In the summer of 2014, I followed my camera—and my appetite—into the fields outside Boulder, Colorado, to document Meadow Lark Farm Dinners. Built around a school bus-turned-kitchen and a roaming table for 42, set tight in the middle of a field. These dinners were part performance, part ritual, and entirely rooted in the farm land.

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Each night, a new menu inspired by the fields around us was born. Vintage plates, linen, wildflowers, goat cheese from Margaret’s goats. The smell of smoke and grilled vegetables. And the light—always changing, always telling its own story.

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I was invited in not just as a photographer, but as a storyteller. Veronica Volney, Meadowlark’s visionary, made a 43rd plate for me every night. I sang while I worked—no music allowed in the kitchen, per Veronica’s rule—and chased images through the golden haze of dusk, through fogged glass and reflections, into the fire and the fields.

There’s no perfect narrative to this project. Compost like a Jackson Pollock. Plates with no names. Naps under the sunflowers when no one was looking. 

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This was a dream I got to live. A season of joy, hard work, and pleasures. I captured what it felt like, trying to stop time and resisting the sun from ever setting on these magical nights.