
A Dive Bar, a Dice Game, and a Petaluma Wedding
I met these two the way all great love stories begin—at The Buckhorn… over a dice game that they kindly reminded me how to play.
Maybe it’s not your typical “how I booked a wedding” story, but honestly? As a Petaluma wedding photographer, this isn’t the first time I’ve met wedding clients at the local watering hole.
We ended up talking for hours—laughing, swapping stories, and somewhere in between questionable dice rolls and cheap drinks, they told me about their wedding story and I had that feeling I always trust: these are my people.
A few weeks later, they reached out about their wedding.
And just like that, the dive bar connection turned into something a whole lot more meaningful.








Getting Ready at Home (and Doing It Your Own Way)
Sarah did her own makeup, which—let me just say—looked insanely good. Effortless, glowy, completely her.
But the part that mattered most?
She always dreamed of taking her wedding photos on the staircase in her childhood home.
So we did exactly that.
We kept the first look simple, intentional, and rooted in a place that already held so much history. No overproduction. No weird posing. Just the two of them, seeing each other, in a space that already meant everything. This is what I love about documentary wedding photography, when I’m not trying to build a narrative, and just observing, the story unfolds naturally.
And then? We piled in a limo and were off to the ceremony.




A Intimate Wedding Ceremony in Petaluma
Their ceremony took place at Elim Church, surrounded by the people who have known them since the beginning.
High school sweethearts—but not in a cliché way. In a “we’ve grown up together, and we still choose each other” kind of way.
You could feel it in how they looked at each other.
In the way their families watched.
In the quiet, steady kind of love that doesn’t need to perform to be seen.
After that, it was time to party! Did I mention the limo? Some of my favorite photos from this Petaluma wedding are from us traveling in between sites together.







Photos You Can Feel (Not Just See)
If you’re looking for stiff poses and perfectly placed hands… this wasn’t that kind of wedding.
And it’s not how I shoot.
Yes, we made space for a few portraits—but the heart of this gallery lives in everything in between:
- the glances
- the hugs that last a second longer than expected
- the laughter that sneaks up on people
- the blink-and-you-miss-it moments that end up meaning the most
What really stood about this day and makes this gallery so special is the candid wedding photography.
I approach weddings in a documentary way because your day isn’t a photoshoot—it’s an experience.
My job is to pay attention to it.
To catch the real stuff as it’s happening, so when you look back, you don’t just see your wedding… you feel it again.

A Dance Floor That Did Not Miss
The reception at Petaluma Elks Lodge fully delivered.
And a big part of that? Micah Perrin—my forever favorite DJ.
I’ve worked with him a bunch, and every time it’s the same story: packed dance floor, zero awkward gaps, and somehow everyone—from your college friends to your aunt—completely locked in.
Which makes my job very easy, because a good party = incredible candid photos.










Why I Love Intimate Weddings in Petaluma
There’s something about a Petaluma wedding—especially an intimate one—that just works.
It’s relaxed but meaningful.
Beautiful without trying too hard.
And just spread out enough that having a thoughtful timeline (and someone paying attention to light) makes all the difference.
This day had all of it:
- personal locations that actually meant something
- a guest list full of real connections
- space to be present instead of rushed
The Kind of Wedding That Stays With You
This one stuck with me.
Not because it was over-the-top or perfectly styled—but because it was real.
It started in a dive bar.
It unfolded in places that mattered.
And it ended with a dance floor full of people who showed up wholeheartedly.
This is exactly why I do what I do.
Not just to document how it looked—but to hold onto how it felt.
