A black-and-white film photograph of a woman sitting on large rocks beside a flowing river, holding a white umbrella. A small squirrel stands on the rocks nearby, with trees and forest in the background.

Between My Mother and the River

2019 · Film Photography/FM2
Valley of the Five Lakes, Jasper National Park, Canada

A black-and-white film photograph of a woman sitting on large rocks beside a flowing river, holding a white umbrella. A small squirrel stands on the rocks nearby, with trees and forest in the background.

In the summer of 2019,
I traveled with my mom and a group of friends and family for the USANA international convention.

Our journey stretched across cities and landscapes —
Vancouver, Jasper, Banff, Salt Lake City, then back to Vancouver and Taipei.
It felt less like a trip and more like a long ribbon of time, tying places together.

This photo was taken in Jasper National Park,
at the Valley of the Five Lakes.

What I love most is the quiet relationship inside the frame —
my mom resting on the rocks,
and a small squirrel standing nearby.

They weren’t looking at each other,
yet the space between them feels connected, almost balanced.
Like they simply belonged to the same moment.

Traveling with my mom has always moved me deeply.

When I was younger, her health wasn’t strong.
Long trips felt difficult, sometimes impossible.

But after years of care and recovery through USANA,
she gradually grew stronger.

At nearly seventy,
she looked younger,
walked further,
and had more energy than I ever expected.

Watching her keep up with mountain trails and long days of travel
felt like witnessing a quiet miracle.

A few years later,
wildfires swept through Jasper,
and parts of the forest we visited were gone.

The landscape changed.
Some views may never look the same again.

But this moment remains —
her sitting on the rocks,
the river flowing,
a small squirrel pausing in the sun.

Sometimes places disappear.

But the memory of walking there together
stays with me,
still alive,
still warm.