"After the clinically dull first half, it's more desperate pantry raid than feast."

Put your helmets on.

Football is back.

ZinClear.

In the spring of 2012, everything was normal for the Johns. Katie Johns, then 5, the middle of three adopted children belonging to Kurt and Andrea Johns, took a vision and hearing test at pre-school. It was the kind of test you don’t think anything of, according to Andrea. When Katie showed signs of deafness in her right ear, the results raised no immediate concerns.
“I thought she was just not minding when they did the test,” Andrea said.

A couple of appointments and tests later, and nothing came of it. Everyone said to wait until the end of summer — perhaps it was allergies.
The Johns were not satisfied with that response, taking Katie in for a CAT scan showed “questionable shadows,” which required an MRI. The MRI revealed a golf ball sized tumor located near Katie’s cerebellum, leaving Kurt and Andrea with a host of questions, the main one being “How do we know if it’s cancer?”

“I was in a state of disbelief. You go from a kid that has a hearing problem to hearing she has a tumor in her head,” Kurt said.
Another MRI showed pressure and swelling on the brain. A biopsy confirmed the cancerous nature of the tumor. Katie had Pilocytic Astrocytoma, a rare type of childhood brain cancer.
“I was scared of what I was going to hear, what was to come and most importantly if I was going to have her years or even months from then. I cried every day, sometimes all day,” Andrea said.

For Katie’s brother, Austin, 11, it was a tough blow. He knew what cancer could lead to. At first, he didn’t want his parents to talk about the situation in front of him because it hurt too much. Over the past year he’s become increasingly involved with Katie’s health — Kurt and Andrea tell him everything because that’s the way they think it should be. He’s gone with her to three chemotherapy appointments, although each time Katie has been unable to get the treatment because of her consistently low counts.
“The first time he went he was like a deer in headlights,” Andrea said. “He was scared, nervous and we tried to ease him.” His parents say he still has a million questions running through his head, he just won’t ask them.

Katie, now 6, has had her hiccups, too. At first she had to be bribed to go to the doctor’s office. She would kick and scream the whole way, requiring additional bribes to cooperate. Now the strong-willed young girl is respectful, knowing that after her check ups and after the medicine is administered, she’s off playing with the other children. The little blonde angel has turned into a warrior princess, remaining active and defiant.

Despite the family’s fears, Kurt and Andrea try to let the children live like normal kids. They play, they study, they throw tantrums and wear themselves out. Because so much of Kurt and Andrea’s time is spent centered around Katie, they make sure to have “special days” with Austin and Aliyah, 3 as well as with Katie.
“I always want the kids to know that they are loved,” Andrea said.
Through all of Katie’s health issues, the most important lessons they’ve learned as a family is to view life as more of a gift. They try not to sweat the small stuff anymore, Kurt said. For them, the moments where they can just be as a family have become that much more precious.

Though Katie’s condition is currently stable, the outcome is always an unknown and she’s grasping that. She still needs her naps to make it through the day, still has moments where she’s weak in the legs and hands — but she’s changed. No longer screaming and crying “I hate cancer and cancer sucks,” She’s understanding.
Sure, their routine has changed. Playing outside is punctuated by making sure Katie’s mask is on, and that she’s using hand sanitizer. But she knows that after she’s gotten over her latest chemo-induced sickness, she’ll be off scampering around the house, sliding down the hallway on the hardwood floors in her socks with her sister.

Katie's story is one I've been following off and on for a while. Originally a daily assignment during my first week at the MDN. Since then we've covered a couple benefits for her. I've covered similar assignments, but it's great to actually know the people who you're photographing.

To put the camera down and play guitar hero or hang out at the hospital while they're waiting.

To get the call saying "Hey, this is happening, want to come over?"

Now that this first piece is published, I'm looking to broaden the scope of the story and focus a bit on everyone.

It's a big transitional time, the kids are moving up and starting at new schools.

Katie is still a central focus, but it'll be interesting and fun to show everyone around her in their own light, too.

So, with one year coming and passing here at the Midland Daily News. It's time.

Time to refocus, re-energize. Get pumped up and keep pushing myself and striving for more.

And most importantly, keep telling the stories that matter most.

Herculex.

I spent many of my Sunday's this summer hanging out with a group of Jedi (and Sith) as they battled around Midland. Hands down one of the most fun things I've photographed.

 There is no chaos, there is harmony.

Eerie choral chants emanating from a cell phone drift through the still summer air of the Midland City Forest.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

Scott Comer, 21, tightens his grip around the hilt of his Ultra Saber, eyes piercing at an approaching figure.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Carl Williams, 19, walks down the main path, his face calm. Staunch melodies, reminiscent of religious wars from ages past slip through the leaves.

 There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

A smile grows across Comer's face as he steps out to confront Williams. Blurs of red and blue arc through the air searching for an opening. "That's one," Comer says as his red blade connects with Williams' body.

 There is no death, there is the Force.

Williams lets out a sigh. The Grand Master of the Reformed Jedi Order raises his weapon, assumes his form known as Kya'Lac and continues the duel. "Two," Comer, the Master of the Order, calls out. The orchestra continues to swell around them.

Photo by Sammy Jo Hester

After it published they bought me my own lightsaber and knighted me as an official member of the group. I joined in occasionally while I was shooting, but now, with my own weapon, I'll leave the camera in the car or at home more often. Such an awesome group of dudes.

Leukotan.

Horses, portraits and iPhone photos. That was my fair experience.

Silvadur.

 I had just gotten to my assignment, sipping coffee with Scott and Scott at a Halloween craft shop. They were making paper machete zombie heads. The coffee was a much needed jolt of caffeine, and I settled in for a fun shoot filled with monsters. Then my phone rang, the Caller ID showing "Blocked."

 I was expecting this call -- I had just hoped it would be later. Local law enforcement had arrested a lady for basically hoarding over thirty Shetland's. They had been relocated to a "Sheltie Shelter", but Animal Control had found two more. The call was them informing me they were on their way to the shelter.

 I apologized to Scott and Scott and zipped over to Beaverton just in time. Several of the thirty-some dogs had been pregnant. The number was now over sixty.

 I spent a while learning about what the previous conditions had been like. Some had physical marks to show for it, but they were all traumatized.

One of the sheltie's was giving birth while I was there. They estimated her to be probably a year old, if that. I asked her name, they said she didn't have one, and asked what I thought it should be. I looked down at her for a while, and as I left I said "Daisy."