In September we rode around Newfoundland with Jesse’s parents. I’ve been writing and designing for the Matador Network (see some of that here). I took a hiatus from the motorcycle trip and worked in San Diego on creating trade show booth fixtures and art installations with my sister (see this gallery from her portfolio). I also moved into a new house in downtown Boise.
It’s officially been a full year since we departed on the motorcycle trip, and now that the bike is stored in Ontario for the winter, and I’ve got a new neighborhood to explore, our season of movement is slowing down a little. The way this September unraveled felt like stepping into the next chapter of my life. I’m embracing stillness. I’m slowing down and digging a little deeper.
Autumn always has been, and always will be, a season of new beginnings for me. It’s my birthday month. It used to mean the beginning of another school year, new classes, and fresh notebooks. Two years ago it saw our move to Yellowknife, and last year it marked the beginning of our cross-country trip.
This year it’s a time to settle in to my new place, to make plans, to take steps forward, to work harder, and more than anything, to really feel this transition as life changes again and the October air smells more and more like smoke, bitterbrush, and wet wood.I traveled to Stanley with my family over the weekend for one last cabin trip of the year. October in those mountains is something else! The meadow grasses looks a little dead and brown, but everything else takes on new colors, even after the aspen leaves have fallen. The trees seem greener, the brush in the valley burns bright red, the mountains seem taller and sharper and more purple than grey, and the clouds cast a mood that only October knows.
I took my new 50mm lens on a morning hike through the hills around the cabin and tried to capture the fleeting autumn feelings.