East of the mountains lies the hop capital of the world, where over 60% of the global hop supply is grown. For me, this isn’t just a statistic — it’s home.

I grew up surrounded by hop fields that seemed to stretch endlessly, their rhythms marking the seasons of our lives. Stringing begins in March, vines climbing skyward through spring, and by September the towering rows are ready for harvest, leaving the fields bare once again.

This image was captured at the height of summer, when the vines were full and the hills alive with green. Under the Milky Way’s glow, the hop fields stood as both a symbol of hard work and a reminder of how deeply this land and its harvest are tied to the lives of the people here