It was the biggest snow we’d had in 70 years, guys. SEVENTY YEARS.
This is the stuff.
The substance that childhood memories are made of.
I can just hear her now as an adult looking back,
“It was the winter of 2019, when I was seven years old…”
The fact that she’ll have pictures to support these memories makes me so happy. I mean, the whole point, right?
I’ve been really inspired lately to tell stories with more than one image.
Each picture playing an integral role.
When I set out to make pictures of our snow days, I didn’t know what story would unfold. I was quite lazily just grabbing my camera here and there when the light was right, but mostly just spending time with my sweet fam.
A few days into the storm, more of the story revealed itself to me.
I realized this is about a child’s way of seeing.
How snow days can be magical and give kids an excuse to exercise their most creative play.
It wasn’t until the snow had melted and all the pictures had been made that I realized the true heart of the narrative: the way an only child experiences a snow day.
See, for me, snow days were about playing with my brother. We’d build snow people and forts, throw snowballs, the usual, and then warm by the fire with hot cocoa.
As an only child, my daughter finds her own way of entertaining herself, and relies on her stuffed buddy, Tiger, to give her all the comradery she needs.
Writing and photographs contributed by Anna Nodolf.