A month in the life: Vail

The day after we photograph a wedding is what we call wedding hangover day.  It’s not your typical kind of hangover, don’t worry, we don’t drink on the job.  Instead, it’s a full-body hangover from being on our feet all day, doing countless squats in order to get the best shot, and running around at high altitude.  Every muscle and joint aches, and therefore Sundays tend to be a low-key day for us.  

For many years, Sundays were sacred to me.  Back in the twenty-teens, when we would photograph 1-2 weddings every weekend for sixteen straight weeks, I was devoted to taking Sundays off (or Monday if we had a Sunday wedding).  It was one of a handful of boundaries that I stood by in order to avoid burnout.  During that time in our career, it worked beautifully.  Now, though, things play out a little differently.  Two weeks ago, when a prospective client reached out about having us take her family photos in Vail, I proposed this Sunday date, knowing that we would be staying in an Airbnb.  Getting cleaned up for work is a whole event in itself when living in a tiny truck camper.  Our Airbnb accommodations would make things a little easier on us, so I was delighted when the family took me up on the proposed date.

At 5:30, we make our way from Dillon over to Vail for the M family’s photo session.  When we crest Vail Pass and begin the descent into the Vail valley, all I can see is wildfire smoke so thick that the magnificent Gore Range has been reduced to a mere outline that nearly blends in with the orange sky.  Luckily, the family we are about to meet is not intent on having mountain views in their photos, like most of our clients are.  The views that we prominently display on our website are practically non-existent.

The region in which we established our business many years ago is comprised of a variety of highly sought-after tourist destinations.  In the winter, they are world-class ski resorts (Breckenridge, Keystone, Vail, Beaver Creek, etc.) and in the summer, they are popular getaways for outdoor recreation and luxury vacations.  The majority of our clients come from either Denver or out-of-state.  It’s a rare event when we’re hired by a local.  When we meet up with the M family at Ford Park in Vail, we learn that they are from Houston and heard about us from a friend of a friend— in Houston.  I’m flattered to have booked work in Colorado via word of mouth in Texas.  

As is always the case, the session kicks off with introductions and the one question we’re never failed to be asked: “Do you live around here?”  These tourist destinations are so purpose-built for visitors that they feel more like Disneyland for adults than real towns where people actually live.  Of course, this question was easy to field when we did live around here; now the answer is a bit more complex.  As much as Mark and I love our nomad lifestyle, we don’t love talking about it at work.  There’s no way to say “I live on the road” without it prompting more questions.  And when we’re at work, we feel a bit awkward talking about ourselves and our personal life.  We roll with it nonetheless and are usually reminded how unusual our lifestyle is by the way people respond when they hear about it.  On this particular evening, I think we blew the husband’s mind a little bit.  We can feel him churning internally with curiosity before going on to ask another question.  With every response, he seems more fascinated.  The most entertaining question he asks, though, has nothing to do with us.  This gentleman, from Houston, visiting Vail for his weeklong summer vacation, asks, “Do people actually live here?”  Proof that tourists have a hard time seeing the town through the resort.  

Before we know it, the evening’s photo session is a wrap, and we’re headed back east on Vail Pass to return to Dillon.  

As we weave our way through Ten Mile Canyon and re-enter Summit County, my mind swells with one recurring thought.  This place, that used to be home for so long, feels less so with every passing year.  There are less locals and heaps more tourists.  Less community and more attractions.  While our business may remain anchored here for the foreseeable future, my heart has moved on.  That feeling of home is now scattered around various places; from our property in western Colorado to the beaches of Baja.  Home is wherever our truck is and what the two of us are when we’re together.  

You want to know where I live?  Here, there, everywhere, nowhere.  It can be confusing, I get it.  But it’s the truth.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.