June 22, 2022 – A Kansas Summer I’ll Never Forget

Three summers ago, I took a trip with my daughter Lyla to Wilson Lake. She had never seen it before, and I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when we first pulled up to the water. For Kansas, Wilson has that rare kind of presence—it doesn’t just sit there quietly like most lakes. It announces itself. With its wide-open blues, rocky bluffs, and endless sky, it feels almost like seeing the ocean for the first time. That’s how I remember it as a kid. And getting to see it again through her eyes? Pure magic.

We laced up our shoes and hiked the Rocktown Trail—about 1.5 miles one way. The path winds through brush and open ground until you reach something otherworldly: these towering stone formations that look like they sprouted right out of the lake itself. Some had to be over 100 feet tall. It’s hard to describe the feeling of standing next to them. Like nature decided to build a cathedral, right there on the water’s edge.

And man… it was hot. We knew the day was going to be warm, but by the time we reached Rocktown, it was 103 degrees and rising. Thank God I packed a backpack full of water, snacks, and lunch. We found a massive rock with a natural overhang—one of the only real patches of shade on the entire hike. It became our shelter. We cooled down, laughed, shared sandwiches, and just sat still in the moment.

After lunch, we waded into the water—only about two feet deep—just enough to feel human again. We watched boats and canoes drift by, including a big family with kids of all ages splashing and smiling. It reminded me of every summer I wanted to bottle up as a kid. And maybe that’s what I was trying to give Lyla. Something to hold onto.

Eventually, we knew we had to make the trek back. So we soaked our shirts, tightened our sun hats, and made a quick dash before the heat caught up with us again. We were tired, a little sunburned, but still riding high from the experience.

We capped off the day with a visit to the town of Wilson and had dinner at the historic Midland Railroad Hotel & Restaurant. The food was good—but let’s be honest—the air conditioning was five-star.

That trip stayed with me. Not just because of the lake or the hike or the heat—but because it reminded me why I fell in love with photography in the first place. This is why I always keep my iPhone with me. It’s not the best camera in the world. But it’s the one that’s always in my pocket when real life happens. The unplanned stuff. The good stuff. I love my pro gear—but those spontaneous moments? The ones where you’re living more than you’re shooting? That’s where the soul is.

And maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to the look of film. It’s not just a style—it’s a memory in visual form. I grew up in a time when you had one little 110 camera, maybe two or three rolls of film on a family vacation. You chose your shots with care. You lived first, then remembered later. And when those photos came back? You felt something. They had grain. Texture. You could hold them.

Today, I try to recreate that magic in my work. Even with digital photography, I put limits on how many images I take. I aim for intention, not excess. Because somehow, the fewer shots you take, the more each one means. iPhones are the 110 cameras of our era. And when I edit those images to feel like the warm, sun-soaked prints of my childhood—something just clicks.

Tank tops. Jam boxes. Flip flops. Aviator shades. Kodak Gold sunrays. That’s the time I’d relive over and over again if I could. And in a way, I guess I did. That day at Wilson Lake with my amazing daughter, Lyla.