Where the Wild Things Wander

Two years ago, I met the Heins because, as fate would have it, their photographer disappeared.

For some unknown reason, messages went unanswered and suddenly Renay was left hoping to find someone who could squeeze them in before their newest little person stopped being quite so new.

Before little Lou, affectionately known as Bluey by his big sister, outgrew those dimpled knees, that fuzzy little profile, soft newborn skin and sleepy yawns.

There was only one slight problem.

The only time I had free was the very day I was leaving for our big adventure to the US.

And thank goodness Renay said yes.

Because otherwise, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Not just those photographs.

This.

The beautiful little connection we've somehow built over the two years since.

Our yearly catchups that don't really feel like photography sessions anymore. More like catching up with friends, with a camera coming along for the ride. Hehe.

And quite literally, a ride this time.

Because when little Amalia greets you excitedly declaring that she cannot wait to go on an adventure, you go on an adventure.

So off we ventured.

Out to a friend's property where Jared hunts deer. A place of rolling hills and enormous rocks. Cows and sheep. Trees and scrub. Old stories built from bricks and mortar. Forests that, if you ask Amalia, probably sparkle with fairy dust.

And one particularly special tree.

The tree beneath which Jared and Renay were married, long before Amalia and Louis were welcomed earthside.

And there we were, all these years later, standing underneath it with the two little people who came after.

I feel so lucky to be invited into places like this. Into people's hearts and histories and the little pieces of their lives that mean something.

Although with the Heins, I'm starting to feel less like someone who's been invited and more like a piece of worn furniture that nobody has bothered getting rid of yet.

And I quite like it that way.

We piled into the car and drove around the property. Well, Jared drove. The rest of us mostly just enjoyed the ride while he jumped in and out opening gates.

Windows down.
Wind in our hair.
Breeze sweeping across our faces.

And the occasional delight of kangaroos bounding past.

Lou sat clutching his special little soft toys…the ones Amalia very seriously informed me "can't go anywhere without."

Fair enough.

Lou, meanwhile, had decided I wasn't getting much from him.

No big hello.
No cheeky grin.

Renay assured me he'd warm up.

And he did.

In the driveway at home, naturally.

Thankfully, I still managed to catch little glimpses of him throughout the afternoon. That cheek. The sneaky side-eye. Tiny flashes of the mischievous little boy hiding underneath the I'm-not-performing-for-you exterior.

Amalia, on the other hand, has enough stories for everybody.

She is one of those little people who seems completely delighted to simply be alive.

Everything is worth noticing.

Every rock. Every animal. Every strange little thing growing beside the track. Every story that needs telling immediately.

She lives unapologetically in the slow lane, noticing all those tiny things that us grownups have somehow learned to walk straight past.

Jared came prepared with his hunting backpack, binoculars and the gear he takes when he heads out looking for deer.

And Renay?

Renay brought snacks.

Because she knows one thing for certain:

children always need snacks.

And that was really the afternoon.

Nothing extravagant.

We drove.
We explored.
We opened gates.
We climbed rocks.
We looked for animals.
We heard stories.
We laughed.

And somewhere amongst all of that, I took some photographs.

But I think that's what I've come to love most about photographing this family.

It never really feels like we're stopping life to take pictures.

They're just living it.

And every year, I get to wander back in for a little while and see what's changed.

The newborn with the dimpled knees is now running around with his beloved toys tucked tightly under his arm.

The little girl who once became a big sister is growing into this wonderfully curious person with an entire world of stories inside her.

And Jared and Renay are still there in the middle of it all—quietly building this warm, wonderfully ordinary life around them.

A life full of family.

A life full of stories.

A life where there are always snacks packed, gates to open, somewhere to explore and two little people growing far quicker than any of us would like.

And somehow, every now and then, there's a slightly worn photographer tucked into the furniture too.

I wouldn't have it any other way.