Golden hour in Napa Valley doesn’t show up with a schedule. It slips in softly, bending around the weather, the terrain, the time of year. In spring, it lingers low across blooming mustard fields. In fall, it wraps itself around rust-colored vines and the last blush of sun-warmed grapes. It’s not formulaic. It’s instinctual. You have to feel your way into it.

I don’t overcomplicate the process. I come with my gear ready, eyes tuned to the light, and a mindset focused on capturing something honest. I’ve learned that when clients feel comfortable—when they’re not trying to perform for the camera—they start to melt right into the scene. That’s when the magic happens: laughter in the quiet between frames, wind catching the hem of a dress, fingers brushing against wine glasses still half full.

It’s not about elaborate backdrops or perfectly posed moments. It’s about presence—the way someone smiles when they don’t know they’re being watched, or how a couple walks just a little closer when the light softens. I’m there to notice those details and freeze them in time, not stage them.

That’s what I love most about photographing golden hour here: it reminds people to slow down. To feel the air shift. To be in the moment, without rushing to the next.

And maybe—just maybe—to walk away with more than memories. To walk away with a piece of that glow, frozen in a frame.