kelsey a. hayden

moments of tenderness on 35mm film the time i thought i shot a roll of color film until i got it developed (6)

the time i thought i shot a roll of color film until i got it developed (5)

self portraits on 35mm film the time i thought i shot a roll of color film until i got it developed (2)

cass on 35mm.

cass on 35mm film.

grand tetons on 35mm film.

mornings at the cabin on fish creek. 35mm film.

i got pulled over the last day of my trip somewhere near fresno by a cop named Officer Manriquez. he looked at my license and said - you have oregon plates, a colorado license, but you're driving through california? to which i replied - i have a hard time sitting still. he laughed, handed it back to me, called me a wanderer, and gave me directions to yosemite. i later read that he had been dragged 30 feet by a DUI suspect sometime last year. there's not really a moral to this story. it's all just stuff that makes me think.

onesies and an unwashed topknot all summer long

big sur 

big sur was a bust. roadside camping had been restricted to fire personnel the day i arrived. the sun was starting to set but i was mesmerized - the view exponentially more impressive at each switchback - so i just kept driving in. i got to a junction where the 1 becomes a single lane, and rolled down my window - motioning a construction worker over. i asked if i had to go back the way i came. he asked where i came from. no where? everywhere? he laughed and replied - ‘there’s only one way in, and one way out. you’re a wandering gypsy, like me.’ i started to drive back on the winding forest road, pissed off at my wasted time and gas. i was tired and hungry. i pulled over atop the bluffs, figuring that if it was going to get dark, i might as well see the sun off.

i spent two hours that night driving to pinnacles national park. there were no signs that i was going the right way - and if there were, it was too dark to see them. i swerved, lazily, on the back country roads until i saw white spots moving inches from my headlights. my foot hit the brake at near perfect time to avoid hitting her - a tiny, tiny doe. i pulled over and listened to my heart pound in the dark. there was no cell service, no one else on the road. no one to help if i had needed it - which is when you know you’re really alone. i arrived at midnight and drove through the campground loop, despite the ‘full’ sign out front. the paper attached to the post at tent site 20 read ‘reserved for paul.’ it was empty. i parked. i got out of the car and heard people laughing. i relished in the mere proximity of strangers after trying to evade the company of others for a long time. too tired to set up my tent, i cocooned in a sleeping bag in the backseat with my head out the window. i have never seen a sky like that in my whole life - the perseid meteor shower danced all night. they were the kind of shooting stars that linger - the kind where the trails stay illuminated long after the initial zenith fades. my neck ached when I woke up. i still wonder why i was there and he wasn’t. wherever you are, whoever you are - thank you, paul.

cloudy beach hangs with sha

layers in sequioa national park

i love the seasons and simultaneously want to live inside summer for always. road trip reminiscing.