6 months after my 3rd cross country move, in my 25th year, I fell through the ice on Lake Michigan. In efforts to ease home sickness, I made a series of photographs about being southern within Chicago’s frozen climate. While standing on a sheet of ice that I believed had the earth below it (but did not), the ice broke. Wet sneakers, wet clothes, wet morale. I pulled myself out of the icy water, and thought to pray.

Hail Mary.

The frozen water brought images of my past homes to mind. Feelings of dry heat, picnic blankets, red dirt, and the sounds of southern America.