September 4, 2026 - Hidden Trail, Franklin, North Carolina
You learn to recognize the sounds of Hidden Trail.
It’s a gravel mountain road, and every vehicle has its own voice. Little cars barely make a sound. Pickup trucks announce themselves with a little more authority. Amazon and UPS trucks have their own unmistakable rumble. And when the propane truck comes up the mountain, you know it.
But NOTHING sounds quite like a truck hauling a 12 by 20 foot building up a mountain.
We heard Studio 350 coming long before we saw it.
The engine was struggling. The truck was loud. Like, wreck the quiet mountain harmony LOUD. And somewhere between the grinding gears and the increasingly desperate sounds coming up Hidden Trail, I began wondering whether my brand new photography studio was about to become a permanent roadside attraction.
I could already picture it.
Studio 350. Conveniently located in the middle of Hidden Trail.
First, We Had to Get It Into the Driveway
We knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary delivery.
A cement truck had visited the property the month before, and that experience taught us something important: Big trucks and mountain driveways aren’t necessarily friends.
Before the studio arrived, we had to cut down some massive tree branches at the entrance to the property. Otherwise, the roof of my beautiful new building might have received an unfortunate and entirely unplanned redesign.
Then there was the rock.
Not a little rock. A massive rock sitting right at the corner where Hidden Trail meets our driveway.
We warned the delivery crew ahead of time. There simply wasn’t enough room for a truck and trailer that size to make a normal turn.
Fortunately, the trailer was remarkably maneuverable. Watching them work that enormous building around the rock was impressive, although I suspect my blood pressure would have told a different story.
And finally, there it was.
My studio.
On our property.
Almost.
A Rock, a Plan, and a Very Specific Woman
The crew started positioning the building, apparently under the impression that getting it somewhere in the general vicinity was good enough.
I had other ideas.
I picked up a rock, placed it on the ground, and explained that he back left corner of the building needed to be right there.
They maneuvered the trailer.
They got closer.
But, I walked over and let them know we were not there yet.
Let’s just say the looks I received weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy.
But they moved it.
And when that building finally sat where I had imagined it, in the clearing tucked among the trees, something changed.
It wasn’t just a building anymore.
The keys.
I’d spent months imagining this place, and just as many more working in a tiny little space in my tiny house I had long ago outgrown.
A working studio where I could photograph food, develop recipes, style beautiful scenes, create things with my hands, and tell stories through a camera lens. With more room than I had hoped to ever have.
I’d thought about the colors, the furniture, the lighting the old pieces I could give new life, and the work I wanted to create inside those walls.
But none of that prepared me for the moment the delivery crew handed me the keys.
I may have cried a little.
Okay. I cried.
I opened the doors, stepped inside, and hugged the corner where the open door met the wall.
Because it was mine.
Not a sketch. Not a plan. Not a photograph saved for inspiration.
A real place.
A place where ideas could become tangible.
Every Story Has a Beginning
Studio 350 isn’t finished. Not even close.
There are walls to insulate, shiplap to install, wiring to run, floors to lay, furniture to restore, and a whole collection of carefully gathered treasures waiting for their permanent homes.
There will be mistakes, changes of direction, unexpected discoveries, and propbaly a few moments when Jeff wonders what on earth I’ve gotten us into.
But that’s part of the story.
And that’s why I’m starting Behind the Lens.
Because the finished photograph is only one part of what makes something meaningful. There’s a story behind the set, the props, the lighting, the preparation, and the people who make it happen.
Sometimes that story begins in a kitchen.
Sometimes it begins with a forgotten piece of furniture.
And sometimes it begins with a truck struggling up a gravel mountain road, a very large rock, and a woman who knows exactly where she wants her building.
Welcome to Studio 350.
Tucked away OFF of Hidden Trail.
The building has arrived. The story is just beginning.
