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📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

📡 🐄 🪨 The owner of a budget motel in Bishop where I often stay calls me one of her “out of town locals”. It’s around 8 years now I’ve been going out there to pulverize my ego on the boulders, fill my lungs with the scent of sagebrush, and feel like a little speck of dust in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras.

I don’t take pictures much anymore on these trips; my psyche for photography has ebbed and flowed to a lowtide of sorts but my psyche for climbing remains stubbornly high. After a rare trip where I actually sent some hard (for me) boulders, didn’t come home with any new injuries, and finally broke into an elusive grade I guess I’m feeling things about the ’small town with a big backyard’.

Maybe the flipped hourglass of middle age has me pre-grieving. And knowing I won’t always live a few hours from the Buttermilks. Either way I wanted these petroglyph etchings on the grid.

Most trips feature a borderline malignant amount of solitude, but the ones I remember most always include friends or crashpad comrades. Bouldering might not technically be a team sport, but dang, I can really only get up them big pebbles when it feels like one. It ain’t no mystery 🏔️👤🎣

*climbs shown for those who celebrate: Cindy Swank, Green Wall Center, Seven Spanish Angels, Flyboy Arete
**climbs not shown that hurt my feelings: The Clapper, The Gleaner, Jedi Mind Tricks, Junior’s Achievement

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

🍂 ❄️ 🩵 Precious time with family in Maryland these past few strange years. The restlessness of my twenties and thirties has mostly abated and the quiet in its place has called me home every fall and winter, where the shape of the seasons is familiar and I can feel more useful. I cook dinner for my folks, try to be a cool Uncle for my niece(s!), rake leaves in the yard, sleep in the same twin bed of my childhood under an old Washington Redskins Darrell Green poster, and sometimes even still take a picture or two. It’s nice to feel useful 🌀🕯️☺️

@time A twilight haircut at a home in the Pasvik valley near Norway’s border with Russia, and a portrait of Frode Berg, a retired Norwegian border guard who got unwittingly mixed up in spy games between Norwegien Intelligence services and Russian FSB in 2017 that resulted in two years inside Lefortovo, the notorious Russian prison where American journalist Evan Gershkovich is currently being held.

Some outtakes from my story on @time, “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia.”

@time A twilight haircut at a home in the Pasvik valley near Norway’s border with Russia, and a portrait of Frode Berg, a retired Norwegian border guard who got unwittingly mixed up in spy games between Norwegien Intelligence services and Russian FSB in 2017 that resulted in two years inside Lefortovo, the notorious Russian prison where American journalist Evan Gershkovich is currently being held.

Some outtakes from my story on @time, “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia.”

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Ulvar and his compatriots from the garrison of Sør-Varanger take a customary dip in the Barents Sea after Easter church service in Grense Jakobselv, a remote Arctic outpost in Norway just across the border from Russia.

My phone got a text that day saying “Welcome to the Russian Federation” after the cell network automatically switched to towers belonging to Russia. Ulvar explained that Russian F.S.B often exploit this to attempt to hack into the border guards’ mobile phones, so he usually goes airplane mode.

From “An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia” on TIME, link in bio 🪡

@time Exiled Russian journalist Liza Vereykina is one of three Russian journalists who now work for the Barents Observer in Kirkenes, Norway. A former video journalist and producer for BBC Moscow, Vereykina is a friend of imprisoned American reporter Evan Gershkovich. She left before what she calls Russia’s "insane criminal persecutions" caught up to her. "Evan's detention shocked and scared me. I'm grateful to the local community in Kirkenes for everything. The freedom of speech, the friendliness… everything.”

Her colleague in exile Georgii Chentemirov fled Karelia in the middle of the night with his family after learning he'd been declared a 'foreign agent' by the Russian Justice Ministry. “Russian politics is like a glass full of spiders eating each other," he said. 

Their editor Thomas Nilsen secured funding to cover their salaries for three years, expecting it might be some time before conditions thaw.

“We know they are taking a risk to put it mildly, because they cannot just take the bus back to Murmansk and say 'see you later'," he said.

@time Exiled Russian journalist Liza Vereykina is one of three Russian journalists who now work for the Barents Observer in Kirkenes, Norway. A former video journalist and producer for BBC Moscow, Vereykina is a friend of imprisoned American reporter Evan Gershkovich. She left before what she calls Russia’s "insane criminal persecutions" caught up to her. "Evan's detention shocked and scared me. I'm grateful to the local community in Kirkenes for everything. The freedom of speech, the friendliness… everything.”

Her colleague in exile Georgii Chentemirov fled Karelia in the middle of the night with his family after learning he'd been declared a 'foreign agent' by the Russian Justice Ministry. “Russian politics is like a glass full of spiders eating each other," he said. 

Their editor Thomas Nilsen secured funding to cover their salaries for three years, expecting it might be some time before conditions thaw.

“We know they are taking a risk to put it mildly, because they cannot just take the bus back to Murmansk and say 'see you later'," he said.

@time Exiled Russian journalist Liza Vereykina is one of three Russian journalists who now work for the Barents Observer in Kirkenes, Norway. A former video journalist and producer for BBC Moscow, Vereykina is a friend of imprisoned American reporter Evan Gershkovich. She left before what she calls Russia’s "insane criminal persecutions" caught up to her. "Evan's detention shocked and scared me. I'm grateful to the local community in Kirkenes for everything. The freedom of speech, the friendliness… everything.”

Her colleague in exile Georgii Chentemirov fled Karelia in the middle of the night with his family after learning he'd been declared a 'foreign agent' by the Russian Justice Ministry. “Russian politics is like a glass full of spiders eating each other," he said. 

Their editor Thomas Nilsen secured funding to cover their salaries for three years, expecting it might be some time before conditions thaw.

“We know they are taking a risk to put it mildly, because they cannot just take the bus back to Murmansk and say 'see you later'," he said.

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

for @time: "An Arctic Border Town Feels a New Chill From Russia", thank you @kayaleeberne for the edit. words by Tara Law, additional reporting by me

1. Norwegian border guards monitor the Pasvik River, which marks the border between Norway and Russia. In January, Andrey Medvedev, a former commander for Russia’s Wagner Group, defected and crossed the frozen river a few miles away from this watchtower before turning himself in to Norwegian border guards.

2. Kirkenes, Norway is just a few miles from the border with Russia and was liberated by the Soviet Army in World War II. But there was little contact between Norwegians and Russians during the Cold War. Since then, Norwegians and Russians have become real neighbors: Russian fishing vessels ported in Norway for repairs, while locals traveled back and forth across the border to shop, find work, and build friendships.

3. Thomas Nilsen, editor of the Barents Observer, a Kirkenes-based publication specializing in coverage of the Arctic region, says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has upended all this. “We’re seeing an iron curtain coming down; we’re losing contact," he says.

4. Norwegian soldiers use snowmobiles in Grense Jakobselv near the border with Russia, north of the Arctic Circle.

5. A meal is served by Ukrainian refugees at a pop-up cafe in Kirkenes.

6. Ukrainian refugees Sasha Buluiev, 20, and Yuri London, 18, stand at the Barents Sea in Kirkenes. They are studying Norwegian in school and looking for work. Both of their fathers are serving in the Ukrainian military. London keeps in touch with his father daily on messaging apps. "[When] I didn't hear from him for like 24 hours… I was losing my fucking mind," he says.

7. The GLOBUS radar systems in Vardø as seen from the nearby island of Hornøya, also known as "bird island." The installations were built with US assistance and were targets of a mock attack by Russian bombers from the Kola Peninsula in 2017.

Link in bio🦉

Marine layer, strange light, fence opening

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

I photographed and wrote about several Americans who made the hard choice to leave deeply religious communities that had dominated most aspects of their lives. The price was often steep. Being shunned and turned away by family and friends, burdens on mental health, and needing to rebuild their identities and sense of purpose. But the rewards were significant. Getting to live more openly and authentically, and finding embrace in new communities.

Nearly 30% of the US now identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and the number of self-described atheists and agnostics has almost doubled in the past decade. Disbelief and secularism are now less stigmatized, but as Pesach Eisen (slide 5) said, “leaving an insular religious community is not for the faint of heart.”

The people I met come from different religious upbringings and their views are accordingly nuanced. Their passage from familiar but dogmatic and authoritarian structures, into new, unknown, and often isolating spaces, was usually turbulent. But a common thread was the mix of backbone, curiosity, skepticism, and disdain for hypocrisy that helped propel them towards those new spaces.

When Torah Bontrager (slide 6) was a teenager, she escaped out a window from a midwestern Amish farm without electricity where English was spoken as a second language, and went on to graduate from Columbia University. She said, “my life’s work is about making sure that not another American child is forced to escape in the middle of the night just for a chance to go to school. Children are not property; they have inalienable rights and those rights need active protection.”

It took some time for this work to find a fitting home, though my clock is pretty melted at this point. Thanks to all who shared their stories with me. Hope it helps bring a 'lil peace and understanding. 🕊

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Loon calls 🦆🌾 with @cassiacline

Last light in the Skagit on a heaven adjacent day with fields of flowers whose names I can't remember.

Last light in the Skagit on a heaven adjacent day with fields of flowers whose names I can't remember.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Some moments in the company of Wild Bill - as everyone on the island knows him - from this summer and last. Botanist, veteran, seafarer, self-described “gregarious hermit”, barnacled balladeer.

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .

Early in the pandemic I spent time with Marlon, an undocumented worker in Los Angeles who fled violence in Guatamela years ago and traveled to the US atop the dangerous freight train known as "La Bestia".

Marlon came seeking a better life and the opportunity to support his family. A spiritual man who rises at 5AM several times a week to train for marathons, he lost his job at a barbershop this spring when the city went into lockdown. With rent and bills to pay and family in Guatemala depending on him, he started making house calls to cut hair and selling masks on the street to make ends meet.

Undocumented workers comprise 10% of California’s workforce, including many essential jobs, and although an expansion of pandemic relief eventually cleared Gov. Newsom’s desk in May, many vulnerable people had to keep working while in limbo. While the pandemic adds burden to everyone’s life, the data shows deep inequities with an outsized impact on Latino, Black, and Indigenous communities.

“I only want to work. I want to give my best. I’m not stealing. I’m not doing things to hurt other people," Marlon said. "Ten years ago, they killed one of my sisters in Guatemala. That is the hardest thing in my life. You have an option: You're gonna stay there, and you know in two or three years maybe you don’t survive — or leave your family, and risk your life to cross the border. But then you confront another struggle...”

See the full story on @highcountrynews or in their 50th anniversary print issue. Thank you @bearguerra .