We are headed back.

In that complex and very unpredictable way that life works, where it catches you by surprise in an off-handed way, we are returning home. We have two, quite different, homes: Ohio and Greece. We landed at Eleftherios Venizelos airport outside Athens two years ago. We piled into our aunt's compact car. And as we came around the bend in the road that leads into Porto Rafti—a place that became our second home over the course of the next three months—we saw it: the clear, blue waters of the Aegean. From the time we had to say goodbye, we have longed to relive that moment; to come home to our sea.

Greece is a wild, untamed place. Its natural beauty is no rumor, nor are its manmade troubles. Its a land where the rhythms of life are informed more by the position of the sun in the cloudless sky than by economic indicators or the law of the land, for better or for worse. The Aegean Sea is Greece's crown jewel and Porto Rafti rests on her shores; nestled among the coastal foothills, on the other side of which you will find kilometers upon kilometers of silver-leaved olive trees, pistachio groves, and dry, thistle-y brush.

Porto Rafti is a town of 2,000 in winter and 50,000 in summer. Stray dogs and cats co-mingle with the patrons at seaside tavernas and cafes. Street vendors, slinging anything from grilled corn on the cob to terra cotta planters, proposition you in a language you won't understand. Groups of men drive by in rusted pickup trucks, advertising to all via loudspeaker that they will buy your unwanted junk. The airspace falls silent around two o'clock, when lunch has been consumed and all take refuge from the sun for an afternoon siesta. It's like clockwork, says our uncle.

We are convinced theirs is a way of life anyone could get used to, whereby (at least) two daily swims are an expectation and church bells can be heard ringing every single day. And we'll be living it out again, if only for a moment.

Home sweet home. Bless you, Greece.



eating cake
wedding toast
one of the boys
mimi and haze
running to gurney
dancing with gurney

Though the general ethic of our wedding celebration centered on sustainability—that is to say, non-disposability—there was one exception we were willing to make: disposable cameras. 

Film photography has played a special role in documenting our relationship & our lives, and we had hoped it could play into our wedding plans in some way or another. Due in part to our decision to change the date on very short notice, we ended up with what amounted to "crowdsourced" wedding photos. With a couple of very talented photographer friends leading the way, DSLRs in hand, our wedding guests captured the action themselves using cheap drug store cameras. 

Yesterday, when we went to pick up the film—with that bygone feeling of unknowing anticipation that comes with waiting to have your photos developed—we were overjoyed to discover rolls that had turned out even better than we had expected. In placing cameras in the hands of everyone rather than one, we are now able to (re)live so many beloved moments & faces that we may have missed the first time around. 




Unedited scans of a place wholly un-captured. A place so unquantifiable in form or photo that it remains, in completeness, a slice of our memories. A place we can only say aloud with a wistful tone of voice; a place that will remain with us forever. A place you must go.

To get here, you will travel hours on buses and trainsyou'll bring a book, but you'll spend most of your time trying to fall asleep in order to beat the heat. You won't. Eventually, you will cross through the Plain of Thessaly, a vast expanse of agricultural meccagreen, orderly;  very unlike the Greece you know.  The 'getting there' part has ended when your feet touch ground in Kalambaka, a village resting at the foot of the most beautiful place your eyes have ever viewed, and they have viewed many beautiful things. 

You are there. You are at Meteora.


Rather than inundate your impression of this place with our own verbiage, we will let these photos rest. Our travel style is to soak up places that are unpopulated, and with that philosophy comes a quietness in sharing; a desire to let youthe viewer, the reader, the listenerform your own impression.

These images were taken with a beloved Canon AE-1, an un-special 35 mm camera with a special ability to capture just the sort of images we want to keep forever. Of course, they do not do Meteora justice (not even a little bit), even for us who were there. But they do provide an unadulterated look back at what was the most magnificent place we'd ever seen. Meteora: the place we hope you find yourself visiting.