Documentary Family Session in Philadelphia, PA

I sometimes worry that my pictures appear boring to those that find their way to this space. And I wonder if I should try to photograph something more exciting than babies having their diapers changed or parents pushing little ones on the swing.  But the truth is, babies grow out of diapers and children learn to pump their legs on the swings.  Normal, boring days turn into complicated ones with algebra and puberty and scars and gray hair and retirement savings.  And (I am assuming) we will look back longingly for the simple boring days when our kids were small.     

During the current run of my Visual Storytelling course student Andrea Wolfe shared the following quote, by Mary Jean Irion (who, as it turns out is from Pennsylvania just like the family in the pictures below.)

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.”

— Mary Jean Irion

Let us not forget in the sea of legos and barbie shoes that normal is a treasure. 

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The Bowser's Story in Clinton, Mississippi

A few years ago I made a photographic bucket list.  One item on the list was photographing a "large family".  And after meeting Heather Bowser's family of 15 in Clinton, Mississippi, I finally got to check that off my list!  

The kids' ages range from 9 months to 22 years and at the moment all the kids are living at home.  So, Heather wanted to document this season as it will soon change.  I was expecting their home to be out of control with kids running around like wild animals, but it was quite the opposite. It felt sort of like 3 mini families living under one roof.  Kids sticking with those whose ages were closest to their own but also mingling with others from time to time through out the day.  The older kids went to work, the middle ones did school, the little ones played and napped and Heather gracefully wove through the little groups of children.  Then everyone came together in the evening for dinner and swimming. In many ways, It wasn't much different than any other family.     

Heather asked if my husband and I planned to have more children.  I blathered something like, "Oh we are DONE.  I had varicose veins with Oliver. And the kids are so crazy and I am tired.  We are SO done."  Then I realized I was talking to a lady with 13 children and all of my reasons felt trivial.  Heather did not mind so much about the veins or the crazy or the tired.  I still think we are done, but watching Heather and Lance with their children made me very aware of all of the things that I selfishly cling to:  my time, my body, my money, my space.  In my life, those things are meant to be hoarded.  For the Bowsers, they are meant to be spent.  C.S. Lewis said,

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

Lance and Heather Bowser are a tremendous example of the fruit of sacrificial love.  Their hearts are laid open -- trampled, stretched and covered in smudgy fingerprints.  Yet their hearts are beating strong.    

Molly Flanagan Photography:  Family Storytelling Photographer based out of Anderson, South Carolina

Click here to learn more about my Visual Storytelling course offered in January.  

The Zimmerman's Story in Jacksonville, Oregon

My husband and I were obsessed with the weather during our cross-country road trip.  It seemed that about 90% of our conversations revolved around whatever region's particular climate.  

"It's the middle of May, there is no way we can get snowed in... right?"

"Look, this towel was soaking wet last night. Feel it.  Completely dry! How about that?!"     

"A high of 110 today but tonight it will be 56!  Incredible!"

"Whaaaaat? I made this sandwich 5 minutes ago, the bread is as dry as toast!"  

Since I have lived in the sticky South nearly all my life, experiencing the intensely dry heat out west was fascinating.  At first it was amazing.  Everything was covered in dust -- but my hair never looked better.  Yet as the temperature rose the novelty of bone dry kitchen sponges every morning began to wear off. Then there was that day outside Las Vegas where the sky felt like 1,000 hairdryers in your face.  We learned that tons of people died building the Hoover Dam because of the heat and I totally get it because my hands literally broke out in heat blisters just looking at the dam.  And there was that one time we saw a gigantic rainstorm in the distance.  Oh, how I longed for it as we drove closer and closer to the ominous clouds.  Only to discover it was a Virga rain - a storm that evaporates before it hits the ground.   My bones ached for rain!  At one point, I searched the web for "places with coolest summers in the US".  We rerouted our trip and hightailed it to Flagstaff, Arizona where each afternoon was kissed with a gentle sunshower and peaceful breezes throughout the night.    

There is a word that I want to use to describe Flagstaff that sounds way too fancy to be a Molly Flanagan word, but I am going to use it anyway.  Respite.  Which is a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant.   Heat, snow, sickness, injury, car troubles, wrong turns, tarantulas.  Our 77 day adventure was filled with difficult and unpleasant things marked with many glorious respites which made the unbearable parts bearable. Respites in the form of Reeces Blizzards at Dairy Queen, listening to Mystery Show, hot showers that did not require flip flops, and Shawn & Courtney Zimmerman.       

We were only supposed to stay in Southern Oregon with the Zimmermans for a few nights, but our respite somehow became a maybe-we-should-be-paying-rent type of situation.  They took in all five of us.  Four of whom arrived with a stomach virus.  Let us (repeatedly) eat all their food.   Took us to rivers and lakes.  Camped with us on the coast.  And hijacked their friends swimming pool for us.  All while Shawn transitioned to a new job and temperatures soared above 100 degrees every day.  We finally said our good-byes, but then after our 4 year old was injured they welcomed us back so he would have time to begin to heal and we could reconfigure our travel plans. We savored the care and hospitality we received from each member of the Zimmerman family.  It was the most beautiful example of a respite.  

Thank you Zimmermans for opening your home and your hearts to us and for providing us with a respite we will always remember. 

The Ravnaas's Story in Minnessota and North Dakota

I am not sure where to begin, but maybe I will start off by saying photographing the Ravnaas family was an overwhelming honor.  It is complicated.  So I will let Sara tell you in her own words...

“Our story is a long but beautiful one. Our daughter was diagnosed at 18 weeks gestation with a very serious heart defect. After a fairly easy pregnancy, she was born full term in Minneapolis since North Dakota does not have the resources to care for kiddos with hearts so broken like our Elsa’s heart. After a few hours, we were told that not only did she have the one heart defect, but 4 more as well. Her best hope of survival was a series of 3 open heart surgeries to correct the flow and make her heart work more efficiently. These repairs are not a fix, but rather a bandaid to bridge the time before she would be listed for a heart transplant.

Elsa’s situation became more complicated about 2 years ago (she was 5 months old at the time) and we have not been able to get her back home to North Dakota ever since. She has been in our home for a total of 6 weeks in her 2.5 yrs of life. She has spent the majority of her life in a hospital and now with the help of home care nurses, she is able to be in a home setting that we provide for her in Minneapolis. We have been living separately now since March 2013.

My husband runs the show back in central North Dakota, and I run the show with Elsa in Minneapolis. We live on a rural cattle and small grains farm and our boys love the school and their friends. We have always wanted to be sure that they were getting their needs met as well in all of this craziness so we decided that giving them the stability of home and school was best for them long term. I have not been to our home since Jan 2014 when I went for a 3 day visit. Elsa is not able to travel back until she gets a clearance from her doctors which will be a minimum of another year if all goes well.”

When Sara heard I would be passing through her area she asked if I could photograph her, Elsa and her youngest son (that would be spending the summer with her) at their apartment in Minneapolis and then travel 460 miles to central North Dakota to photograph her husband and two other boys.  Sara misses home.  She misses seeing her boys off to school in the mornings and hearing their stories when they come home.  She has not seen the treehouse they built in the backyard or the improvements her husband has made to the property.  She doesn't know what new lego creations are displayed on the boys' dressers or whether they are keeping their sock drawers tidy. Any visits the boys are able to make to Minneapolis are crammed into the occasional long weekend -- and even then, only if everyone is healthy enough for Elsa's weak immune system.  It is crazy.  But they are making it work.

So, within 24 hours I was able to photograph them all.  Two homes.  Two stories.  One family.  

In Sara's words...

“Two family stories meshed into one over the distance.”

Elsa is currently in the hospital in Michigan for a new surgery.  She has been experiencing some complications recovering from the surgery.    You can visit her CaringBridge page here.  

The Dickson's Story in Niddrie, Scotland

This Spring I was able to photograph a missionary family to Niddrie, a suburb of Edinburgh. When I told people in Scotland I was spending the night in Niddrie. They would twist their faces up a bit and reply, "NIDDRIE? Why?!" Not your typical tourist town, Government Housing was built in Niddrie in the 1920s to house folks arriving in droves to Scotland to mine coal. The town soon became one of the most drug ridden communities in Scotland. In recent years, an effort to regenerate Niddrie has done away with the old government housing structures and many folks have been relocated to other places, leaving those left behind with a shattered sense of community as everything around them is changing. The Dicksons, originally from South Africa and Wales, left their careers to minister to folks in Niddrie, where they lived in a small flat with their three young boys.  They have recently moved on to another part of Scotland where they are planting a church.  

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