What Nobody Sees Behind The Camera

Vallie Comstock

Vallie Comstock - McNeil Point, Mt Hood, Oregon with camera in hand

I was standing in the cab of the fire tower in the late part of April. The sun was about to crest the mountaintops to the east. Just as its rays gently rested on the topmost peaks of Mount Leconte, the birds’ sleepy morning whisperings turned into song. The air warmed and a breeze began to drift up from the coolness of the hollows and streams. There was the sweet smell of pine that I’m sure most of you are familiar with, the kind that seems to linger a little in the air as the sun warms the needles. I took one of those deep breaths in to fill my body, my soul with the peace that only comes with morning. I had been sitting in one of the chairs we leave at the top, bundled up in jackets to keep the chill out, but since the first glimpse of sun I’d stood overlooking the vastness of the Smoky Mountains that seemed to be almost within arms reach. I wanted to embrace it, as if that feeling of overwhelming peace was tangible. And then the thought hit me. This was my life. This was how I got to spend every morning if I chose. I could watch the sunlight bleed into the valleys every daybreak if I wanted. God’s creation was in full view and yet my human eyes could hardly take it all in. How blessed was I? In fact the words I really thought were “gee, I’m spoiled…” And then I remembered I was up there to capture the sunrise. And yet my camera remained untouched on the bench of the fire tower.

People often see a 15-second reel or a photo I happened to snap but what they don’t see are the moments surrounding those fragments of time. The viewers of my videos don’t see the mud on my boots that somehow seeped into my socks or the sweat beading up on the back of my neck as the gnats and flies create an insufferable colony around my head. They see the polished version of what they think happened. A lot of these posts take place in the middle of conversations like “How far along are you on Lot 36”, “What did the county say about construction permits”, or “Do you think I sounded like I didn’t know what I was talking about in that take?” More often than not, the property is very busy and photos and videos are interrupted by phone calls and emails. 

But when the phones are quieted and the inbox is dry, it really is just us and the woods. There is nothing better than having the freedom to take an early morning walk in the meadow, just me and my camera. Before each photo was a moment where I was able to notice something truly beautiful, something I found extraordinary enough to share with you. The truth is, when you see me in front of the camera, it is not the most comfortable version of myself. It is behind the camera, capturing everyday wonders where I thrive most. 

I wasn’t always the one making posts and curating content. It began as a part-time gig while I was in college. I would take videos my dad had made, I would edit them, add music, and upload the story I saw to Youtube. After a few years of that, I graduated. I was between chapters in my life and somewhat lost as many new graduates are. He saw some sort of potential in me and started to ask me to take on more and more. Now all of the posts you see on Instagram, Facebook, and Youtube were written, designed, and posted by yours truly. It isn’t every day that a girl gets to work alongside her family as intimately as I do. My family has become my team, they are the final board of directors and the ones I ask to be my cameramen. 

You see, my dad is the builder of our dreams, my mom carries the heart and support we need every day. What better story could I share? I get to tell the world of the sacrifices and successes of two very strong-willed and determined people that happen to be my parents. I saw them sell our childhood home in Townsend, a home my dad built by hand and my mom made warm. I saw them, along with my brother, live in our one-bedroom, 100-year old family cabin for nearly two years. I see the risks they take every day and yet not a sigh, not a doubt shows in the shadows after their long days. There is pressure on me, of course, to share their story as beautifully as I see it. And there is great responsibility in the privilege I have as their daughter. But the most odd feeling of all is that I am sharing our lives with you. I grew up in a modest home on an acre of land with a creek up in the mountains. We ate out on Sundays and for special occasions and didn’t have anything but water with our meals. Our family is no more important than the next. So it is often quite strange to me that I’m posting about our lives. In more ways than one this project isn’t mine, it isn’t even my dad’s, it is simply something we are in charge of. Simply put, “it just is what it is.” We did nothing special, we are not wealthy nor that remarkable, we just happen to have a gift that we want to share because it would be selfish otherwise. How ridiculous would we be to live on the top of a mountain and keep it all to ourselves? Then we would be exactly like those we do not wish to become. 

You are a part of this story as well. Probably more than you realize. Every kind comment, every share, every message is shared with my mom and dad. In a way, you remind them that the sacrifices were worth it and the dreams they work for are attainable. You, as our reader, follower, or friend are the biggest part of the equation that makes this project work. Thank you for being the kindness my parents need and the support this project craves. As someone’s child yourself, you understand how much it means to see your parents succeed. Their success is my success, but it is your success too.