Protocol: Foundations // The Focus of Family
Family is accessible, yet I probably don’t take enough photos.
My wife and her parents sit and watch the sunset at Ruby Beach
Finding a tactical balance between photography and being present during downtime is a tough task. When I have my camera, I am locked in. My aperture narrows, and I’m not easily distracted from what I am viewing through the viewfinder. In the past, this created friction when someone wanted me to come over or was trying to talk to me, and I was mentally deployed elsewhere.
I acknowledge this and tread lightly now. I have shifted a lot of the decision-making over to my family. Before an outing, I’ll ask: “Should I bring my camera?”
This isn't just a courtesy check; it hands them the power to set the parameters of the mission. Learning how to be creative around them while securing quality time has been a crucial life lesson. Because of this protocol, I feel comfortable packing my gear when we hit the road now.
The Origin Story
I grew up in South Carolina but migrated to Washington in 2007, just before our oldest was born. My now-wife's family agreed to let me move in with them as I transitioned across the country. We had never met. It felt daunting, but I did it.
Was it hard? Hell yes. But what I walked into was a warm, caring forward operating base that had not only prepared for my arrival but ensured I felt at home.
I arrived in Olympia on Super Bowl Sunday. My mother-in-law ensured chili was in the crockpot and the game was on the TV – an incredible gesture from a family that didn’t even "do" sports ball, just to make my arrival special. My dog, Bridget, added a layer of chaos by hauling out my mother-in-law's underpants to chew on in the middle of the living room. Talk about an icebreaker. We still joke about that today.
Legacy & Lineage
My mother and father-in-law at Ruby Beach
The relationship I have formed with these people is beyond "in-laws." When someone outside of your bubble takes you in, accepts you, and offers unconditional support, it transcends biology. I think of my in-laws as much as my parents as my wife does. They are a safe space where I can go with anything.
I also walked into a legacy of visual storytelling. My father-in-law worked for KIRO when I arrived. He would leave after dinner, drive to Seattle, and arrive at work shortly before I woke up. It was a strange rhythm I didn’t understand at the time, but he was a photographer for a major news outlet in Seattle. That creates a standard.
It wasn’t just photography running through the house; it was design, too. When I arrived, my mother-in-law was working as an Activities Coordinator at a care facility, but her roots are in the trenches of graphic design working for a newspaper doing their advertising. I’m talking about the analog era—paper, pens, rulers, and X-Acto knives. The tactile stuff before 'Command-Z' existed.
She is a formidable artist with a creative range that is hard to quantify. To give you an idea of her commitment to a vision: at one point, she hand-designed and executed a complete Spider-Man theme for their bathroom. She understands the discipline of creating something from nothing.
He is retired now and spends his time keeping my mother-in-law on her toes. They spend a lot of time on the road—camping, sister trips to the coast, and explore the Pacific Northwest. Every summer, we find time to set up tents near one another, hike, and complain about fire bans while smoke blows in our faces.
Field Reconnaissance
This year, we executed a full loop around the Olympic Peninsula. It was my first time doing the complete circuit in one go, visiting Ruby Beach, Forks, La Push, Port Townsend, and Neah Bay. We hiked, sat on the beach, and—with permission—I had my camera along for the ride.
We try to deploy to different locations every summer. A couple of years ago, we hauled the kids across the country to New York to visit my wife's aunt. We dragged my sister-in-law along, rented a brownstone, and hit all the spots in NYC. It was incredible.
American Museum of Natural History | New York City
Corrie, Ephraim, Arden, Daisy, Cooper waiting for our Uber so we can head to the airport.
The Hard Thing
When I left the East Coast to move here, I felt like I was throwing my life away. And in a way, I was. I was throwing that life away.
I have no regrets. I turned my back on a toxic family, broken relationships, and bad environments to build something new. My advice? Do the hard thing.
Over the years, I have learned to accept myself. I have discovered parts of me that lived deep down and repressed—my sexuality, the need to code-switch, and the exhaustion of masking. Finding a family that let me breathe allowed those parts to surface. I also recognize that being white is a privilege; it allows me to navigate the world more freely than others, even while fighting my own internal battles.
This is why I operate the way I do. This is why "Safe Space" isn't just a marketing term on my website. It’s the foundation of my life.
Mission Status
As I sit here on February 14th, I am overwhelmed with love, but not in the Hallmark way. I am surrounded by it. The care I provide to others is a direct reflection of the care I draw from the ones around me. Without their support, none of this "Russell Moore Photography" operation would be possible.
Calling myself a business owner has been tough, but I am proud of it. Back in high school, I dreamt of this. I poured myself into business classes at our vocational school—accounting, business law, entrepreneurship, and computer systems. I was preparing the gear before I even knew what the mission was.
These are things I am deeply passionate about and deeply exhausted by daily. But I wake up the next day ready to go again. Excited, even.
