realign my wheels this way. There were many memories that came up from my childhood, especially being that we just went through the Holiday season and there’s a story I wanted to share with you all. A story that really took me back to my roots. This one is special. I hope you enjoy it.
The girls and I learned a valuable lesson to be deeply thankful for one another and this journey we’re on.
December 25th 1990
It’s Christmas Day and I’m with my family about to open presents. “Ah, Ah!” My Dad jolts our excited frames through the steam coming off his coffee. “There’s something more important before we start our morning.” It could have been after breakfast, I don’t actually remember. However! My siblings and I suit up, it’s at least 20 degrees outside and a fresh blanket of snow covers the property and nearby butte the house is nestled next to. Just past the living room window and up the hill sits a few different shelters, one is an old box truck minus the truck. The box was tucked into the frozen tundra and back against a pig pen. Just outside its door a chicken coupe wrapped around the left side of the paint chipped homestead. An old pale filled with snow and a frozen washboard rests quietly on the stoop. A stove pipe poked from the top like a bendy straw cocked to one side. The smoke chugged into the sky like a sleepy locomotive. Meanwhile snow crunched under our feet as the whole family walked, presents in hand. Cottonwood trees stretched overhead speckled with morning birds too cold to say hello. I remember the snot freezing in my nose and the confusion of what we were doing resonated through us kids. “Knock! Knock!” A couple icicles dropped down the sides of the box followed by a short rumble and a clank of a stove. “Merry Christmas, Baldy!” My dad thundered. “Whaaaat!” Baldy rebutled. The door swung open and there stood a true mountain man. Red long johns, a salt and pepper beard, a furry tooke possibly made from coyote, rode on top of a proud and happy face filled with only one tooth, perhaps even two at this time. It wasn’t just a few years earlier during the summer, a tiny version of myself escaped the eyes of my parents and strolled up the driveway, over the canal guarded by our goats, and down the road to this tiny dwelling to offer a kind hello. I found our friend Baldy in the middle of his afternoon chores, washing his clothes in his quaint pale of bubbly water most likely from the turn of the century or earlier. His washboard rippled a tonal rhythm that felt like a song was about to begin. A cigarette dangled from his lips, one eye shut as the smoke rose up past his face and into the ether. He smiled his one tooth smile and told me how big the piglets were getting and laughed at how angry Molly (the momma sow) got after separating her from her babies. Now, it’s the dead of winter and his joy for life hasn’t wavered one bit. As a young child I understood even then the differences in his way of living and what he was content with compared to my own. I felt lucky for both what my parents provided us kids and his perspective on the simple life. “Oh my God, it’s Christmas?!” he cackled with his staple cigarette bouncing from his lips. Just then one of us kids reached out our little arms, a couple boxes covered in, Ho! Ho! Ho! and Merry Christmas ,in addition to holiday name tags stating ‘To: Baldy, From: The Best Family.. Tears started to fill our friends' eyes. I’ll never forget it and it makes me emotional to this day. Unwrapping a pair of brand new blue jeans and stout work gloves, Baldy mustered up a few words, “I’ll save it for my Sunday best, Joe. Thank you...”
The rare image of me in one of my favorite places.
The girls and I going back to visit Sequoia fall 2023.
Remembering and flushing out this memory allowed me to experience it once again. Like a scene in a movie now watching it again as an adult this time taking new lessons from it. The kindness and generosity between fellow human beings is such a beautiful thing. This memory I’ve taken with me my whole life. The memory plays every holiday season as I continue to study what these celebrations are all about. For me, this is what this time of year is about and really, every day. Being kind and helpful to all those around you. I’m thankful for memories like these and I’m glad that as I grow as a man I can look back on moments that give me pause and appreciation. More importantly, going back helps me understand where I came from and who I lost somewhere along my journey. I can relate to and appreciate my parents' choice of living a simpler life. I feel this in my core and found that going back to memories like these keeps my compass pointing true. There’s constant uncertainty along this road of life, and if we take a road that leads to a dead end, it’s okay to go back in order to find the route you set out on initially. I’m sure that detour will allow you to become a better person if you let it, and you’ll continue down a path that just may lead to your greatest adventure yet.
The girls and I enjoying the southwest this winter. Many more stories to come!
