We've been on a fall travel binge with two mountain trips over the last two weeks and a blustery beach trip just ahead. How lucky we are to have family sprinkled across the country in so many beautiful places. Our area doesn't typically have a dramatic leaf peak, so we headed up to Virginia's Shenandoah Valley for some color and cousin time. (You can find posts on our last summer trip to Virginia here and our last winter trip here.) I've become a serial drive-by photographer. Jeff drives (and rolls his eyes at me) while I take photos out the window with my iPhone. Here are a few shots from our late afternoon drive over the mountains and into the Shenandoah Valley. 
The leaves weren't quite peaking in the valley, but as we drove up the mountain to Shenandoah National Park for a hike, we wove through bands of red, yellow and orange. By the time we reached the park's highest elevations, the leaves had mostly fallen. 
No hike is complete without getting a lift from your older cousin along the way, right? 
I kept walking around a bend to find my niece waiting for me, ready to pose for a photo. 
On our way out of town, we stopped at Carter Mountain Orchard in Charlottesville to pick apples. Cricket was so excited she choreographed an apple dance. 
We've been on the road and in the skies so much this year that I haven't gotten a chance to post about each trip, but I've been spending a lot of time on Instagram. You can find me at @jsoplop. (You don't need an Instagram account to view my photos.) 
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 No, this post isn't a field dispatch from East Africa. I wish. But for now the North Carolina Zoo will have to do. We visited these (then 8-week-old) lion cubs there last month and fell in love. I spent a lot of my college years studying biology and animal behavior, so watching family groups interact (even just in a zoo setting) makes me nostalgic for a more adventurous time of life. And watching the siblings tussle with each other reminded me that the behaviors—good and "bad”—I see in my own girls are all just a standard and necessary part of development. It amazed me how much the cubs resembled my human children when they played!  Jump! (Next to an incredibly vigilant mama.)   Next time my child bites me, I will remind myself it doesn't hurt as much as it would if my child were a lion.   Family photo.  Cuddling with Mom.  Clockwise: It's so hard to stay awake.  
My mother-in-law gave me a funny look when I rattled off the activities my solo weekend in Colorado entailed. "I thought you might...sleep in or something?" she said. But seriously. Who could sleep in when there are kid-free mountain adventures awaiting? Certainly not I. After catching sunrise from Red Rocks Amphitheatre, my sister and I headed to the patio at Highlands Cork & Coffee for mochas and bagel sandwiches that were so good we have yet to stop talking about them. Then we took my ginger-haired niece and nephew dogs for a walk around this lovely reservoir at Denver's Crown Hill Park (below). 
By the time my brother-in-law rolled up from work, we had all our camping gear piled by the door and were lacing up our boots. We drove several hours south through two of my favorite areas: South Park (the grassland basin, not the show) and the Upper Arkansas River Valley. The views here are BIG. From the back seat, my ginger seatmates and I enjoyed watching the storms broiling over distant mountains and not-so-distant cattle ranches. 
Our destination? The Angel of Shavano Campground in the Sawatch Range, which greeted us with a double rainbow and a camp host who tipped us off to the best site to catch first light creeping over the mountains. The night was quiet and clear, and we did indeed have the best view of sunrise. 
From here we hopped on the Colorado Trail, which took us up along the valley of the North Fork of the South Arkansas River (confused yet?). If I have my bearings right, the Sangre de Christo Range is in the distance, with Hunts Peak on the left. 
The trail also took us through a massive stand of aspen and a glorious, wildflower-filled alpine meadow. 
You may recognize my fantastic hosts from the engagement session I posted here earlier this year. (You can also check out the posts from my previous Colorado trip for their February mountain wedding here, here and here.) 
I had passed by Salida a few times over the years but never stopped to visit its historic downtown. I almost regret stopping on our way home...because now I'm obsessing over it. Salida is mountain biking country. And rafting country. And skiing country. And art country. Okay, most Colorado is, but I really liked Salida. It's a tiny, cash-or-check-only-please kind of town with a lot of character. We grabbed a post-hike lunch at Ploughboy, then stopped for coffee at Cafe Dawn before walking around town. 
The sky during our drive back up to Denver was at least as stunning as on the way down. 
By the time we arrived in Denver, we summoned just enough strength to order pizza and watch Titanic. And then reminisce about 1997. And Leo circa 1997. What better way to end any trip, right?
The end. Click here for more Adventures. Click here for more Nature. Please join me on Instagram @jsoplop. 
Years ago my mom gave me a book called "Always We Begin Again." It's a little book filled with big notions—short meditations on living deliberately. I wish I could say I read it daily, but mostly it sits on a shelf. Every once in a while, I do read through it, but more often than that the title catches my eye and offers a subtle reminder that tomorrow will always bring with it a fresh start. Sometimes that's all I need to get through a tough day. Watching sunrise gives me similar comfort, reinforcing the fact that no matter what is happening in my small life, the world resets the same way each morning with a stunning, dramatic burst of light and energy. Always we begin again. Last week I made my second trek of the year to Colorado. (The first was in February for my sister's amazing mountain wedding. You can view those posts here, here and here.) This was a solo trip to recharge my batteries, so naturally I dragged my sister out of bed at 4:30 a.m. and hauled her up to Red Rocks Amphitheatre to watch the sun rise over the Denver skyline and the plains. We wove up the road to the amphitheater in the dark, greeted by a couple of deer grazing next to the road. By the time we climbed the stairs to the top, the sky looked a little something like this. 
We were so content with this sky that we forgot the sun hadn't even made an appearance yet and were pleasantly surprised when an orange disc arrived on the horizon just behind the skyline. 
In the foreground of these images you can see the famous red sandstone surrounding the amphitheatre. In the middle sits the Dakota Hogback, a ridge that divides the Rocky Mountains from the Great Plains. The Great Plains spread from there to the horizon. 
I threw on my zoom lens to capture the image below of the skyline (as well as the top photo). 
My sister taking in the view. 
Once the golden hour of soft light set in, we made our way down the steps and back to the city. To begin again. 
It had been more than a year since our last trip to visit family outside Charlottesville, VA, so we packed the car—and by car I mean new minivan, because, yes, it actually happened—and drove northwest until that unmistakable blue of the Blue Ridge Mountains rose into view. When we weren't watching the girls play games, swim and weave bracelets with their older cousins (read: heroes), we meandered along idyllic backroads and wound our way through Shenandoah National Park a few times. This gentle, rolling swath of country makes my heart happy. Above: Sunset over the Shenandoah Valley from Shenandoah National Park. Below: Farmland around Harrisonburg and Charlottesville. Views from Shenandoah National Park. Racing around the Charlottesville downtown pedestrian mall. 
A sprawling farm outside Harrisonburg. 
It's always tough to get the girls to bed when we travel, so I had the brilliant idea to head back up to the park with Nora to catch sunset over the valley. I figured she would fall asleep on the drive, I would get to watch and photograph the sunset in peace, then would drive home and transfer her to bed. Right. She didn't sleep a wink and spent the evening free-climbing the stone wall at the outlook. But it was a much funnier and more memorable experience than if she'd fallen asleep like she was supposed to. Isn’t that how life always pans out with kids in tow? 
Goodnight, Blue Ridge. 
 I’ve had a hard time pulling together this post. Two months ago, we spent a week in the Naples/Fort Myers area of Florida. It was a poignant trip on several accounts: we celebrated Jeff's grandmother's 85th birthday with his entire family and also got a chance to visit with and say our final farewell to my grandmother, who will be leaving us very soon. The birthday celebration for Jeff’s grandmother in Fort Myers was a happy occasion. She is a warm presence in our lives, and to watch her take advantage of these later years and derive such joy from her ever-growing family inspires us. I look at his grandmother and think these things: without her, my caring mother-in-law would not exist, and without my mother-in-law, my incredible husband would not exist, and without my husband, my beautiful daughters would not exist. I’ve only known this woman for seven years, and yet she has profoundly influenced my life; without her living just as she did, my little family would not exist. This idea leaves my head spinning with gratitude for her. Below: Growing up, my family made an annual spring break pilgrimage to this Naples beach to visit my grandparents and soak up the sun. If you've lived in a Minnesota-like climate, you know how precious such a trip is in the middle of the long, long winter. It was surreal to watch my girls play here, right in front of my grandparents' home of 30 years.  The memories of my final visits to my grandma in Naples are bittersweet. They stick in my throat, and I'm having trouble finding the words to make sense of them. Here is what I have parsed out so far: It is a strange thing—watching someone you love slowly recede into dementia until she is all but gone, though still alive. As I write this, it has been more than a week since Grandma has eaten and her breathing is changing. I am waiting for the call from my mom that she has gone. I imagine my grandpa up there waiting impatiently for her (this impatience is one of several things I inherited from him). "Come on, Ruthie," I can almost hear him say. "You're late!" After 71 years of marriage, a year apart is far too long. I remember, as a child in school, being asked to name my hero. It was always Grandma. But it occurred to me as I sat with her that perhaps I had never told her. So I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "You've always been my hero, Grandma." She smiled and whispered an enthusiastic, "Thank you!" as she fell asleep. I hope somehow, for even the briefest of moments, those words sunk in. The girls and Jeff came with me to visit Grandma three times. We were fortunate to catch some of the last glimpses of her—a moment here, a few seconds or minutes there. She was the most lucid at our last visit as a family. How she loved to see the girls play by her bedside in their bright, retro swimsuits! Nora was talking non-stop, and Grandma laughed and said, “I’m just trying to decipher her version of the English language.” I think it was the only full sentence I heard her put together during our visits, and it was so Grandma. Our trip overlapped with an aunt and cousin to whom I am very close. On my last visit to Grandma, I picked up my cousin and we met my aunt at Grandma's place. When Grandma fell asleep, we took a walk together. We cried and hugged and laughed. We remembered. And we talked about the future. How surreal to think that Grandma has been such a monumental part of our past but will not physically be a part of our future. I want to share more with you about this wonderful person, Ruth Leslie Bean, but it’s too hard right now. I’m waiting by the phone. I’m praying. And I’m feeling grateful that my daughters have had the good fortune to know three of their great-grandmothers. Below: Thanks to Bridget for taking this photo of Grandma and me. I will treasure it.  Below: Porpoise just south of Doctors Pass. I wonder how many of them we've seen at this very spot over the years.   Below: Grandma enjoyed watching the girls walk by her window on the way to this pond in search of turtles and alligators.  Below; Grandma's neighbor, who provided the girls with endless entertainment.  Below: The girls were quite taken with shell collecting.  Below: Cricket decked out for a birthday celebration.   Below: Sunset on final approach. I've been looking at this photo a lot these days.  
Help! I'm in the middle of one of those drowning-in-content-but-no-time-to-post stretches. Between travel, house guests, photo sessions, home projects and wanting to play outside every possible second, time seems to be evaporating even more quickly than usual. One day I'll catch up...or not.
In the meantime, you can join me on Instagram @jsoplop. I've been posting there quite a bit this winter and spring, and you'll find a lot of images that don't make it to the blog. When I get back to work here on the blog over the next few weeks, you can expect posts on: a DIY headboard made from upcycled picture frames, trips to Florida and Asheville, portrait sessions and a few new photo products I'm obsessing over. Happy spring! Above: Fringed tulip at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens. 
If you've been following this blog at all over the last few months, you know I've been entirely immersed in my little sister's wedding. (Previous wedding posts: here and here for more Colorado trip photos, here for save-the-dates and programs, here for wedding invitations, here for engagement photos, here for bridal shower photos and here for a DIY travel journal.) Well here's my final related post: photos from the wedding weekend. There are so many things I want to recount and remember about this event, but first things first. Let's set the scene. Planning a wedding in the middle of the winter in the middle of the Rocky Mountains at 8,300 feet was a risky maneuver, but boy did it pay off. The ground was covered with four feet of snow, and it snowed lightly but consistently each day of the trip. The wind was gusting up to 80 miles per hour. But to the crew of 50 guests, mostly hailing from Minnesota, Wisconsin or Colorado, these conditions were nothing to write home about. They just provided a dream-like backdrop for the big day. The wedding took place at the Wild Basin Lodge, which sits at a remote entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park, along the St. Vrain River. Most of us stayed at the lodge or cabins within walking distance of the lodge. Above: My immediate family has grown from 6 to 15 people in the last few years. I wonder what the next couple years will hold? (Thanks to my cousin, Katie, for taking this photo.) Below: A stand of aspen in snowdrifts in Rocky Mountain National Park. 
Here are a few winter scenes from in and around Rocky Mountain National Park's Wild Basin entrance. Oh, did I mention the wind was insane? 
My mom took this photo of me held up by the wind in the park. Plenty of sledders hit the hill in the backyard of our cabin, including...the mother-of-the-bride (top center)! 
The rehearsal dinner took place at a cute little Italian restaurant called Mama Rose's on the river in Estes Park. It was dusk and snowing as we drove down into the beautiful town (below top center). I'd love to explore that area more on my next trip. My mom recently discovered an envelope that belonged to my great-grandmother, on which was written: "The ten (10) cent piece worn in my shoe when I was married. Aug. 24—1907.” Apparently it is a Scottish-Irish tradition for the bride's father to place a coin in the bride's shoe just before the ceremony. So my parents surprised my sister with this re-discovered tradition and my great-grandmother's coin from her wedding day more than 100 years ago. Below right: Flower girls Cricket and Iris check out their dresses before go-time. They couldn't get over the fact that they all got to wear matching outfits. 
The ceremony was supposed to happen outdoors with a view of the river and mountains, but it was too blustery and snowy. Instead it took place in the entryway of the lodge in front of a huge stone fireplace with a roaring fire. Life doesn't get more picturesque than that (though I don't actually have pictures, because I was busy being in the wedding). For official photos, you can check out a beautiful blog post by the wedding photographer, Meghan of Visual Poetry. You'll see the space was small—with just enough room for three or four rows of guest—which made it even more intimate and special. To prepare for Mari's entrance, we were led outside and up the back stairway. I will never forget holding her train and helping her up those stairs as light snow was falling and landing on her amazing red hair. Yep, it was a fairytale from start to finish. There were many moments from the ceremony I won't forget either, like watching Andy's expression when he saw Mari and when the flower girls walked down the aisle holding hands and Cricket stopped to hug her new uncle. Also: bagpipes! I know my Scottish grandpa was smiling from above. 
We took bridal party photos in front of the frozen St. Vrain River, surrounded by aspen and foggy mountains. Right middle: Sweet "Just Married" blanket, stitched by Andy's mom. Bottom middle: My sisters and me. It's not often we're all lucky enough to be in the same place at the same time. Bottom left: The flower girls (my girls and their cousins). (Thanks again to Katie for taking those last two shots.) 
The details and decorations at the reception were unbelievable. My sister is lucky to have crafty friends who were endlessly generous in giving their time to help with decor. (I should also note that when one friend, who played guitar and sang beautifully during the ceremony, found out the wedding was supposed to be outside, she began practicing in her backyard on cold nights to make sure her fingers were agile enough to play in adverse conditions. Now that is loyal friendship.) One thoughtful detail was the canvas below (top center). Mari found wedding photos of Andy's and our parents and grandparents and had them printed to look like Polaroids. It was hard (for me) not to cry looking at all those beautiful images of lifelong commitment. The floral arrangements by Floral Designs of Europe were incredible and unique. Below right: I love the basket full of river stones and pine cones Mari and her friends devised to hold the wedding programs. 
Below left: The flower girls couldn't keep themselves off the dance floor while watching Mari dance with my dad. Below bottom center: The seating chart was adorable. Everyone's names and table assignments were written on little blocks of birch stuck to this board. Next to the board, you'll see canvases of the engagement photos we took in January. Below right: Bride and groom pine cone cake toppers! It should also be mentioned that my family has many wedding traditions. One is that the bride and groom drink champagne from a special double silver cup. Another is that toasts are a really big deal. My dad always gives a thoroughly researched, footnoted, intricate tear-jerker. And then my sisters and I do something ridiculous. And that ridiculous something might have been an ‘80s cover with words re-written for the happy couple. And that ‘80s cover might just be documented here. (Yes, I'm rocking a snowshoe guitar. And yes, I will probably receive many threats for sharing this footage.) 
Not pictured: The girls fell asleep on our shoulders as we danced the night away at the reception. I will always remember bundling up their sleeping little bodies and walking them back to the cabin—just the four of us together in the pitch dark mountains. Fresh snow was falling. It was silent except for the sounds of our boots crunching on the snow-covered ground and coyotes howling in the distance (and by distance, I mean a few yards away...). My heart was full-up. Below: This is how you leave the mountains: quite precariously with three men pushing your car out of a steep, snowy, icy driveway. And this (right), is a Rocky Mountain sunset send-off from the Denver airfield. 
After four months of planning and preparing and traveling and photographing and blogging, I'm officially signing off from the coverage of the amazingly beautiful and unique wedding of Mari and Andy. Congratulations to them on the beginning of their new life together!
And just like that, my parents have married off the last of their four daughters! 
This is a post about a mystical place—one with all the workings of a fairytale: a meteor crashing to Earth, the quest for its remains, a 20-year dream to build a church on that rock...And then, a devastating flood, mud and rock slides, entire towns cut off, emergency evacuations, hundreds of miles of roads destroyed. Displacement. And yet, as the flood waters receded, up bubbled stories of hope and rebuilding. This place, the canyon cut by the St. Vrain River, experienced historic flooding in September 2013. We found ourselves winding through this canyon a few weeks ago. It led us up to my sister’s wedding in Allenspark. As we headed back down through the canyon after the wedding, the journalist and documentarian in me wanted to hop out of the car to take a closer look—at the debris washed up on the sides of the St. Vrain River; at the bulldozers around every other curve, trying to fix everything that was broken; at the ruined homes, sitting untouched five months after the flood. I wanted interviews! I wanted to do a follow-up story! But, of course, I had two toddlers in the back seat and a flight to catch. So on my husband drove as I snapped photos out the window with my phone. The weather that day was strange: intense wind and snow up high in the mountains, a patch of clear blue skies halfway down followed by fog and more snow as we neared Lyons and Boulder. The landscape was tremendous and dramatic. How did these rocks so perfectly mirror both the hope and sadness settled here? I wish I were presenting you with an in-depth follow-up on the flood. But if you spend a moment thinking of all the people whose lives were turned upside down here last September, I'll be happy. Also, check out this photo book created by the students of Lyons High School documenting the flood. What an amazing project. Above: Let me introduce you to the Chapel on the Rock (also known as Saint Catherine of Siena Chapel at St. Malo), which I had never heard of until we passed it driving between Allenspark and Estes Park. First, here’s the enchanting history (the meteor/search party/20-year dream mentioned above). Now look closely and you’ll see Mount Meeker rising up from the fog in the background. It wasn’t the clear day I was hoping for to capture the full glory of this mountain-framed church. But let me tell you, it was hard won and I won’t forget it. 
Above: It was snowing steadily and the winds were gusting up to 80 miles per hour. I was standing on the shoulder of a highway with a steep drop directly in front of me. The wind literally knocked me off my feet twice. So I took a few hurried shots and climbed back into the car, vowing to come back here to take more photos on a clear day. And I will. (I also regret not taking photos of the construction site immediately to the left, where bulldozers were removing a massive pile of debris from rock and mud slides that narrowly missed the chapel in September. A beautiful lake once sat beside the chapel. Hopefully it will again one day.) Below: This is one of my favorite photos of the trip. 
The sun breaking through to reveal debris piled up along the river. 
It's difficult to believe this little river could cause so much destruction. 
Isabella Bird wrote a spectacular account of her 1873 adventures in and around this canyon in A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains. 
You can see damage to the right side of this house, as well as a newly constructed bridge on the left side of the photo. 
The way the light and fog were hitting this little farm as we approached Lyons took my breath away. 
Driving out of the canyon into Boulder in heavy fog and light snow. 
Our last views of the foothills before heading into the plains. 
My next post—the last in this series of wedding-related posts—will cover the actual wedding weekend. Yippee!
To view more wedding posts, click here for more Colorado trip photos, here for save-the-dates and programs, here for wedding invitations, here for engagement photos, here for bridal shower photos and here for a DIY travel journal. 
This image keeps catching my eye as I scan through photos from our recent trip to Colorado. It sums up our stage of life right now: every day feels like an adventure, whether we're climbing snow drifts in the middle of the Rocky Mountains or just playing in our own living room; the girls are constantly running in different directions as I struggle to keep up; and no one listens to my pleas to be careful. But these moments of observing our children discover and fall in love with the world around them make the chaos (and their reckless jumping off tall objects) all worth it. This is joy! As you know if you follow my blog, I've had a decade-long love affair with Colorado. (I've taken many of my favorite nature photos there, and my novel is based there.) So I was ecstatic when my sister called to tell me she was engaged and planning a winter wedding just outside Rocky Mountain National Park. We made a week of it and spent the first half up at our home away from home, Summit County. Below you'll find photos from this portion of our trip (all iPhone), and I'll post the wedding weekend photos next week. May these photos be your last glimpse of snow this winter... Below: The Front Range of the Rocky Mountains juts up from the plains on our final approach into Denver. Oh, how I love this approach. 
This snowy, early morning stroll/climb around Lake Dillon was one of the highlights of the trip. 
Let's talk about skiing. I grew up with an ice skating rink across the street in a neighborhood surrounded by cross-country ski trails. You won't hear me complain about the warm climate where we're raising our kids in a few weeks when it's hot and sunny, but I do regret that snow sports are foreign to them; snow was such an important part of my formative years. I really wanted to get both girls on downhill skis on this trip so they would start loving snow and have a shot at being more than mediocre skiers as adults, like their mom (I didn't actually learn to downhill ski until I was 15). Below: Top L to R: Pre-wedding skiing with the bride and groom. Nora's first moments on skis = tears. The girls trying on their ski boots and freestyling around the shop (C was jumping off those two steps while doing kicks and spins—ahh!). Middle L to R: Ski picnic. The bride dropping in. My niece, Iris, taking after her Olympic skier grandpa. Bottom L to R: Cricket throwing snowballs in lieu of skiing. Meg and Christo with the bride. The bride and me. (Thanks to Mari, Andy and Christo for taking the photos I'm in.) 
Unfortunately Cricket was under the weather on our ski days and refused—after the excitement and anticipation at the ski shop—to give it a try. Instead she busied herself throwing snowballs and building snow forts. Just watching her enjoy playing in the snow made me happy, though. Nora—after some initial tears—became enamored with skiing and riding the magic carpet. Heartbroken does not begin to describe how she felt when the lift closed for the day. 
Mid-week we packed up the car, drove down from 9,600 feet to the mile high city of Denver, then headed north to the wedding in another high-altitude canyon by way of Boulder. Stay tuned for photos of the wedding weekend next week. Below: Ranch drive-by as we headed into Boulder. 
Below: Cow-speckled landscape where the mountains meet the plains. 
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I'm Julia Soplop, writer and photographer. I believe there is something profound in bearing witness to moments of joy and pain in others’ lives. My husband, three girls and I live outside of Chapel Hill, NC. You can read more about me here.
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