Understanding your ties

Today is my Grandpa Wes' birthday. He was the grandfather I never knew--who died before I was born. Yet, I've always craved to know everything about him, his family, their history and the indirect impact of his life on my own. He and his identical twin, John (whose birthday was yesterday), began working at the early age of nine, after their mother died and father left them in Missouri. Their lives beyond that have been somewhat of a mystery to me that I have tried to resolve time and time again.

I spent last weekend in the Salinas area, where I spent the first five years of my life. After attending a conference for work in Pacific Grove, I thought I would take advantage of its proximity to my family who remained there. My aunt gave up her bed for the weekend so that I would have a place to stay. Together we spent much time over a glass of iced tea, engaged in discussions of life, family, love and anything else that came to mind.

I also had the privilege of spending time with my great-uncle John's son, Frank, and his family. Frank and Priscilla's son, Jason, played on my brother's basketball team when they were in High School. I remember going to those games, like it was yesterday. A young girl, then, I wanted nothing more than to be a cheerleader and chimed in with the squad to root for my big brother. "He's got great big feet and he's six-feet tall; He dribbles, shoots, dunks and that ain't all; He's got bas-ket-ball...He's got bas-ket-ball." I've never forgotten the rhyme.

I would climb up and down the bleachers, trying to occupy my four-year-old self when Frank and Priscilla impressed me deeply. They would comment on my "pretty red hair" and shower me with compliments. And I believed them. They helped me see the positive in myself at an early age.

Aunt Mae and I spent the evenings at Frank and Priscilla's where we talked over a meal and laughed at jokes that were cast from every end of the table (like most Bigham gatherings). We looked through photo albums, which naturally spurred our conversations in the direction I hoped for: the Bighams in the early days.

I knew many members of my family worked in produce. And I knew long hours at the cooler deprived them in a sense. But I never knew how deeply this less-than-prominant lifestyle penetrated my family history.

Their employment required them to follow the produce in season, earning a migrant reputation--and I'm sure many sneers from the "holier-than-thous." The women, were dubbed "fruit tramps" and "lettuce tramps" and the men were known as boozers and brawlers. Depending on their duties, they were dubbed "loaders," "set-offs" and "push-backs." But they took pride in earning a living and being good at the job they did.

I learned of my great-great-uncle's association with the Chicago mob, my great-aunt, outlawed for bank robbery and a great-uncle who sang with Buck Owens and Merle Haggard.

As I drove back home, making my way through the San Joaquin Valley, my eyes absorbed the productive land lining the highways and a few things began to make sense:

1. This land was settled by people form the South, like my ancestors, who did the only thing they knew to do when they arrived. They farmed. Lucky for them, this was some of the richest agricultural land and it remains such, today.

2. My deep love for and understanding of country music goes beyond a mere liking. It's imbedded in my blood. It's a part of where I come from. As I scanned the green fields, dropping down over the Pacheco Pass, I inserted a Merle Haggard cassette tape and sang along to, "Mama never had the luxuries she waned. But it wasn't cause my daddy didn't try." And I realized the depth of the truth those lyrics spoke to so many in their time.

3. After becoming more acquainted with Jason, this trip, and recognizing his striking similarities to my own brother, I realized the meaning behind my enduring respect for Frank and immediate bond with both men. Their tie to uncle John serves as a connection to Grandpa Wes for me. They are more than blood. They are the descendants of my grandfather's twin. And being with them has helped me understand my grandfather (and myself) a little more.

Sharing love for Mom and Dad

To those of you who made this a very memorable Christmas for both my parents and I, I want to thank you. They were truly touched by your sentiments and I am grateful.

I typed your quotes up and placed them on an assortment of backgrounds, like you see above. They were placed inside a jar and I presented them to Mom and Dad Christmas afternoon. If you didn't have the chance to, please send me a memory of them and I will be sure they are added to their jars of love. Feel free to continue reading, to see some of the things that were shared by loved ones about my parents, whom I deeply love.


"I remember Uncle Wesley saying if we ate sugar we would get worms!! lol”

“One time we were at Shannon's house and the kids were all excited because one of the chickens had laid eggs. So this chicken was all nested up inside the shed in the backyard.  You know, the one kinda by the pool? So anyway, the kids were all excited and Noah wanted to see too.  So Deb (who was recuperating from hip surgery) and I take the kids in the shed.

Now, I'm not from a farm and I certainly have no business being around winged animals of any kind.  So, needless to say,
I'm a bit timid.  But, I'm trying to play it cool, because my son is there and I don't want the kids to laugh at me.

So we go in.  The kids venture in and I make sure Deb goes in first. Then all hell broke loose. The chicken completely flips out and starts flapping her wings like CRAZY! Thump! Thump! Thump! Baagaaaaacck!!

Completely reacting in the moment, I push Deb toward the chicken and run out.  I leave Noah screaming with the other kids
and completely save myself from the impending doom of a freaked-out chicken. I don't even think Deb realized I pushed her.  She was super-sweet and didn't say anything. 

It was good to know, that if we ever experienced a life-threatening incident, I could push her toward danger and she would be able to handle herself. She's one tough cookie and she knows how to handle chickens (not the bird....but people like me).”


“You must know my favorite memory!! I always loved sleepovers at your house, and that your mom thought I was the bad kid. I also enjoyed that when your mom wasn't home, your dad let us get away with pretty much anything!”

“One of my best memories was when my family came down to visit when I was little. your dad always took me out and let me ride the horses when I was there. I remember getting so excited to come down cause I knew I would get to ride horses and see the whole family. Your parents are such a blessing. I still get excited when we come visit. Your mom kind of reminds me of my mom in a way. So kind and warmhearted :) i love both if them very much and i hope all of you have a blessed Christmas!”

“I remember the long conversations about business and life with your Dad in front of the old feed shop. I remember his wisdom and kindness. I remember wondering exactly what I should take out of the conversations, since there was usually such an abundance of great information and substance, that I often wasn't sure exactly what was most important. In the end, I suppose I learned three things:

1. Business is important and character in business even more so.
2. Fulfillment in life is more important than any amount of business success.
3. Family is more important than 1 & 2.”

" I remembered back in 1968 when Deb was helping me clean house and the piano fell on me.  My ankle was crushed and leg broken.  The piano had tripped on a rug when we were moving it.  Deb called the ambulance.  Amy was just about 5-6 months old when this happened.  It was so wonderful that Deb could help out with Amy,  she was such a Blessing.  Luddie lived across the street with the kids and Deb was there.  Deb, I  wish that I could be there with you.  And I hope that you all have a wonderful Christmas.  I love you.”

“To Aunt Deb and Uncle Wes, I remember the warm and tender times of the family. The times you were there to help, the times you were there  to share, to love. These are the special time that I remember growing up you were a special part of my life I thank god to have you both. That he has given to me the both of you to pray for to love to call you family. The bible says in 1Corinthians ch.13 vs.7 love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, most of all it endures all all things. Gods love for the both of you never fails. You are two very special people and I love you. Have a very merry Christmas."  

  I am so thankful for the time I got to spend at your house growing up! I always felt just like I belonged there and knew that you cared about me like extended parents. Thank you for the love and hospitality you showed all of us girls.

"Your family has always been really special to me. I have one memory in particular that has always been with me through the years. When I was quite a bit younger I remember Charri and I coming down to Fresno for a visit on the train. We stayed at your house and Uncle Wesley and Aunt Debbie had plans to go the the Paso Robles fair. I dont think they had planned for Charri and I to be at your house then but I remember Aunt Rita and Uncle Chet were going to come and pick us up from your house and we did not want to go (not that we didn't want to see them, they did not have kids). Uncle Wesley and Aunt Debbie did not make us go and they woke us up the next morning telling us to get ready. They took us with them to the fair to see George Strait. Every time I hear a George Strait song it reminds me of this and how your parents unselfishly gave to us."

"To My bubby, I love you so very much. I have a great many memories of our childhood Christmas's with our family, I also remember peeling potatoes for you to eat with salt and scratching your back. Wish we could be closer and spend more time together, Think of you often."

“Deb, some of my first memories of you are as the lunch lady at T.K.”

Loving so called "life"

So this is it, the real world. A degree, a job, an apartment, bills (all paid) and a small sum of money in the bank. This is what I have worked so hard for. And it was so worth the sacrifice, the dedication and the wait.

I spent two weeks after graduation wondering what it was I was going to do for the rest of my life. Though I was lacking the knowledge of what it was the future held for me, I had complete confidence that I would find out, whatever it was. And so, I began the search....

It didn’t take long. I hardly had the chance to let the reality of it all set in. I received a phone call one day, from a gentleman I met at my dad’s feed store a couple of years prior. We spoke then, of my aspirations, passion for writing and all that inspired me. He told me I was exactly the type of individual he wanted for his publishing company. I lacked one thing, only. A degree.

So, I set out to achieve the one thing that was standing between myself and my dream job, where I could produce substantial content for a publication that reflects my philosophies and values when it comes to agriculture, history, politics, religion, family and entertainment. I checked in with him a time or two, to reiterate my interest and skills and he agreed that I was right for the job. I have been working for him for a month and a half now.

This whole experience is surreal.

Tonight is my first night in my apartment. As for most intuitive thinkers, I have found repetitive sentiment in the occasion, keenly aware of the following:

I am entering a new phase of life, and letting go of another. Last night was my last night at home. As bad as I needed this, a place to call my own, I am saddened that I’ll never get that back. I am so grateful for the home my parents shared when I over-extended my stay and the many great memories they created for me there. I am blessed that I didn’t leave their home out of spite or resentfulness, though at times, I showed them an undeserved disrespect. Being home at 27 dissatisfied me to the point that I expressed my discontent where I should have showed gratitude. Being away, I am immediately filled with regret.

I appropriately came across this simple prayer, while unpacking today, in a book that provides illuminating selections from the bible: “Thank You for my parents, God. Even though I’m grown up now, may my relationship with them continue to grow. Heal the old hurts and resentments with Your Holy Spirit. Thank You for all You’ve given me through these two people—and help me never be too busy to show them how much I love them. Amen.

On the other hand, I am filled with joy at the understanding that this apartment is mine. Everything inside this apartment is mine. Walking in my front door, I step into a world of unfamiliarity, yet I am so aware of the fact that it belongs to me! And as I sort through my swirl of emotions tonight, I’m adjusting well. It feels like home in a lot of ways, already. It feels so right, sitting on my couch, writing. It’s like this was meant to be all along. Things have lined up along the way, leading me to this place. It has all happened so fast, the majority of my friends don’t even know I have left home, yet. But here I sit, nearly settled and I am content, in need of nothing.

When I was in high school, I got a hope chest for Christmas, something I had wanted since I was a little girl. I began filling it with things along the way, with the intent of using them one day. But I didn’t expect the day to be so rewarding. These household items became timely treasures as I unwrapped them and reverted back to the time each piece was placed in my chest. I was also pleasantly surprised to find that each would complement my apartment surprisingly well, simultaneously surrounding me with the memories I’ve made along the way.

My boss at my first job contributed a handful of miscellaneous housewares items from the department we represented when she found out I had a hope chest. They will serve as a constant reminder of the potential she was kindly trying to get me to recognize in myself. Looking back, I recognize that my stubborn, 18-year-old, know-it-all attitude created a lot of tension in my relationship with her. As I’ve matured, I have recognized the many attempts she made to push me to better myself, despite my negativity. She forced me to build displays when I told her I wasn’t creative enough. She encouraged me to implement a program for our hearing-impaired customers when she found out that I knew sign-language. She pushed me to apply for a buyers position, assuring me that I possessed the capability I thought I lacked. She assigned me as a Team Member Awareness Group representative and delegated cheese buying responsibilities to me. I complained nearly every time. The items I use on a daily basis, will serve as reminders of my smug attitude as a teenager and the choice I face daily to deny that person.

Right after high school, I had fleeting plans to move out. I bought a stainless steel towel rack for my bathroom that has remained in it’s box ever since. It hangs in my bathroom as if it were specifically chosen for that room.

At the World Pork Expo last year, JoAnn took one of the centerpieces for me to take home to my empty apartment in Panora. It’s a large, yes...pig. It sat on the three dollar coffee table I bought at an auction, the entire summer. Every time I looked at it, I laughed to myself. I never would have bought something like that to accessorize my home. But seeing as I had nothing else, I left it. When I was packing to come home, I looked forward to throwing it away. But something wouldn’t let me. I stuffed it in a box along with the rest of my things and here it sits on my new coffee table as a surprisingly fitting centerpiece for my living room. Now, all of the memories contained inside bring a smile to my face when I see it.

My sister-in-law, Shannon, made a ceramic dish for me the year my oldest nephew was born. On the outside, she painted it blue and green, the colors I have chosen for my kitchen. Inside, she placed my nephew’s footprint. He will be nine this year. I cherish this piece as it represents the immense love I have for the kids in my life. There is nothing that compares.

For years, my grandmother was married to an Italian man by the name of Reno. I thought of him as a grandfather when I was a kid. He was an amazing man, patient, kind and generous. When his mother died, She left a house full of antiques to him. I remember visiting as a child, exploring what I thought were ancient relics, and treasures. Mom gave me an entire set of silverware that came from that house. I plan to use it to be reminded of my childhood lust for the past and my fondness of Reno, and the example he set for what a man should be. He is the one man I witnessed taking his last breath.

Jaime, my other sister-in-law, gave me her old set of dishes when she last upgraded. I can remember heating up dozens of frozen burritos and leftover pizza on these dishes when I laid the girls down for bed and started a movie to unwind. I can’t wait to serve my company on them and not the plastic set I fell in love with in high school.

Together with my new furniture, these things complete my apartment as a signature on my home. Everything in here represents who I am. And best of all, I have saved tremendously, meeting my long time goal of having everything I own paid off.

The beauty in diversity

In northern California, we’re tucked away in the mountains, beneath the amazingly beautiful Mt. Shasta. Glorious snow-capped peaks, trees, flowers, rivers and lakes encompass my soul stirring a renewed revelation of the shadows of our lives being cast by natural beauty. There are no fields of corn growing here and it’s unlike any terrain I encountered in Iowa. Yet oddly enough, I’m continually reminded of my experiences there and the tremendous growth I acquired from the people, places and things associated with it. And like the analogy I drew from sprouting corn (see Corn Fields and New Beginnings), mountainous splendor has ignited my creative imaginations, and inspired me with words:

Sometimes...
We live. We die. We try.
We learn to lean on others.

We shine. We hide.
We learn to overcome.
We learn that what we want isn’t always what we need.
People and things come and go like the ebb and flow of the raging waters and a settling breeze.

We get all tied up in knots, trying, as we become confused, forgetting what we set out to do in the first place.

We do whatever it takes, to break through to the other side as we strive to fulfill our purpose.


The inspiration? Brightly colored blossoms scattered amid vast greenery. They paint a picture of individual distinction, constituents called to harmonious community. I'm surrounded by foliage representing every stage of life, from bloom to doom and all of a sudden, I began to relate my experiences directly to these scenes I’ve captured on digital film. A sprouting pine tree versus the dead one: a direct correlation to the drastic contrast of the beginning and ending stages of life.



Then I looked around at the vivacious colors and various types of flowers and trees at their different stages of life--and how gorgeous they are as a compilation. Such is life when we apply our unique designs as individuals into our communities, fulfilling our intended roles. I noticed a bouquet of wilting flowers grasped in the weathered hand of my precious grandmother as they approach their final stage together, recognizing how quickly it comes and goes.

Just before I sat down to begin writing, a sweet little girl, about three years old offered me a little pink flower. She held a bucket full, that had been freshly picked. This gesture perfectly consummates my recognition of these things. She examined the selection carefully, and chose one to her liking. It was gorgeous when she handed it to me, yet it’s already beginning to wilt. Soon, it will begin to lose it’s color, dry out completely and never again face the one chance it was given to decorate this earth.

Similarly we are given one chance to decorate the earth with our many diverse talents and abilities. Like the flower, that’s laying on my computer, we are unaware of when we will be picked and our life will come to an end. I am determined to show my vibrant color while I still have the chance. To be a radiant adornment among a plethora of greenery. The mountains to the east are covered in lush greenery with gigantic pine trees that are beautiful in their own way. But the small, colorful flowers are ultimately what catch my eye and fill the viewfinder of my camera. Their size, insignificant to the majestic mountain full of trees. Yet a single pink flower, like the one Naomi gave me, creates charm superlative to its conventional surroundings.



We are here to celebrate one of my favorite holidays, the Fourth of July. How lucky we are to be natives of a nation whose declaration, proclaimed over 200 years ago, granted us liberty without restriction! Without it, I wouldn’t be able to reflect on these things and celebrate my freedom to express them as a woman writer. I never would have bloomed into the colorful, aromatic flower I was meant to be, fulfilling my purpose. I would never touch the lives of others who read the pages I’ve filled. There would be a missing link in my community. Without it, we would all be pine trees.

A year ago, I was sitting at my desk at JoAnn’s house in Iowa. At that desk, I scripted the first pages of this blog contemplating these very same thoughts. Though, this time around, I have another year’s worth of experiences, new friends and opportunities to add to my collection. It’s been an amazing, wild ride. I am proud to say that in that year, I have grown, tremendously as a woman, and as a writer. All too often, we fail to take advantage of the liberty we’ve been granted to seize our chance at becoming someone, binding ourselves into slavery.

Today we celebrate freedom, something that I feel has been jeopardized and no longer perceived as a God-given right. It has become a privilege deemed worthy by the government to their liking. Release self-inflicted shackles. Shine in your community and blossom into the person you were created to be because you can.

I, along with my family, am celebrating on Lake Siskiyou, a small lake with regulations that prevent boats from exceeding 10 miles an hour. It has a breathtaking view of Mt. Shasta and hundreds of people have come from surrounding counties to experience the display of fireworks that will be shot off from its southeast shore.

I was on a boat ride earlier today, when I observed people congregating along the shore setting up camp, passing festive foods, and searching out a spot to engage in their own mini celebration. I thought about all of the families, and groups of people across this sacred land, who are doing the exact same thing, at this very moment. On this day, we gather with friends and loved ones to pay tribute to the significance of this day. I am overwhelmed that I am given the chance to be part of such a huge celebration.

In every part of this nation, people of different personalities, backgrounds, races, religions and interests set this day apart from all of the rest to observe the one thing we all have in common, our home.

I was in Chicago on this day last year, watching fireworks from the pier with my best friend. We brushed shoulders with all sorts of people, as we heard inspirational words from Barack Obama in a prelude to the National Anthem and watched a display of fireworks. My emotions were stirred, as they are every year, but my expressions of gratitude are understated by the grand blessing it is to be one of a diverse group. Individually, we expose our diversities, yet collectively, we become a part of the bigger picture, representing our culture and ultimately the human race.

I feel like I am lightyears away from Chicago today, celebrating with a more humble crowd. Eccentric, you might say. The people in these parts have been dubbed, backwards, hillbillies, hippies and mountain people. No doubt, their lifestyles surprise even me, who have been repeatedly exposed to their customs.

As different as they are, I keep noticing the American flags and patriotic ribbons tied to the boats that line the dock, being caught up in the wind. That same symbol is displayed all over this nation today, as they were last year on the pier in Chicago, the skyscrapers of New York and L.A., barns across the Midwest, churches in the south, and homes from Detroit, Orlando, Seattle and San Diego. Willamantic, Dunsmuir, Panora and Enumclaw.

Our festivities are evidence of our connection to one another. As often as we point our fingers at our differences, laughing at them in support of our own way of doing things, our celebrations are a good reminder that our differences don’t have to divide us as they often do.

I can guarantee that in every state across America today, you will see street fairs, parades, BBQ’s, boats, fireworks and alcohol--all as a representation of our freedom. The freedom we all possess together. As one. Americans. This is our home, America. Find your place in it.

A Bulldog, an aggie, a Bigham

Well aware of the significance of last week, I chose to heed to the advice of a recent Ladies' Home Journal Magazine article and Slow Down as I savored my final moments at Fresno State. I took my time strolling through the campus, opposite my usual pace. My leisurely walks allowed me “to look at the places and people with curiosity and wonder,” just as the article suggested.

It would have been a shame if I had left that school, without ever appreciating its beauty. I have managed to overlook the character of my campus, caught up in deadlines, exams and conversations along the way. But I first realized it when mom and I intentionally sought out picturesque scenery for photo backdrops the week school got out. We covered every square inch of that campus, admiring the lush greenery and wide open spaces.

As the end drew near I took figurative snapshots of my surroundings, drinking in what would hopefully be lasting memories, resistant to fade. I was distinctly aware of the last lecture, final presentation, last class session and final exam. Grief and joy went head-to-head in the battle to win my heart. Both held their own as I continuously dubbed the experience “bittersweet.”

I took a final on Monday, another on Tuesday completing the least stressful finals week for a graduating senior; Mom and I shopped, got a pedicure and ran errands Wednesday, precursors to the upcoming celebration; My parents attended the animal science/agriculture education banquet with me Thursday where the president of the FFA conference committee recognized my achievement as the Web Proceedings co-chair; and my family offered their support at the department of agriculture’s commencement ceremony Friday and the university commencement ceremony Saturday. The week seemed to creep by in slow motion, but in retrospect I’m not sure where the time went.

My graduation was everything I hoped it would be. I made up my mind to enjoy every second of it. Plenty of opportunities arose for me to be robbed of my joy. However, I am grateful to say that I held tightly to it, refusing to relinquish my grip.

At Friday’s ceremony, we were individually recognized and awarded on stage. Pride swelled as my name was called and I extended that recognition to my parents in the audience with a kiss from the stage. I cheered loudly for my friends, and their achievements, recognizing that our lives were about to change drastically. I am proud to have them as my friends, proud of their accomplishments and proud to have experienced college with them.

These moments seemed surreal—yet I was caught up in the reality of them. I cherished the moment my name was announced, the opportunity I was given to thank my amazing advisor, Dr. Rocca, with a hug on stage, and the moments of silence and deafening applause. Pride was so thick in the air it weighed on my shoulders and the bond between the students in the college of ag never seemed tighter.

But nothing compared to spotting my family in the audience, expressing their pride in my achievement; especially Saturday when family and friends filled the Save Mart Center. Adrenaline rushed through our bones as we waited backstage to enter the arena. We were the final college to enter, so we spent our time, joking, laughing, taking pictures, and releasing shouts of joy. Each minute and step we took closer to making our grand entrance, the anticipation magnified.

It took me a while to find my family, so I had the entire walk to our seats to soak up the experience and sear it into my memory. When we stepped out onto the floor, the crowd enveloped us with shouts of recognition and simultaneous waves. I seemed to make my way to my seat in slow motion, listening to individual shouts from the audience, knowing that some of them belonged to me. My eyes scanned rows and rows and rows of seats—half looking to see if the occupants were my kin, half amazed by the amount of people participating in this event—for us.

I was feeling on top of the world until my face flashed on the screen above. At that moment, I thought I owned it. The camera captured our shouts, extended arms and the biggest smiles we’ve ever known.

The moment I found my family, the world stopped turning as we shared in it together. An equal blend of joy, pride and gratitude overcame me, an overwhelming emotion I had never known before. My hands flew in the air so proud that my achievement was what brought them there that day. They rose to their feet so fast, extending hands toward mine, our shouts getting lost somewhere in between. The diploma I received on that day belongs in part to those individuals.

Being the first in the family to graduate was a struggle. Generational inclinations had to be broken. I did it. I stood my own, but only because of their support. They wanted it for me as bad as I did myself and at times, more. When I saw them standing there waving, I felt as if I was the guest there to recognize all of their hard work and devotion. I’m so blessed to share the accomplishment with them, knowing that our name, “BIGHAM,” now belongs to the one percent of graduates in the world.

My slower pace last week reminded me of all that I have to be proud of: I am extremely proud of my identity as a Bulldog, an aggie and a Bigham.

For more on the commencement, please see Fresno State commencement a new beginning

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Leah Bigham - Home

The legacy you leave

A legacy endures the hardships of one generation and remains steadfast for the next. It undergoes the transition from the weathered hands of the wise to those of unscathed youth. It is a component of history, a record of intricate detail and monumental worth. It is evidence of the past, service to the present and a promise for the future. There is untold value in its passage.

Over 4,000 members of the Future Farmers of America (FFA) gathered in my hometown last weekend, for their 82nd annual state conference. Student leaders, guest speakers and advisors addressed them, delivering a bold message: “Your Legacy Awaits.”


The very foundation of FFA exemplifies all that this slogan entails. During the conference, I observed its members display a dedication to family, ethics, education and responsibility and a diligence to preserve it. They take pride in leadership, show respect for their elders and possess a unique patriotism.

I can say with absolute sincerity, that it was my pleasure to take part in the conference for my second consecutive year. As a co-chair for the Web proceedings committee at Fresno State, I served as a photographer for the event. As such, I was asked to conduct a workshop to 14 FFA members who were selected as part of a press corps team.

These students participated in a number of workshops aside from the general sessions and completed assignments related to their designated area of the press. It was a joy watching them on assignment. Several times backstage, I crossed paths with student reporters as they chased down officers, award winners and other recognized individuals for interviews. I brushed shoulders with student photographers as they sought out the best spot to capture the on-stage action.

I received the most satisfaction, however, from the interaction I received during my presentation to the press corps team. They were attentive, inquisitive and respectful. And they helped me come to an understanding about my own legacy.

At the beginning of my workshop, I quoted Mark Sharenbroich, from his keynote address during the opening session. He said, “Find out what your gifts are and share them with the world.” I told the students that that is why I chose to accept the invitation to conduct my workshop that day. I know what my gifts are and I am determined to share them with the world—through my camera and my keyboard

I have had some of the most amazing leaders and mentors who have helped direct me along the journey to discovering those gifts, and I am indebted to their devotion. But because of my late start on my education and involvement in the things that I love to do, I am continuously inspired by young people who make a point to follow their dreams. I often feel compelled to encourage them in their pursuit.

The fulfillment I received from my workshop led me to the realization that it is part of my responsibility to pass on my legacy. Even though I still have my entire career ahead of me, it is not too soon to share the treasure I have found in writing and photography. It doesn’t belong to me; I simply get to make use of it. And I am honored to be able to share it with newcomers like those I had the privilege of speaking to that day.