About Savannah

I spend my days wrangling wildlings, tending to our little homestead, and chasing light with a camera in one hand and a toddler in the other. I live for deep conversations, fresh sweet tea in a mason jar, and curling up with a good book after tucking the kids into bed.

I homeschool my children, grow what I can, and believe in living slowly and close to the earth. I’m expressive and unapologetically myself. I talk with my hands, laugh easily, and don’t really know how to be any other way. I’m clumsy, sometimes awkward, and you will probably see me trip over something at least once. Usually my own feet.

When I'm not holding space at a birth or behind the camera, you'll probably find me in the garden, elbows deep in the soil, chatting away with the chickens, or curled up under a cozy blanket rewatching Harry Potter for the millionth time.

Hi, I'm Savannah.

Mother of nine, birth doula, photographer & unstoppable chatterbox

The way light falls across a hospital room. Hands reaching without thinking. Old photographs that feel like proof someone was here. Cinema, music, movement, motherhood, birth, the changing seasons, and the beautiful mess of a life being fully lived.

I’m inspired by the moments that do not announce themselves. The ones happening at the edges while everyone is looking somewhere else. A hand pressed into the small of your back. Your child reaching for you with sleepy dust still in their eyes. The refreshing exhale after a long day.

I’m drawn to tenderness without performance. To the quiet language between people who know each other deeply. To the way love lives in posture, touch, instinct, and all the things we do without realizing anyone is watching. Human connection in it's purest form.

I find inspiration wherever life feels most alive.

I have always loved taking photographs. Holding onto a second before it disappears. Giving something fleeting a place to live.

But motherhood changed what photographs meant to me.

I was always the one behind the camera. I had thousands of photographs of my children growing, laughing, sleeping, and becoming themselves, but so few that showed I was there too. It is easy for mothers to disappear from their own stories. We document everyone we love while leaving ourselves out of the frame.

My love for photography began with my own family, but it grew into something much larger. It became a way to remind mothers that they were here too. That their presence mattered. That their story was always worth keeping.

What inspires me

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Birth is full of contradiction. Strength and surrender. Waiting and urgency. Noise, stillness, laughter, fear, relief. It is intensely physical and deeply emotional, often all at once.

I am drawn to the way a birth story holds an entire world within a single day. The people who stood beside you. The choices you made. The moments that tested your courage and resolve. The first time you heard your baby, touched them, or looked into a face you had spent months imagining.

To preserve something so brief and make it tangible feels like an extraordinary privilege. These photographs become proof of where your family began. They become part of the way your children understand their own story, and part of the way you remember who you were in that exact moment.

Telling your story through art is something I’ll never tire of.

The L.o.r.d.s. series

Currently Reading:

"hear me out"

MOST LIKELY TO SAY:

sweet tea

Drink of Choice:

sleep token (on repeat)

current soundtrack: