The smell of fry bread and livestock kills you at the first Sanpete County Fair. In dusty shoes, the children weave through the crowd with the ribbon in the hand, the 4-H leader shouts the instructions at the Rhodio announcer, and the late afternoon sun cut a sharp shade in the mid-route. I have covered this fair more often as much as I can count, and every year it reminds me of how many small town works are different from the work of the big city which dominates the conversation of photography.
Although I grew up on the West Coast, I went to the rural Utah two decades ago and started working for the 130-year-old rural weekly newspaper. Here, there are no media pens. No celebrity handler is telling you where and cannot stand. There is a crowd of people who know you and perhaps know what you had for breakfast.
In rural photo journalism, it is both familiar with a blessing and a test. You cannot hide behind a press pass. You get access because you have earned it gradually, from school board meetings to showing everything from local farm to branding days on the local farm. It is not about leaving a quick hit and disappearance. People hope to see you again.
When you work in a small town, you also learn very quickly what is in hand. If a light stand breaks the mid-shoot, there is no rented shop below the road. I have tapped a speedlight for a fence post, bounted a sheet of tin drawn from the roof of a barn, and shot it in a snow storm with my park sleeve wrapped around the camera to keep it alive. You become creative, or you go home empty -handed.
The stories you mentioned are also different. There is no horizon, no political motorcycle, an arena show has no front-ru seats. The moments to capture are calm-perhaps an experienced is receiving a medal in his kitchen, a calf is being fed with a bottle in the morning light, or a volunteer sweeps a basketball court before a charity game. If you are paying attention, those details can sometimes speak loudly compared to the most dramatic cityscape.
One more thing: In a small town, you are rarely photographers. You may be asked to install chairs, carry boxes or help to judge pie competition. And while you are doing this, the shot you are waiting for can be right in front of you. Being a part of the moment with documentation, it is its own skill.
Reputation is everything here. People remember how you treat them, sometimes for years. When I opened my portrait and event photography studio in addition to my newspaper work, the goodwill I made over time set a long way towards promoting that business in some initial successes as a local newspaper man. I have landed at work because someone’s aunt took a picture of her husband’s retirement party half decades ago. I still had to smooth things when no one liked the picture published by me. The word travels rapidly, better or worse.
If you are used to shoot in the city, a rural assignment may feel slow at the first time, but it’s not all comfort. Covering wildfire in rural Utah is not a joke, but the rest of the time rural workflows force you to adapt to the ways that will make you better, such as working without backup, to normally see beauty, and make connections that deepen than a quick handshake.
If you get a chance, take one. A county fair, a school board meeting, a volunteer fire department go to Pancake Breakfast. Just don’t target your lens. Talk to people, listen to their stories, and be part of the room. When you come back to your normal work, you can find that you can see things differently.
