The people (and dogs) driving this

Richard, Molly, and a van called Ethel.

I enjoy sharing my photography with people. I love it when someone sees one of my photographs in a gallery or at a show and decides it belongs on their wall, or would make the perfect gift for someone they love.

I enjoy sharing my work online, too. But the thrill of getting lots of likes is diminished by the fleeting nature of the digital world. I might spend hours (sometimes days) out in the field waiting to capture a moment, and then more hours at the computer bringing the image to life, only to have it disappear in a nanosecond as people scroll to the next thing. And the next.

I'm old-school. I like the tactile experience of holding something in my hands. A photograph I can pick up, look at again, and enjoy over time. Something that doesn't disappear when I put down my phone.

I'm also a storyteller. While my writing has taken a backseat to photography these past few years, I've missed it. I've missed telling stories, sharing experiences, and writing about things that mean something to me.

And that's where Miles with Molly began.

A couple of years ago, I bought an old van and set about turning it into a campervan. I wanted a mobile photography studio, something that would let me pull up beside a lake or river, or park overlooking the ocean or mountains. Somewhere I could stay for the sunset and still be there when the sun came up.

I named her Ethel.

And then along came Molly, a curious young dog who quickly decided that Ethel belonged to her, and that we were simply along for the ride.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I wanted to do more than take photographs of the places we visited. I wanted to share the stories, the discoveries, and the little moments that make traveling worthwhile.

And I wanted to share them in a way that would last longer than a few seconds on a screen.

So I started Miles with Molly. A monthly letter from the road, written and mailed the old-fashioned way, with photographs, postcards, and a few little surprises tucked inside.

Something you can hold in your hands. Something you can read over a cup of coffee, put down, and come back to later. Something worth keeping.

I hope you'll come along for the ride and become one of our Fellow Travelers.

And if, from time to time, you find that one of my photographs would look particularly good on your wall, well, so much the better.