Former Career Fire and EMS Lieutenant-Specialist, Writer, and Master Photographer.
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I changed the ending of the story I was handed. And I didn’t do it loudly, or for attention—I did it quietly, like planting a tree I may never sit under, trusting that its shade will still offer shelter to someone, someday.”—Emily Pratt Slatin It was late, I pulled my skirt off, tossed it in…
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I don’t take pictures to make things look pretty.I take pictures because some things deserve to be remembered the way they really were when I found them—broken, discarded, forgotten about. My work is about the spaces people leave behind—the silence after the machines stop, the stories still stitched into the rust and the dust.It’s about…
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I always thought survival meant things would get better.It doesn’t.You just find new ways to carry the weight. These photographs are what happens after the dust settles.Not the pretty kind of ruin.Not the kind that fits inside neat headlines or gallery frames. This is what gets left behind when hope moves out and leaves the…
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One Saturday morning in May of 2025, I grabbed my camera, tossed my gear into the Amelia’s Ford Bronco Sport, and headed out with my friends Luke and Maddie—the same Luke who runs Luke Explores — to chase down whatever forgotten places we could find tucked away between the cracks of the world. No plan.…
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When I was a teenager, I discovered the roof of my parents’ house wasn’t just made of shingles and nails—it was made of silence. It was made of peace. It was the only place I could go where the rest of the world couldn’t follow, and more importantly, wouldn’t try. It started the way most…
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I found myself back in my hometown again this week, back in the house where it all started, spending time with Darlene—my childhood best friend, my code friend, the only person left on this planet who knows the whole damn story and stayed anyway. Darlene and I were thick as thieves back then, always up…
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There are nights when I step outside into the silvered darkness of my Vermont farm, and the only thing I feel truly seen by is the moon. The world is quiet here—just the chorus of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl—but above me the moon hangs like an old friend. Its pale light…
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There are nights when my mind doesn’t so much think as it wanders—quietly, like a stray animal, unsure of whether it’s welcome. Thoughts drift like smoke in an abandoned room—aimless, fragrant, impossible to catch. They curl into the corners of my brain, wafting through the wreckage of old memories, clinging to the peeling wallpaper of…
Emily Pratt Slatin
P.O. Box 1231
Middletown Springs, VT 05757-1231
United States Of America