Every moment, a story worth sharing

     If you have been following the page recently, you’ve probably noticed that things look a little different. There is a massive shift happening here—a change in quality, the integration of new digital art, and a very distinct, gritty style to our photography. Every Moment is a Choice Studio is evolving, and with that evolution comes some hard truths, some big changes, and a completely new vision for what Christmas means to us.

     If you live and work in the upper half of the Northern Hemisphere, you know the exact feeling I am talking about. It usually hits right around late October. The days get short, the sky turns a relentless shade of flat grey, and the cold settles into the dirt.

    If you want to raise my blood pressure on any given afternoon, have me scroll through local Facebook Marketplace groups. Past the used furniture and old truck parts, you will inevitably find a listing that makes my stomach turn: a parent trying to sell their kid's used helmet for fifty bucks because it’s "still in great condition" and "never been in a major crash."

    It is pouring rain in Alberta, the kind of steady, relentless downpour that turns jobsites into mud pits. Nicholas Klinck is standing in the middle of it, digging a basement, completely unfazed. For a man who makes his living climbing onto the backs of two-thousand-pound athletes, a little mud and cold water is just another day at the office.

    There is an old, bitter irony in how the world operates: the people sitting behind clean mahogany desks making administrative policies are rarely the ones standing in the cold holding a crying child’s hand.

    To truly appreciate what is being built out on the dirt in western Leduc County, you have to understand the deep, resilient roots of Sunnybrook itself. This is a hamlet where the population currently hovers right around 50 people, yet its footprint in Alberta's agricultural and western history is undeniable.

    Before the earth cracked open and black gold drowned out the silence, Drayton Valley was a place defined by the slow, rhythmic swing of the axe and the relentless pull of the North Saskatchewan River. In the early half of the twentieth century, this wasn't a town of roughnecks and steel derricks; it was an isolated, quiet frontier. For decades, the air smelled of freshly felled pine and damp earth. A tight-knit community of just seventy-five souls—homesteaders, farmers, and lumberjacks—carved out a living on the banks of the Pembina, floating timber downstream to Edmonton because there weren't even roads to carry them out. It was a life of quiet, agricultural grit, rooted deeply in the topsoil and the timber.

    Nestled in Central Alberta, the Village of Alix may be small in population, but its history and community spirit cast a massive shadow. From its early origins to the flying dirt of its modern-day rodeo arena, Alix is a community that remembers where it came from and works tirelessly to preserve its western heritage.

    Nestled in the shadow of the Sunset Hills, the town of Bentley sits like a jewel in the beautiful Blindman Valley. It is a geographic feature that caught the attention of many early pioneers, and that valley remains the true heartbeat of this Central Alberta community. In 1899, Major William McPherson and his sons purchased homesteads and laid out the original townsite. They were true pioneers of agriculture and commerce, establishing a local store and building a cheese factory that heavily influenced the early growth of the town.

    There is a track by Motiversity called Prove Them Wrong. It’s a heavy, driving speech about facing down the doubters—the people who look at you and say you can't do it, that you aren't strong enough, or that you don't have what it takes.

    Walking through the downtown core of Lacombe, Alberta, feels a bit like stepping onto a movie set from 1910.

    There is a unique kind of battle happening on the eastern edge of Calgary. As the massive metropolis continues to push its borders outward, paving over prairie grass with subdivisions and pavement, the surrounding communities are fighting a quiet, resilient war to hold onto their rural souls.