Michael O. Snyder returned to live in the mountains of his Appalachian childhood and document people carrying on traditions — some old, some new — that keep them rooted. He asked these three questions: What is changing? What remains the same? How are you adapting to the times?
By Michael O. Snyder
I grew up on 12 acres of reclaimed mining land near the border of western Maryland and West Virginia. As children, we were taught how to watch out for sinkholes and how to tell if the acid levels in the family well were too high for drinking. My schoolmates all looked and talked much the way that I did. I had five channels of television, and the edge of my home was the edge of my world. That world, for the most part, seemed unchanging. But as I grew up, so too did Appalachia. The internet brought a world of possibility, which I availed myself of, applying to a college outside of the region. Like many young Appalachians, I was eager to escape the confines of rural life for the promise of a broader world. I studied geology and environmental science and built a photography career documenting changing cultures and places the world over.
Nearly two decades passed before I returned to the mountains of my youth. Coming back — now with a young family of my own — I began to wonder what the true identity of Appalachia is and what connection I had to it. In particular, I wondered if the places, traditions, and lifeways that I had known as a child were still there.
Here on remote mountains and in inaccessible hollers, European immigrant traditions have mixed with Indigenous and West African folkways. Though often stereotyped by outsiders and overlooked by historians, this combination of cultural mixing and geographic isolation in Appalachia has gifted the nation with many uniquely American forms of art, music, food, folklore, and dance. In my conversations and travels throughout the region, I found an Appalachia that is embracing with this diverse heritage more than ever before and, at the same time, is deeply engulfed in change. The internet, the global economy, and the widening of roads have all conspired to transform a region that has resisted it for generations. In recent years, conversations about the future of coal (highlighted during the 2016 election) and controversial publications such as J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy have reignited a heated dialogue about what it means to be “Appalachian.”
Fascinated, I decided to document this important, influential, and rapidly changing region at this unique point in history. While much of the media coverage about Appalachia has been largely negative, extractive, and intended for urban audiences, I wanted to create a document that is celebratory, authentic, empowering, and interesting both to local and national audiences.
For the past 10 years, I have been documenting “Tradition Bearers” in the Allegheny Mountains subregion of Appalachia (including West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania).
Using photography, videography, and recorded interviews, I have worked with nearly 60 individuals who are carrying forward Appalachian traditions in our rapidly changing world. Some traditions, such as hip-hop and film projection, are relatively new. Others, like logging and dulcimer ballads, are centuries old.
I asked them these three questions: What is changing? What remains the same? How are you adapting to the times?
The Mountain Traditions Project has been deeply influenced by previous documentary and humanities projects in Appalachia, such as Foxfire. The goal has been both to build upon and to expand upon that work, exploring the culture of Appalachia as a rich, diverse tapestry of traditions, and approaching documentation as celebration of heritage that is inclusive of a plurality of voices, identities, and perspectives. This is a glimpse of an ongoing project that will include even more cultures and traditions as I continue to document the region.
My hope is that children of Appalachia will be able to see themselves in the portraits and understand that they, like the child I once was, are part of the dynamic, exciting conversation about what it means to be “Appalachian.”
The Mountain Dulcimer Player & Ballad Singer
Amy Lough
Frostburg, Maryland
I grew up on a farm in Kentucky, and I just always remember there being music. We were very isolated, so we did have to entertain ourselves. And so from being an infant on, my dad would play and sing. My parents would always have friends over, and everybody would bring food and just play all night long. Most of the songs that I know, especially the traditional ones, are just the ones that I heard growing up. A lot of those songs were really sad and depressing. But that is what life was like in Appalachia. When the settlers came over, they didn’t bring instruments, because they could only bring the bare necessities. But they did bring songs from their homes in Europe. They formed the mountain dulcimer as an instrument to accompany those ballads. I think that people have always needed a way to express themselves. That was just their way of passing stories down.
The Climber
Mark Bowling
Coopers Rock, West Virginia
I started climbing in high school with my best friend. And we would go all around this area. This part of the Appalachians, it’s not a place that a lot of people come to climb, but it actually has a lot of world-class climbing. It’s a good place to learn. I’m teaching my son to climb. In fact, I was reading a climbing book recently, and it was talking about how humans are climbers before anything else, before they even walk or roll over or anything. Children, infants, are more developed in their upper body right off the bat. The first thing they do before they walk is to pull themselves up on a table. I think climbing is just one of those urges that humans have. If they see some big, dramatic feature, they just want to get on top of it. There's very little that's more natural or traditional than climbing.
The Swimming Hole
Derek (speaker), Crosby, & Max Cutter
Savage River, Maryland
I grew up swimming outside. I don’t even know if I could get back to some of the swimming holes that I went to when I was a kid. Every family or friend group kind of had their own secret spot in the woods. And some are sketchy or difficult to get to. Like, you might have to go a long way through the woods, or even hike along the train tracks to get there. But it was one of the main things that we did in the summer. For a lot of people out this way, there are no public pools or anything like that. But there are ponds and streams and rivers. Often, there’s usually rope swings or high jumps you can go off, some of them 30 feet or more. Before going off of anything like that, you’d usually swim around the hole and find the deep spot, and figure out how much water you needed to jump. And now I bring the kids out here a lot. This will get their energy out better than anything in the house. When these kids are inside all day, watching TV or movies, you can tell the difference in their behavior or attitudes. But when we are out here, there is just something that chills us out. And you always come home smelling like the river.
The Pit Master
Dan Sterns
Moorefield, West Virginia
This one I call The Beast. I got the propane tank from the junkyard. The fella there didn’t want to charge me for it. He said that he would just trade for a couple of free dinners. I said, “I tell you what. You and your wife can come down and have free dinners all summer long. It’s on me!” So I used a 4-inch grinder and cut the doors and everything. Yeah, it took a while. It nearly killed me. But I’m proud of this because my hands are all over it. It could feed the whole community. I load it mostly with hickory and oak. And I like to smoke the meat hot and fast, at about 275 degrees. I have my own sauces, too, because I never could find a barbecue sauce that I liked. Over the years, I’ve had a restaurant and a concession truck. Now I do catering. I’m a pastor, too. It’s this nice place down between two hollers; kindest, friendliest people you would ever want to meet. I cook for them sometimes. And you know, the thing I love most is seeing people enjoy the food. I never make any real money doing this. It’s really a labor of love. And I love making people happy. My food makes people happy. And I love that.
The Ice Fisherman
Casey Kamp
Deep Creek Lake, Maryland
In the summer, the fish will spread out anywhere in the lake. But right now, they are down deep and usually grouped together in schools. Which explains why you want to be in the middle, fishing over the ice instead of along the bank. But you know, 90% of fishing is camaraderie and hanging out with your buddy. You shoot the shit and you get away for a bit. And hey, if you catch a fish, you got a meal at the end of the day, too. I think that’s the secret to fishing. I love fishing no matter if we are here on the shore or out there on the ice. We will just crack a beer, you know … enjoy ourselves. The fishing just happens.
The Hemp Farmer
Katharine Dubansky
Backbone Mountain, Maryland
So this is hemp, not marijuana. The difference is that hemp doesn’t have any THC, the main psychoactive component in the plant. I’ve always known that hemp has been out there on the horizon, but I never thought much about it. And then, just a year or so ago, it was finally legalized for growing, federally. So for us, this is new. But 80 years ago all the farms on the East Coast and the Midwest grew industrial hemp. They were growing it for livestock, for bedding, to sell to make rope and fabric. Even Henry Ford had a car that was made entirely out of hemp! But then it was outlawed because it looked too much like marijuana and people couldn’t easily tell the difference. But now it’s coming back. And I guess it’s just about damn time! I mean, I could go on for hours about the benefits. You can make, like, 20,000 or more things out of this one plant: car parts, batteries, mulch, pet bedding, fuel, human food, and CBD medicine. The list is endless. It’s pretty incredible.
The Projectionist
John Brode
Frostburg, Maryland
The job of the projectionist is to change over the reels of the film. For shipping and other historical reasons, films only come in 20-minute sections. So once the 20 minutes are up, the projectionist has to switch the movie over to the second projector. Film just has a warmer, softer, fluid look to it. I think it looks nice. It feels more alive and less cold somehow than digital. But for me, the quality argument isn’t the main thing. Both digital and film are nice. But film is way more fun. We have a blast up here. It’s a little room, and it is hot, and you’re not just pushing a button, you are involved with the whole process. It feels like something magical is going on. And having to work for something makes you appreciate it a bit. But back then, there was a personal touch. And I think that meant something.
The Herbalist
Andrea Lay
Keyser, West Virginia
In Appalachia, the winters are really long, and you eat nothing but potatoes, meat, and canned things. People would just be craving these greens coming up in the springtime, many of which have medicinal value. This is chickweed, which is high in minerals. It’s great for soothing things like rashes and UTIs. For a long time in Appalachia, the doctors here were herb doctors. The plants were all that we had for medicine. There were no pharmacies with pills. The doctors were mostly granny healers, older women who knew about the plants. So every community had somebody with that knowledge, and they would pass it down. And slowly, slowly, as the ability came to extract and synthesize all these plant molecules for medicine, the plants started disappearing from the U.S. pharmacopeia. And we started having pharmaceuticals. And definitely pharmaceuticals just changed our way of living. These are lifesaving medicines. But in a very short period of time, the knowledge about plants was lost. But now there has been a resurgence of people who are interested. It’s coming back.
The Drag Racers
Jerilyn Durst (speaker)& Annika Murphy
Grantsville, Maryland
Drag racing is generational here, you know? This is a hilly area, but where there are places with long, straight roads — or “flats,” as we sometimes call them — you can bet there are people racing. My husband taught me how to race. He’s raced pretty much his whole life. I have anxiety, but when you're in a car, and you have to concentrate on shifting and watching what all the different parts are doing, then everything else disappears. Even though the race is only a few seconds, it feels so much longer. It’s just total blank space. And it’s a rush. And there is so much that goes into it. The tuning is especially complicated, just calculating every aspect of what you’re going to be doing for those few seconds and trying to get it just right. There are so many variables, like the altitude and the temperature and the weather and if there is already rubber down. So you have to calculate very carefully. But if you're not a good driver, it's not going to work out. You have to be really focused. And a little bit nuts! Now I am getting my daughter involved. And surprisingly, it's much more diverse than I would have ever thought. There's a good number of women drivers out there. It’s a male-dominated sport, but most guys are supportive, like, “Wow, a girl is doing this. That’s really cool.” Generally, folks want to help you out. Because if they are going to beat you, they want to beat you at your best.
The Butcher
Pete Pacelli
Capon Bridge, West Virginia
Well, we’re a whole animal butchery, which means that we try to utilize the whole carcass of the animal, from snout to tail. I’m proud of that. I think that’s an Appalachian value. I was always taught that it was important not to waste. For me, it’s a family trade. My grandfather grew up in a butcher shop. His father was a butcher. And his father’s father was a butcher in the Netherlands. And then it skipped a generation. But I picked it back up. My grandfather is very proud that somebody is still doing it. So it’s very gratifying. But it’s hard, too. This is an Old World craft. You do have to be physically tough to do this. It takes its toll, mainly on your hands and your wrists. And small business out here is tough. But I think it's strangely and proudly Appalachian to tough it out and keep pushing through, even when you’ve been told countless times that it won’t work. It’s kind of a dying art. But I want to keep it going.
The Hip-Hop Artists
London Holly, Peter Arizmendi (speaker), & Parker Wetzel
Hagerstown, Maryland
Hip-hop is more than music, it's a culture. The root of this culture comes from the streets in cities like New York. … People started bands, and they were going to play music and have dancing competitions instead of fights. So I came out of all of that. I started Fresh Academicz seven years ago in a basement nearby. I had a friend who lived here in Hagerstown, and there was an incentive program here that a lot of other cities didn’t have, so I thought, “Why not?” I am trying to teach kids to always be thinking outside of the box, to always be innovating. I always say that you have to “find your genius.” Hip-hop is about everyone finding their personal genius. So we teach the basic things, but we really try to avoid just teaching another trendy move. Instead, it’s about finding and gravitating towards your personal style. And then you let them grow with that. You let them create. Doing it here in Appalachia, it's a few things. You do want to be careful not to let an area change the heart of your culture, for sure. But also, there are ways to use the local culture and influences and adapt them to hip-hop. So we took a Willie Nelson song and worked with it. And we popped with an Elvis Presley song. It doesn’t have to stay in the box. We’re artists. You have to trust and adjust.
The Morel Hunter
David Sagal
Knobley Mountain, West Virginia
Finding morels is tricky. There’s a lot of factors. The key ones are moisture and soil temperature. Around this time in spring, the soils start to heat up to about 51 or 53 degrees 4 inches down, and that is when the mushrooms start coming up. First, I zigzag up and down the mountains until I find one. And then I follow that elevation all the way across the ridge. And I am mostly looking for mountain sorrel and elm trees, because those are great indicators of where mushrooms are. They are really kind of camouflaged, though, so a lot of people don’t see them at first. For me, I think that they are easier to see looking uphill, rather than downhill. But my wife thinks it’s the other way around. Anyway, once I see one, I see them everywhere. It’s just good to be out here, too, shaking off the winter weight and walking around the mountain. I often pick my kids right up off of the school bus and take them out with me. Once I get the mushrooms home, I slice them up and fry them in a cast-iron skillet with butter, with onions and garlic. And then, right when it starts to steam, I douse the mushrooms in wine and that cools the mushrooms and sucks in all of that flavor. I’ve heard that you can sell these for, like, 40 bucks a pound. But you know, I would never sell them. Even if I had an abundance of them. I’d rather give them away.
The Trapper
Paul Roomsburg,
Frenchburg, West Virginia
So you start here at the ankles and you skin downwards towards the head. Once you get going, you can actually peel a fox’s skin right off. And then, when you get to the ears and eyes, you have to carefully cut around them. Once you’re done, you turn the skin inside out and put it on a fleshing beam. Fleshing means removing all of the fat. This is the hard work. But trapping itself is just so addictive. Every night during trapping season, I dream of it; I run through all of my traps in my mind. I think the thrill is in the difficulty of it. Because shooting an animal is pretty easy. But with a trap, it’s just you and him, and you have to be smart enough to actually catch him. You only get one chance with a fox. Because he remembers. So it’s just the thrill of outsmarting something.
The Potter
Josh Brown
Zihlman, Maryland
I love throwing. Working with what is basically mud and transforming it into something useful feels like magic. It’s very tactile, and it’s kind of like a motorcycle, where you’re doing something, and you’re fully in the moment and experiencing something that’s beyond language. It’s a great feeling. And you have to learn to let go; you have to accept that what you are making is not how you initially pictured it. No matter how much you learn to control it, things move in their own way. As you get older, being a potter is pretty physically demanding. So you have to be resilient. But if I ever get depressed, I think about how far my work has gone. I have pots all over the world. And on any given day, there might be zero to 10,000 people using my pot at that given moment. And you never know how long these things could last. Pottery could get broken tomorrow or last 6,000 years. And just knowing that’s possible helps me get through the slow moments.
The Town Band
Danny Carter
Frostburg, Maryland
All of the communities out here in mining country had bands. The miners had to work in the mines all day long. So after all of that, they had to have some kind of recreation. This band was a German band made up of immigrants from Bavaria who came here to work the mines. But there was also an Italian band and a Polish band and others. The Arion Band was established in 1877. The land was given to the band by the old Consolidation Coal Company. We’ve been around for [about] 140 years and continuously playing. That might make us the oldest band in the country. We’re certainly the only one left in town. And we still practice right here on Monday nights. But there's also a lot of carrying on here while we're here. Because it is a social thing, too. It always has been. Our youngest member is a junior in high school, and our oldest member is a French horn player named Charlotte, who's going to be 83. We don’t turn anybody away. Even through this past year, with all of the uncertainty of COVID, we made it a point to practice. We just did it outside. I think that was important for us, to keep it going. Over time, this band has been a big part of the community. It really brings a sense of togetherness, which is important. I worry sometimes that we could lose that.
The Songwriter
Ian Robinson
Cumberland, Maryland
I’m originally from Baltimore. I wound up coming out here to go to college. That transition was a culture shock. I definitely had to learn how to make my own fun, because the pace of life is so much slower here. Even though I had started playing guitar when I was 12, I turned even more towards my music out here. Music helps remind me that there are other people that feel the same way that I do. I have dealt with bullying and heartbreak, and music has always helped with that. It has been the one thing that has never left me. It has never discriminated against me. It has never made me feel less than I am. It has always been pushing me to be a better person. And so with my songwriting, I am trying to encourage other people to be themselves and to do what it is that makes them feel happy at the end of the day. But I also address issues of race and discrimination. Because I realized that before I am a musician, or an activist, or a friend, I am a Black man. When I was in my second year in college, the Trayvon Martin shooting happened. And that is when I become more unapologetically Black. I become more comfortable with talking about the issues that people of color face. And the point is to make people feel uncomfortable sometimes. We have to make sure that the conversation isn’t just getting brushed under the rug. There are a lot of people doing this work here, but unfortunately, people with that intention often leave the area. But I’m not leaving. I want to stay and make it better.
The Banjo Player
The Rev. Frankie Revell
LaVale, Maryland
If it has strings on it, you know, I can kind of beat a melody out of it. I started out on the banjo. That would have been when I was 7. So that's, you know, 33 years ago now. I learned from my father. Actually, my father heard my mother's father on the radio before they were ever married. And my father heard that and said, “Wow, I have to learn how to do that!” So he sought this man out. But as time went on, he developed more interest in my mother than in the banjo. They eventually get married, and here I am as a result! It's kind of a strange thing, but I have to say, everything good that's ever happened in my life has happened as a result of the banjo. I think it's just a part of my calling; I'm going to preach, and I'm going to pick. My father started to come down with Alzheimer's in 2009. And I had read the connection between music and Alzheimer's and how it can really be a beneficial thing. So I sought out shows at the local coffee shop. My father was himself when he had the banjo in his hands. It gets you through the difficult times. That's what music does, I think.
The Genealogist
Ina Hicks
Friendsville, Maryland
My family has been in this valley for a long, long time, going back to some of the first Swedish settlers. I moved away for college but came back when I found this piece of land up on the hill behind town. There was no electricity and no running water. But when I sat down there for the first time, I felt roots growing out of my butt. And I knew I wanted to raise my kids there. We had a huge garden and the place was covered in berries. And we had a good spring that we would walk to to get water. Having to go and get it made me appreciate it so much more. My granddaughter, who lived in Philadelphia, once came to visit. And she says, “Granny, how do you stand it here without a bathroom?” And I said, “How many people get to see the stars on the way to the bathroom at night?” I just loved it. I felt so close to the source. I was born during the worst of the Great Depression. But people were always kind to me here. We were looked after. When I was a child, I asked God to show me a way to show my love for the people of this place. And I think, for me, that was becoming the genealogist at the library here in town. For many years I collected photographs and stories and eventually filled the shelves of the library with binders. And I realized then that I just didn’t want anybody to be forgotten. So I learned to be curious and to be quiet and to listen. The highway came through in the early ’70s and changed things out here. But even now, I am still able to experience a primal sense of belonging here. The birds are still here. And the river is still here. It rises and it falls, but it has been in that riverbed for a long time. It was here when my ancestors were here. It was here when the Native Americans were here. And it was here a long, long time before that.
The Kayakers
Nathan Forbeck & Seth Moessinger (speaker)
Youghiogheny River, Pennsylvania
I grew up 10 miles north of Cumberland, Maryland, on Bottle Run. Back in Prohibition days, they used to make booze there, and my property is right where the creek comes out of the ground. We used to go fishing all the time and canoeing and that sort of thing. “Float trips,” they would call it around here. I was 13 when I really got started kayaking. You look at the way that rivers were used and how all of the places pop up on the map in Appalachia based on where water is. Kayaking is this way of understanding the landscape and how all of this place comes together through the movement of water.
The Cheese Maker
Linda Kling
Grantsville, Maryland
My dad, when he was 16 years old, he hauled milk for the local Amish farms in the area. His dream was to always do a cheese plant. So he approached myself and my son and said, “Let’s do it.” And one of my dreams was always to work with my dad, so I crazily said yes. Unfortunately, he passed away not too long after we got started together. I run the business on my own now. All cheeses start out from basically the same source of milk. And we get all of our milk from local Amish farms. It's only about a five-minutes drive from here. And there are all sorts of wonderful seasonal subtleties that you get from local milk. For example, in the spring, because of the fresh grass, the cheese is a bit darker in color and just a bit earthier in taste. And if they are out eating buttercups, or dandelions, it will have a bit of a different flavor to it, a bit more floral.
The Shape-Note Singers
Mike Yoder & The Mountain Anthems
Salisbury, Pennsylvania
We’re Mennonite, so our history goes back to a man named Menno Simons, who was a 16th-century priest. But really it’s about trying to figure out how best to live out these things that we read in the Bible. As a community, we are very committed to a biblical life. We still get a packed congregation every Sunday morning. Shape-noting is a way to write down music so that it’s easy for the singer to quickly read and know what tone and pitch to make for a note. And we take pretty much everyone from the congregation who comes. It’s grueling — we train every Thursday throughout the year, and our performance trips on the road are often long. But it’s worth it, because it’s a ministry. And people sometimes come up to you in tears. And you feel blessed. It’s an amazing reward.
The Logger
Guy Beitzel
Hundred, West Virginia
Appalachia is one of the largest and best hardwood forests in the world. And most of the other places with good hardwood, like Russia, for example, the wood there is really remote. This here is really a special resource. I started getting paid $2.50 an hour on my grandfather’s sawmill when I was 12. Then, right when I got out of high school, I went to work for my uncle as a logger and I learned from him. You get to be your own boss. It is up to you how much money you want to make. So if I bust my ass, I can earn it. But if I want to slack off all day, I can, too. But it’s hard work. I’m sure there are plenty of jobs out there that pay better that don’t have this kind of manual labor. My dad didn’t want me in the business, you know? His grandfather was killed in a sawmill. And I am not sure I would want my son in it. But if he went that way, I would support him. Because it’s what I grew up around. It’s in our blood. That’s what my side of the family does. We’re loggers.
The Seasonal Chef
Josh Horevay
Cumberland, Maryland
What we’re trying to do here is cook food that is sourced locally and seasonally and also draws on Appalachian traditions. We focus on a degree of preservation, but we are also trying to move things forward and get creative with what is available to us. Probably 95% of what we make is locally sourced. We have a few things that we get elsewhere, like vinegar and sugar, but even those things come from nearby. Appalachia is, traditionally, the sort of place that tries to take care of itself. So there was plenty of knowledge here that I was able to draw from about making local food. I started working in restaurants in college, and then apprenticed as a chef and volunteered in places like Nashville and Portland. But I came back here when I decided to start my own thing. There’s so much opportunity here: cheap rent, fertile land, good people. So I thought, let’s make it happen here.
The Family Farm
Ben (speaker), Hana, Rose, & Henry Yoder
Meyersdale, Pennsylvania
I became very passionate about preserving small-scale agriculture in our area. The idea of independence and autonomy as a family unit was also important to me. Empowered to make your own living and to be in charge of your own day is just the way that I think humans are supposed to live. We've had such an awesome and rich agrarian cultural history in the United States that's just slowly going away. Now even the Amish are getting outside jobs. But I wanted to be around the farm all day. And when the kids need me, they know they can come out and find me. And Hana is with them all day; she does home-school and is the primary caretaker. I know that seems kind of traditional and backwards to some people. But to us, it's totally just what we want. It's kind of a reclaiming thing; being useful and having skills and having a really strong work ethic; being a necessary and needed part of the family group. That's something I want to instill in the kids, you know? I want them to be out working and learning skills, and feeling good about themselves, and confident. And I think that kind of learning just comes naturally on a farm.
Header photo: The Barn Dance Caller, Slim Harrison, Loudon County, Virginia
You know the Virginia reel was actually the most popular dance in America once? It’s a great one. But I almost always start them off with a circle dance. Something easy. It gives me a chance to size up the crowd and see their ability and knowledge of things. A lot of these dances started out as French military drills, called quadrilles. So they were supposed to be easy to follow. Other dances came from English country dances and Irish and Scottish cèilidhs. So they were things that settlers here brought with them. And then there are African American influences in the dances, too. That made things a little livelier. And there is even a Seneca version of a country dance that I saw one time. But basically, the dances haven’t changed much for hundreds of years, and I imagine that they will be going for another hundred years or more, I hope!
The Mountain Traditions Project has been made possible by generous support from The Community Trust Foundation.
Michael O. Snyder is a photographer and journalist who uses his combined knowledge of visual storytelling and conservation to create narratives that drive social change. He holds an MSc in Environmental Sustainability from the University of Edinburgh, Scotland, and a BSc from Dickinson College. He is a Climate Journalism Fellow at the Bertha Foundation, a Portrait of Humanity Award winner, a Blue Earth Alliance photographer, a Society of Environmental Journalists member, a National Geographic contributor, and a Resident Artist at the McGuffey Art Center in Charlottesville, Virginia.
