March 13, 2020. The day the world stood still.
Every year, when this date rolls around, I find myself sifting through the images I captured during those first uncertain days. As a photographer, I have always believed in the power of an image to freeze time, to hold onto fleeting moments—both beautiful and heartbreaking. But in those early days of the pandemic, I wasn’t just capturing memories. I was documenting history.
I remember the eerie silence that blanketed the streets, the way the world seemed to exhale one last deep breath before locking its doors. The grocery store shelves emptied. Schools closed. Businesses—many of which had been fixtures in our small community for decades—hung signs in their windows that read "Temporarily Closed" in hopeful, handwritten script.
For me, the shift was twofold. As a teacher, I suddenly found myself navigating the strange, surreal world of remote learning, trying to keep my students engaged through a screen while also grappling with my own uncertainties. The classroom, once filled with laughter and hands-on learning, had become a quiet space in my home, with lesson plans delivered to small faces on Zoom.
But amidst the chaos, I found an unexpected silver lining: time. Time to breathe, time to reflect, and time to finally focus on some of the photography skills I had always wanted to develop but never seemed to have the hours for. Between grading assignments and virtual meetings, I picked up my camera and started experimenting—playing with light, exploring creative compositions, and documenting the world outside my window in a way I had never done before.
I walked through town capturing the signs of the times—literally. There were messages taped to shop doors, some neatly printed, others hurriedly scribbled in marker:
❝We’ll see you soon! Stay safe.❞
❝Closed until further notice.❞
❝Please wear a mask.❞
At the time, I didn’t know how sentimental those simple messages would become.
One image still stays with me—an empty parking lot at an establishment that would be bursting with excitement and action. It showed just how serious these “stay at home” orders were. A stop sign in the image stop sign stands as a fitting symbol—an unspoken message of pause, of uncertainty, of waiting. At the time, we didn’t know how long that pause would last or what the world would look like when it resumed. The photo captured not just the stillness, but the weight of the unknown that hung in the air, a moment in time that will always remind me of the world before and the world after.
What stands out the most as I look back is the way a community, though physically distant, found ways to stay connected. Chalk drawings on driveways reminded us to “stay strong.” Handmade hearts filled front windows in a show of solidarity. People stood in their yards clapping for healthcare workers, the sound carrying through the empty streets like an echo of hope.
Now, in 2025, so much has changed—and yet, some things haven’t. The masks have mostly disappeared, but the lessons remain. We learned to slow down. We learned to cherish simple moments. We learned just how much a single image can hold, years later, when we look back and remember the uncertainty, the sadness, and the small but powerful acts of love that got us through.
As a kindergarten teacher now, I often think about how my students were too young to remember this upheaval, yet it is still a part of their lives. They don’t recall the fear, the lockdowns, or the masked faces, but they’ve grown up in a world shaped by it. The way we interact, the way we teach, the way we care for one another—it all carries echoes of those days. And while they may not remember, I do.
For me, that time reinforced why I love photography. It reminded me that even in the hardest moments, there is beauty to be found. And that sometimes, having the time to truly see the world through a lens can change everything.
This time of year, I revisit those photos not to dwell in the past, but to appreciate how far we’ve come. It’s a reminder that history is worth capturing—not just the grand moments, but the quiet, everyday ones too.
Because one day, we’ll look back at today’s images and realize just how much they meant.
📸❤️🌻
