It all came rushing back to me the day we buried my husband’s grandfather.



We gathered around to say our last good-bye, a screen playing memories from a life well lived,  watching the slideshow of his life. Some images were digital—clean, sharp, fleeting. But then the film photos began to appear.

And suddenly, it was as if time stopped. The film images glowed.

They felt tangible, dimensional… alive. I caught myself whispering, These look like I could reach out and touch them.

That moment cracked something open in me.

A few days later, my mother-in-law placed an old gift in my hands:

A large format camera from the late 1800s—and an original album from a portrait studio, dated 1892.

I turned the pages slowly.

The portraits… the detail… the weight of them.

They didn’t just show faces—they told stories.

And deep in my bones, I knew:

This is where I belong.

Not hunched over a screen for hours.

Not editing through pain.

Not rushing to meet modern demands.

But here.

In the slowness. The depth. The reverence of film.

So I’m making my return.

On July 18th and 19th, I’ll be offering a small number of Return to Film Mini Sessions. These sessions will be sacred, intentional, and rooted in legacy.

Because our stories deserve to be told—and held—in a way that lasts.

Click Here to book your Heirloom Film Session