Barreling down Interstate 70, my midsize sedan packed to the brim with treasures accumulated from past lives, I spotted a sturdy silver bridge peeking over the horizon. It was summer 2022, and I was fifteen minutes from my destination. Smack dab in the middle of the Show-Me state, Columbia, Missouri, held so much promise for me as an eager – possibly too eager – 22-year-old photojournalism student entering graduate school at the University of Missouri.

The Missouri River looked picturesque that day, with the overlapping ruddy green and brown hues glittering in the sunshine. I kept my eyes on the road, fighting the urge to continue staring out at the wiry expanse of water that stitched together the horizons of my past and future lives. Crossing the Missouri River for the first time, it was as if an invisible threshold had been breached. Looking back, this moment feels like a symbol for the growth I would experience as a photographer and editor focused on a wider community. 

I slid into my new life like a cold spoon into pawpaw spiceberry jam. A year passed; graduate work kept me close to campus. Then the river and I suddenly reunited. During a photo editors’ meeting, Brian Kratzer, one of my trusted mentors and the director of photography at the student-run city newspaper Columbia Missourian, pitched the idea of student photographers, videographers, and audio producers from the paper and KBIA, our NPR affiliate, to showcase stories of Missouri’s self-proclaimed “river folk.” Brian was thrilled at the visual possibilities that could come from River Town — it just required the right person to lead it. My hand was in the air before he finished his pitch.

That fall semester of 2023 was crucial planning time for me to define what River Town meant in terms of photography. I wore several hats during the process as the project’s visual champion, simultaneously juggling the responsibilities of managing the Missourian’s photo and video desk. I began by asking myself questions. If I were to stumble upon this project as the average viewer, what would I want to see? Who would I want to meet? 

I found my answers in the annals of the journalism library. In 1973, Angus McDougall, former head of the school’s photojournalism sequence, and his students documented communities in Lupus, Berger, Rhineland, Glasgow and Arrow Rock. The endeavor is considered to be the university’s first glimpse of life on the river. Several books were published showing the most intimate moments shared by a local barber and his clients, an elderly couple of lifelong residents and a town mayor on his last day in office. Poring over these books, I felt inspired to build on Angus’ legacy and reintroduce these communities through more modern visual storytelling. Now I just needed the team to do it. 

Clearing my throat and wringing my hands, I stood in front of 18 staff photographers on the first day of the 2024 spring semester, my last at the university as a graduate student. I had one shot to convince this group to believe in me and River Town. Through my wild hand gestures and unplanned speech, the staff heard my pitches for a photo essay about the only veterinarian in town, or a short documentary about the lifestyle of a small-town pastor — heck, introduce me to someone who’s lived in a river town their entire life. Let’s meet people and hear their stories. Let’s see who claims a piece of the Missouri River as home.