As the year draws to a close, photographs offer us a way to look back at the moments that defined the year. This collection brings together images made by NPR photojournalists working in communities across the country, photographers who are documenting moments both consequential and quietly human throughout the year. These images don’t just cover the year’s biggest headlines, though, they linger on scenes, sometimes not widely known, that stayed with the people behind the cameras.<\/p>\n
Together, these images and the accompanying reflections from their photographers form a record of just a few of the stories we covered this year. They also remind us that journalism not only documents the facts of history as it unfolds on a national or international stage but also as it is witnessed and felt each day in the many places that we call home.<\/p>\n
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\n Mason “Bric” LaDue, a hip-hop music industry professional turned cattle rancher, takes the reins off of his horse, Valero, on Feb. 5, 2025, at his family’s ranch in Marquez, Texas.<\/p>\n
Michael Minasi<\/a>\/KUT News<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Michael Minasi<\/a>\/KUT News<\/a><\/p>\n Rap To Ranch <\/p>\n Marquez, Texas<\/p>\n Mason “Bric” LaDue, a hip-hop music industry professional turned cattle rancher, doesn’t go by Bric anymore and has largely left behind a decades-long career as a tour manager and promoter for the quiet fields of cattle<\/a>, his old life still etched in his arms and hands in the form of skeletal tattoos. People outside of Texas might assume it is a cultural monolith of barbecue and cowboy hats, both of which are present and excellent, but I love that LaDue fuses all of that with the vibrant and varied music scenes of places like Houston and Dallas. Capturing this nuance while hanging out with Mason on the ranch feels like what journalism is supposed to do \u2014 challenge stereotypes and complicate the stories we tell about ourselves and our neighbors. \u2014 Michael Minasi, KUT News<\/p>\n \n Rebecca Zuber comforts her husband, Randy, on the anniversary of their daughter Sarah’s death, at their home in Rainier, Ore., on March 13, 2025. Sarah Zuber, 18, was found dead 400 feet from her front door. Six years later, her family still has no clue what happened to their daughter.<\/p>\n Kristyna Wentz-Graff<\/a>\/OPB<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Kristyna Wentz-Graff<\/a>\/OPB<\/a><\/p>\n Searching for Sarah <\/p>\n Rainier, Ore.<\/p>\n It was a crisp March morning when I met Rebecca and Randy Zuber on the sixth anniversary of their daughter’s death. Sarah, 18, was found dead just 400 feet from her front door, and authorities have yet to determine what happened to her. As the Zubers shared memories about her, Randy dropped his head and cried. Bearing witness to people’s grief and pain is one of the hardest aspects of my work. Why make these photos at all? I believe these moments can help foster connection \u2014 they help us relate to others and, at best, perhaps not feel so alone. I see more than just grief and loss in this image. I see resilience, strength and a deep faith. Sarah’s death was the focus of the “Hush” podcast<\/a>. It was an honor to spend time with the Zubers. I hope one day they will learn what happened to Sarah. \u2014 Kristyna Wentz-Graff, Oregon Public Broadcasting<\/p>\n Above the Arch <\/p>\n St. Louis, Mo.<\/p>\n Since working at St. Louis Public Radio, I’ve made it a goal to create a different<\/a> firework<\/a> photograph <\/a>each year. When you’re photographing something in the sky, whether fireworks<\/a> or northern lights<\/a>, you ask yourself the question: Could this photograph be anywhere? A memorable image needs a sense of place \u2014 something unmistakably local. Luckily for us St. Louisans, we have the Gateway Arch National Park<\/a>. The challenge is finding a way to see it anew. For nearly four years, I chased the perfect vantage point along the Mississippi River, a spot where thousands gather to view the summer spectacle, but struck out \u2014 repeatedly. That changed this year. After years of planning, I made the uniquely St. Louis image while clinging to a narrow (and windy) 14th-story balcony. \u2014 Brian Munoz, St. Louis Public Radio<\/p>\n \n Robert Garcia paints the stairs of Oak Lawn United Methodist Church in Pride and trans colors Wednesday, Oct. 22, 2025, in Dallas, Texas. The church made the move in response to Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s order to remove symbols from crosswalks in cities across the state.<\/p>\n Yfat Yossifor<\/a>\/KERA<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Yfat Yossifor<\/a>\/KERA<\/a><\/p>\n Painting the Rainbow <\/p>\n Dallas, Texas<\/p>\n On Oct. 8, 2025, Texas Gov. Greg Abbott ordered the Texas Department of Transportation to remove “political” signage from roadways. In Dallas, several rainbow-painted crosswalks marked a popular area in the city’s Oak Lawn neighborhood as the “gayborhood.” A church located in the heart of the area decided to show its support for the LGBTQ community by painting the steps of its building<\/a> in response to the order. This moment felt important as a stand for unity and community \u2014 a bright reminder that this community is loved. The act of painting the steps was, to me, a vibrant protest to orders attempting to silence the diversity and flamboyance of Oak Lawn. \u2014 Yfat Yossifor, KERA<\/p>\n \n Cookie Jones (left) sits with her mother, Valerie (right), in Cookie’s home on June 4, 2025, in Bridgeport, Conn. Cookie Jones quit her job to care for her mother, who has Alzheimer’s disease. She is one of thousands of unpaid family caregivers in Connecticut navigating financial and access barriers to treatment.<\/p>\n Tyler Russell<\/a>\/Connecticut Public<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Tyler Russell<\/a>\/Connecticut Public<\/a><\/p>\n Mother and Daughter <\/p>\n Bridgeport, Conn.<\/p>\n “Who are you?” asked Valerie for the sixth time that day. I snapped this frame as I answered again. Her daughter, Cookie, watched. Valerie remembered Cookie at this point in the day. They were a beautiful, tragic pair. Valerie, still showing the fiercely independent woman she’d always been through the veil her Alzheimer’s had cast. Cookie, the fiercely independent woman setting her own dreams aside to care for her mother. Cookie is one of many people caring for ailing parents<\/a> with little support. An hour’s drive away, my thoughts were with my own mother and grandmother, sitting in a different bedroom but in the same situation. \u2014 Tyler Russell, Connecticut Public<\/p>\n \n Pro-Palestinian activists pray in the streets as part of a protest against the presence of Itamar Ben-Gvir, the Israeli Minister of National Security, outside the John C. Anderson House on the Yale University campus in New Haven, Conn., on April 23, 2025.<\/p>\n Ayannah Brown<\/a>\/Connecticut Public<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Ayannah Brown<\/a>\/Connecticut Public<\/a><\/p>\n A Prayer <\/p>\n New Haven, Conn.<\/p>\n For several hours this spring, Pro-Palestinian activists and advocates protested the presence of Itamar Ben-Gvir, the Israeli Minister of National Security<\/a>, who was scheduled to speak at the John C. Anderson House (home to Shabtai, a Jewish secret society for Yale seniors) in New Haven, Conn. Shortly after Ben-Gvir entered the Anderson House, protestors removed their shoes, laid down their flags and bowed their heads in the middle of the street to begin praying for the lives lost in the ongoing war in Gaza. Everything paused. Onlookers stopped and stared. Attendees of Ben-Gvir’s speech peeked through the blinds of the Anderson House’s windows to see what was going on. It was the first time I had ever seen prayer used as a form of protest. It was the first time I watched civil unrest transform into a moment of collective pause, focusing attention, all within a silence that begged for understanding. \u2014 Ayannah Brown, Connecticut Public<\/p>\n \n Vigil attendees begin walking up the stairs of the Boston Common to gather in front of the Massachusetts State House during the Prayer Vigil for Charlie Kirk on September 18, 2025.<\/p>\n Jesse Costa<\/a>\/WBUR<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Jesse Costa<\/a>\/WBUR<\/a><\/p>\n Charlie Kirk Vigil <\/p>\n Boston, Mass.<\/p>\n Hundreds of mourners gathered on the Boston Common on Sept. 18 and walked towards the Massachusetts State House during a prayer vigil for Charlie Kirk<\/a>. Kirk, a 31-year-old right-wing activist, commentator and founder of the conservative youth group Turning Point USA, had been shot and killed while speaking outdoors in front of a large crowd at Utah Valley University the week before. Kirk, who was critical of gay and transgender rights, once said the Civil Rights Act was “a mistake.” Speakers at the event prayed and spoke of how inspirational Kirk had been to them, reflecting on his Christian values and views on free speech. Many at the vigil voiced fears about their freedom to speak their minds in Massachusetts without being hurt. To me, this is a great illustration of how polarizing politics are in this country. \u2014 Jesse Costa, WBUR<\/p>\n \n A piece of hydrilla (Hydrilla verticillata) floats in the Connecticut River on Sept. 9 in Portland, Conn. The river water had been dyed by scientists with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers who were studying flow patterns to obtain information about how best to add herbicides to the water and kill the highly invasive plant.<\/p>\n Mark Mirko<\/a>\/Connecticut Public<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Mark Mirko<\/a>\/Connecticut Public<\/a><\/p>\n Hydrilla Invasion <\/p>\n Portland, Conn.<\/p>\n Years ago, I raised a finger-length arowana fish in an aquarium. Later, when I saw a nearly 6-foot-long arowana removed from a South Florida waterway, it was easy to see why the species is now banned in the United States. It never would have occurred to me at the time that the hydrilla plants I placed in the aquarium for the arowana to use as camouflage while hunting its aquarium mates were also deadly. This past summer, I photographed the Army Corps of Engineers releasing an inert red dye into the Connecticut River<\/a> to better understand specific water flow characteristics so they could later effectively and efficiently use herbicides to halt the spread of the invasive species. Connecticut has been called “Ground Zero” for hydrilla’s invasion. Sen. Richard Blumenthal, D-Conn., says, “More than just a science fiction fantasy, it poses real-life dangers to Connecticut ecology, economics and environmental quality.” \u2014 Mark Mirko, Connecticut Public<\/p>\n \n Taylor Williams, 17, goes through pieces of her teacup collection from the home she shared with her family after it was destroyed in the Eaton Fire in Altadena, Calif., on Jan. 9, 2025.<\/p>\n Beth LaBerge<\/a>\/KQED<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Beth LaBerge<\/a>\/KQED<\/a><\/p>\n What Was Left Behind <\/p>\n Altadena, Calif.<\/p>\n Taylor Williams, 17, stands in the remains of her family’s home in Altadena, California, sorting through pieces of her teacup collection, which she found in the debris after the Eaton Fire burned through the community northeast of Los Angeles<\/a>. In the days after the fire, residents returned to what was left of their homes to search for personal items, small things that survived, when everything else was gone. Taylor was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Altadena, and I’ve carried the image of her going through her teacup collection ever since. It was one of the few things she managed to save. Much of the coverage understandably focused on the scale of destruction, but this moment stayed with me, a teenager processing all that had been lost by gathering up even the smallest of objects. \u2014 Beth LaBerge, KQED<\/p>\n \n Cage the Elephant performs on the first day of the Austin City Limits Music Festival on the American Express stage at Austin’s Zilker Metropolitan Park on Oct. 3.<\/p>\n Patricia Lim<\/a>\/KUT News<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Patricia Lim<\/a>\/KUT News<\/a><\/p>\n Jumping in to Austin City Limits <\/p>\n Austin, Texas<\/p>\n Cage the Elephant<\/a>‘s lead singer, Matt Shultz, is known for his high energy stage presence, so I was excited to cover the band’s set when they performed on opening day of this year’s Austin City Limits Music Festival<\/a>. When I arrived at the pit area, I saw that the stage was high and hot from the pyrotechnics. Shultz was constantly jumping as he performed for the audience. We were allowed to photograph the first three songs only, so I planned to get safety shots on the first, transition to more creative shots and angles on the second, and then go crazy and have fun on the third. We were packed like sardines, so I tried to find a spot that had fewer photographers. I lifted my camera as high as possible and timed his jump with my shutter. This moment is a reminder to always look for unexpected perspectives during the “big moment.” \u2014 Patricia Lim, KUT<\/p>\n \n People gather for New York City mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani’s victory party at the Brooklyn Paramount in New York City on Nov. 4.<\/p>\n Keren Carri\u00f3n<\/a>\/NPR<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Keren Carri\u00f3n<\/a>\/NPR<\/a><\/p>\n Zohran Mamdani’s Victory Night <\/p>\n New York, N.Y.<\/p>\n I had no idea what to expect when I got into Zohran Mamdani’s victory party 10 minutes before his speech was about to start. Our team pushed through hundreds of people in the crowd to get a good view before Mamdani arrived. When he came on stage, thousands erupted in cheers, and in a moment where so much was happening at once, his wife, Rama Duwaji, joined him on stage<\/a>. As they whispered to each other in front of hundreds of supporters, I photographed a moment of stillness between them. As they looked out onto the crowd with such poise and charisma, I couldn’t help but feel I was witnessing history. It was one of my favorite moments of the night. \u2014 Keren Carri\u00f3n, NPR<\/p>\n Trans Lives Celebration <\/p>\n Des Moines, Iowa<\/p>\n Just a month after the Iowa Legislature passed a bill making Iowa the first state to repeal civil rights protections for transgender and nonbinary people, Iowans gathered at a local church for the fifth annual Trans Lives Festival<\/a>. After documenting several painful moments for this community, I was expecting a more somber event. Instead, the event saw record attendance, bustling corridors filled with art, community around every corner and ebullient drag performances blasting from the church’s main auditorium. Many of the people we talked to that day spoke about defiance and taking control rather than giving into despair, including Dixon, a central Iowa drag king who gave a particularly comedic performance. He told us after the show that it feels rebellious to “feel even a remote amount of joy as a trans person.” \u2014 Madeleine C. King, Iowa Public Radio<\/p>\n \n Members of Indigenous tribes from around the Plains region gather to pay their respects and give thanks to the buffalo shot in an annual ceremonial harvest at the Tall Bull Memorial Park south of Denver, Colo., on Nov. 7.<\/p>\n Hart Van Denburg<\/a>\/CPR News<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Hart Van Denburg<\/a>\/CPR News<\/a><\/p>\n In a Buffalo’s Death, Cultural Thanks and Respect <\/p>\n Denver, Colo.<\/p>\n When he saw me raise my camera during prayers ahead of a buffalo harvest at Tall Bull Memorial Park near Denver in November, a tribal elder reminded me loudly and firmly, “This is for us, not for you.” The moment was sacred, and I was invited there to see and learn. “You should get rid of those photos you just took,” he said. As an invited guest, I was sincerely humbled and apologized. There would soon be time for photos, including the one here: Invited members of regional Cheyenne, Arapaho, Ute and other tribes paying their respects and giving thanks to the felled buffalo<\/a>, after which the community gathered to dress the animal and portion out its meat to 150 people. Led this year by Lewis TallBull, holding his family eagle staff, the annual event connects these families to this land, its history, their culture and resilience. \u2014 Hart Van Denburg, CPR News<\/p>\n \n Melvin Graham Jr., the brother of Cynthia Graham Hurd, one of nine people killed in the June 17, 2015, shooting at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C., poses for a photo in front of the church ahead of the shooting’s 10-year anniversary.<\/p>\n Catie Dull<\/a>\/NPR<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Catie Dull<\/a>\/NPR<\/a><\/p>\n Remembering Mother Emanuel <\/p>\n Charleston, S.C.<\/p>\n Melvin Graham, Jr. stands in front of Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C. on June 2, 2025, nearly 10 years after his sister, Cynthia Hurd, was shot and killed there. Hurd was one of nine victims murdered when white supremacist Dylann Roof, then 21, targeted the church hoping to stoke a race war<\/a>. I grew up nearby in Wilmington, N.C., and have many ties to Charleston. I remember when this horrific attack happened; I was 18 years old. Photographing the community and this moment 10 years later inspired hope, of all things, in me. Emanuel AME is the oldest Black congregation in the South and has historically been at the forefront of the struggle for racial justice since its founding, making Roof’s attack that much more deliberate. Meeting with and photographing some of the people who were affected most by this event highlighted for me the strength of and love in this community. \u2014 Catie Dull, NPR<\/p>\n \n Joseph Faraj, a tailor in North Austin, Texas, stands in his shop on Aug. 7. Faraj, who runs the business with his brother-in-law, Ghassan Karim, immigrated to the U.S. from Lebanon in the 1970s.<\/p>\n Lorianne Willett<\/a>\/KUT News<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Lorianne Willett<\/a>\/KUT News<\/a><\/p>\n Local Tailor <\/p>\n Austin, Texas<\/p>\n Joseph Faraj, a tailor in North Austin, looks at a wall covered in photos of his clients and accomplishments at his shop, which he runs with his brother-in-law, Ghassan Karim. Together, the pair have serviced a variety of clients, ranging from actors to presidents to everyday customers around the city and state. Faraj immigrated from a war-torn Lebanon in the 1970s and has since been able to start a new life here<\/a>, where the community values him and the work that he does. As a photojournalist, being given the opportunity to meet people like Faraj who live in my community and have them trust me with their stories is such a wonderful part of my job. Austin is a huge town, and there are so many stories to tell \u2014 of not only the people whose names we hear of every day, but others who make the city such a special place to live. \u2014 Lorianne Willet, KUT News<\/p>\n \n Homes near Mount Vernon, Wash., are shown surrounded by floodwaters following consecutive atmospheric rivers on Dec. 11.<\/p>\n Megan Farmer<\/a>\/ KUOW<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Megan Farmer<\/a>\/ KUOW<\/a><\/p>\n Atmospheric River Flooding <\/p>\n Mount Vernon, Wash.<\/p>\n Western Washington state experienced record, catastrophic flooding earlier this month after consecutive atmospheric river systems pummeled the region with heavy rains<\/a>. Approximately 100,000 people were ordered to evacuate their homes across the region. When I launched my drone, I did not expect to see anything but water surrounding the homes, but this aerial view revealed what appears to be gasoline in the floodwaters. December’s back-to-back atmospheric rivers and extreme flooding offer a glimpse into our warmer future, according to climate scientists<\/a>. This image reminded me of the relationship between humans and nature and how our behaviors correlate with changing climates. \u2014 Megan Farmer, KUOW<\/p>\n \n Agnes Mwamba (right) and her husband, Joseph (middle), of Agnes Farm and Produce in Brandywine, Md., offload 2,000 pounds of fresh vegetables that they brought to distribute to federal workers in Hyattsville, Md. Grace Herring (left) is a volunteer with No Limits Outreach Ministries, where the Oct. 28 distribution took place.<\/p>\n Tyrone Turner<\/a>\/WAMU<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Tyrone Turner<\/a>\/WAMU<\/a><\/p>\n Helping Furloughed Federal Workers <\/p>\n Hyattsville, Md.<\/p>\n Agnes Mwamba and her husband, Joseph, of Agnes Farms, in Brandywine, Md., unload 2,000 pounds of fresh produce to donate to furloughed federal workers in Prince Georges County, Md. They said that when they heard about the distribution, they packed up a truck full of vegetables to give away. Mwamba added that, since their farm sells much of their produce to the Capital Area Food Bank, which has been hit by recent grant cuts, their own farm operation has been negatively impacted. As the federal shutdown stretched on, I documented several food distributions for federal workers in D.C., Maryland and Virginia<\/a>. I was struck by the level of stress and need as well as the tremendous outpouring of support. Some volunteers were themselves furloughed federal workers wanting to give back. Seeing the community step up in this way left me hopeful. \u2014 Tyrone Turner, WAMU<\/p>\n Press Under Pressure <\/p>\n Concord, Calif.<\/p>\n E. is a Nicaraguan journalist who fled her home country after discovering her name on a government “enemies list,” marking her for imprisonment or worse. She entered the U.S. through a Biden-era humanitarian parole program, but when the Trump administration ended the program, she and more than 500,000 others were left fearing the loss of legal status and possible deportation<\/a>. Fearful for her safety and the safety of her family still in Nicaragua, E. asked KQED not publish her name or photos in which she could be identified. As E. described how press freedoms had gradually collapsed in the face of Nicaragua’s increasingly authoritarian regime, something deep resonated within me. “I will never regret becoming a journalist,” she said. “But my family shouldn’t have to pay. When I decided to be a journalist, I didn’t know that this was part of the package.” \u2014 Martin do Nascimento, KQED<\/p>\n \n A protester in an inflatable axolotl costume wrapped in a Mexican flag navigates a cloud of tear gas outside a U.S. Immigrations and Customs Enforcement building in Portland, Ore., on Oct. 18, where federal officers deployed tear gas, flash-bangs and fired pepper balls.<\/p>\n Eli Imadali<\/a>\/OPB<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Eli Imadali<\/a>\/OPB<\/a><\/p>\n Playful Protest Met with Force <\/p>\n Portland, Ore.<\/p>\n Protests outside Portland’s ICE facility \u2014 and the reality of how nonviolent and even deliberately playful they’ve been \u2014 defined my first month at Oregon Public Broadcasting. Protests can become repetitive to photograph, but this scene, captured immediately after the second “No Kings” protest this year<\/a>, has stayed with me. It shows tear gas enveloping the ICE building and the blocks surrounding it after federal agents used significant force to clear their driveway of protesters, and then deployed chemical agents on the crowd, many of whom wore the inflatable costumes that have become emblematic of the anti-Trump and anti-ICE movement here and elsewhere. As tear gas engulfed the crowd, at one point obscuring the ICE building itself, some protesters struggled to breathe inside their costumes. Observing this all through the confines of my gas mask, I saw this moment of stillness that seemed to slow down the chaotic scene for me, so I lifted my camera up to my mask to make some frames. This image felt like it told the story \u2014 playful protests being forcefully suppressed by the federal government. Seldom have I been able to illustrate this contrast so starkly. \u2014 Eli Imadali, OPB<\/p>\n \n A team of workers flip over a beached whale at San Marine State Park near Yachats, Ore., on Tuesday, Nov. 18. Scientists, veterinary students and members of the Confederated Tribes of Siletz Indians worked together to disassemble the whale, which had been euthanized the day prior.<\/p>\n Saskia Hatvany<\/a>\/OPB<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Saskia Hatvany<\/a>\/OPB<\/a><\/p>\n For the Love of a Whale <\/p>\n Yachats, Ore.<\/p>\n After a juvenile whale became tangled in fishing gear and beached on the coast near Yachats, Ore., the local community rallied to try to save its life<\/a>. To the sorrow of many, the whale was eventually euthanized. Whales rarely wash up on shore alive, so to learn more about the animal, scientists and veterinary students conducted a necropsy while members of the Confederate Tribe of Siletz Indians performed ceremonies and collected samples for cultural use. The reality of disassembling an over 8-ton animal was graphic. I watched as the whale was taken apart piece by piece, and as its blood pooled in the sand. The scene was both shocking and beautiful. I took solace in the obvious care that so many had for this creature, from the scientists tasked with the necropsy, to the pedestrians who watched from a distance, to the tribal members wanting to use as much of the animal as possible and reconnect with ancestral traditions. \u2014 Saskia Hatvany, OPB<\/p>\n \n Brother Arnold Hadd, one of three remaining members of The Shakers, a Christian sect known for communal living, pets a sheep on Aug. 5 at Sabbathday Lake Shaker Village in New Gloucester, Maine. Hadd joined the Shaker community nearly a half century ago and spends his days praying and working on the farm.<\/p>\n Esta Pratt-Kielley<\/a>\/Maine Public<\/a><\/p>\n hide caption\n <\/p>\n toggle caption<\/p>\n Esta Pratt-Kielley<\/a>\/Maine Public<\/a><\/p>\n The Gaze <\/p>\n New Glouster, Maine<\/p>\n The Shakers, a Christian sect known for communal living and self-sufficiency, are nearing extinction. Only one Shaker community remains in the world, here in Maine, home to just three members<\/a>. The most recent joined in 2025. Daily manual labor is central to Shaker life and belief. Work is considered a form of worship, and caring for animals, especially sheep, has long sustained the community. The sheep provide wool for yarn and clothing that the Shakers sell, linking labor directly to survival. Brother Arnold Hadd joined the Shakers in his early 20s with no prior experience tending sheep. Now, his quiet confidence and intuition with the animals are evident. In this moment of shared stillness, the connection between caretaker and animal felt mutual, reflecting a deep interdependence. \u2014 Esta Pratt-Kielley, Maine Public<\/p>\n A Walk in the Park <\/p>\n Richmond, Va.<\/p>\n Less than a week after Richmond, Va., Mayor Danny Avula first took office in January, a mechanical failure, years of institutional negligence and, as a report would later find, 2 inches of snow caused the city’s water treatment plant to lose power and then flood<\/a>. Over the next five days, more than 230,000 people in Greater Richmond lived under a boil water advisory, if they even had working tap water. I’d been using my drone to cover the aftermath of this crisis when I made this image as trees in Byrd Park cast long shadows onto fresh snow. A man’s shadow began to move slowly among the trees. It reminded me of George Steinmetz’s photograph of the Salt caravan<\/a> that shows a group of people traveling through the Sahara on camels. After making this photograph, I ran toward the man to ask for his name: John Leino, who introduced me to his dog, Poika, whose name translates to “Boy” in Finnish. His voice still echoes in my head. \u2014 Shaban Athuman, VPM<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
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