I have always loved taking photographs with my iPhone. Long before I ever thought of myself as a photographer, I was drawn to capturing moments that caught my eye—the way light fell across a landscape, an unexpected detail in nature, or something beautiful that made me stop and look a little longer.

I seemed to have an eye for it, and at one point felt a strong desire to do something more with that creative pull. But the timing wasn’t right. Life was full, other responsibilities needed my attention, and eventually that desire became quiet and was set aside.

Years later, after profound changes in my life and a move that brought me to a small cabin in Big Bear Lake, that creative part of me reawakened.

Surrounded by mountains, forests, wildlife, changing seasons, and the waters of Big Bear Lake, I began photographing again—this time with a different depth of attention. What began simply as a love of taking photographs gradually became something much more meaningful and ultimately led me to become a Fine Art Nature Photographer and create Smile Bear Photo.

But the story of how I arrived here isn’t only about photography. The way I photograph—the stillness I seek, the attention I give to seemingly ordinary moments, and my desire to look beneath the surface—grew from experiences that shaped the way I see life itself.

Learning to Look Deeply

For 37 years, my life has been shaped by Nichiren Buddhism and my practice as a member of the Soka Gakkai International (SGI), a lay Buddhist movement dedicated to peace, culture, and education and grounded in the belief that lasting peace begins with the transformation of the human heart.

At the center of my practice is chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and the understanding that every person possesses an innate Buddha nature—an unlimited capacity for wisdom, courage, compassion, and hope. At the heart of this philosophy is a profound respect for the dignity of all life.

For me, Buddhism has never been an abstract philosophy. It has been a lived path of inner transformation.

And perhaps nowhere was that practice tested more deeply than in my relationship with my mother.

My Mother

My mother was a strong, intuitive, fiercely independent, educated, and accomplished woman. She built a professional career in nursing, steadily rising through the ranks and ultimately earning her PhD. She raised my brother and me, much of that time as a single mother, while pursuing a demanding professional life of her own.

It wasn’t until after she passed away, when I sat down to write her eulogy and looked back over the entirety of her life, that I began to see the woman beyond my mother. I found myself considering the determination, intelligence, independence, and perseverance it must have taken to accomplish all that she had.

For perhaps the first time, I developed an enormous respect for the woman she had been.

That realization was especially meaningful because the final eleven years of our life together had been extraordinarily difficult.

Eleven Years of Caregiving

Along with my husband and daughter, we lived with and helped care for my mother as she faced numerous health challenges and dementia. It was a very stressful, chaotic, and uncertain time that stretched me to my limits. I came face to face with my own frustration, exhaustion, resentment, and emotional resistance. There were times when I felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for her and simply wanted to throw in the towel.

Yet through my Buddhist practice, I was continually challenged to look more deeply—not only at my mother’s suffering, but at myself and at my own capacity for compassion, patience, courage, and understanding.

With my mother, I learned to look beyond the challenges of caregiving and see the whole person in front of me. I began to recognize her strength, her history, her vulnerability, her accomplishments, her suffering, and her dignity.

As my perception changed, my heart changed. Compassion grew where there had been resistance. Appreciation grew where there had been frustration. Eventually, I experienced a deep and profound love that flowed between my mother and me. 💖

My mother underwent a severe neck surgery 4 months before her passing . after the surgery, she was unable to regain her mobility. Subsequently, her health declined significantly, and she eventually became bedridden. She passed away peacefully at the age of 82.

If I were asked whether I would do it all over again, I would say, “yes!” I wouldn’t change any of it. The growth and transformation that took place during those eleven years taught me how much our hearts can grow and expand when we choose compassion.

A Chapter of Quiet Return

In the deep grief, quiet, and solitude that followed my mother’s passing, including my retirement from nearly three decades of work as a Special Education Assistant, I found myself in a very different space of life. After so many years of responsibility and outward focus, suddenly there was space.

I remember my visits to Big Bear, the quiet and peace I felt, even for a short while. The tranquility seemed in this season of my life to solidifiy my love of Big Bear, so my husband and I made the decision and bought a small cabin in Big Bear Lake in the mountains. Surrounded by towering pines, mountain light, wildlife, changing seasons, granite boulders, and the waters of Big Bear Lake, I found something I deeply needed:

space to slow down, breathe, and begin restoring myself.

I began spending more time outdoors—walking through the forest, sitting beside the lake, and observing light, movement, texture, weather, wildlife, and the subtle details of the natural world.

And something that had once gone quiet within me began to awaken again.

It was here, in Big Bear Lake, that my photography truly took root.

I began reaching for my iPhone camera more intentionally—not with a business plan or even the intention of becoming a Fine Art Nature Photographer, but because I felt compelled to capture what I was seeing and experiencing around me.

The camera became a way of pausing.

I began noticing sunlight illuminating a stand of trees, mist settling over the lake, reflections moving across the water, the texture of granite boulders, wildlife appearing unexpectedly, and the way an ordinary forest trail could suddenly become extraordinary when the light changed.

I discovered that nature rarely reveals itself on command. Often, the photograph I treasure most is not the one I went looking for, but something unexpected that appeared because I was present enough to notice it.

Through the Lens

Looking back, I can now see a connection I didn’t recognize at first.

Caring for my mother taught me to look beyond what was immediately in front of me. When I could move beyond the difficulty, I discovered more of the person who had been there all along.

Photography was asking something similar of me.

To slow down.

To look beyond the surface.

To remain present long enough to notice what I might otherwise pass by.

A tree was no longer simply a tree. A granite boulder wasn’t simply a rock. Mist moving across the lake, light touching a branch, or a bird appearing unexpectedly could become an entire moment when I was present enough to see it.

I began to understand that the transformation I experienced while caring for my mother and the way I now approach photography were not separate parts of my life.

Both taught me that when we slow down, look beyond the surface, and remain open to what is before us, we can discover beauty, dignity, and meaning that were there all along.

Photography became a natural extension of my Buddhist practice and of what life itself had taught me—a way of doing something I have spent much of my life learning to do:

look deeply.

Smile Bear Photo

Today, I am a Fine Art Nature Photographer based in Big Bear Lake, California.

When I photograph the forests, mountains, water, wildlife, changing seasons, and quiet places of this mountain community, I am not simply searching for a beautiful image. I am practicing presence—allowing myself to notice what is already here.

When we learn to look deeply, we begin to see what was there all along.

Smile Bear Photo grew from that discovery.

I invite you to slow down and step into these images with a gentler way of seeing. To pause, even briefly, from the pace of everyday life and simply be with what is in front of you. My hope is that in doing so, you may reconnect with your own sense of nature, presence, beauty, dignity, and wonder—and remember that what you are seeking is not far away at all, but quietly waiting within reach, in the stillness of your own attention.

Thank you mother for the journey we shared. Our years of struggle together taught me that even through the greatest difficulties, love can deepen, compassion can grow, and two hearts can transform. What we went through together became one of the greatest gifts of my life, and I will carry that gratitude with me always—in my heart and through my photography. 💖