I arrived in Sapa on the first of May and stayed until the end of August. Three months is long enough to stop being a visitor. Long enough to learn the names of the fields, to know which paths flood first, to understand that the rice year is not a calendar — it is a body of knowledge passed between hands.
The Hmong and Dao farmers I stayed with had no romantic relationship with the monsoon. It was not picturesque. It was also not a problem. It was a condition — the condition under which everything grew, or didn’t.
Shot on Kodak Portra 400 and a Canon 5D Mark IV for low-light interiors. The mix was uncomfortable at first. By August it felt right.