A mother of four, photographer, nature lover. Someone trying to make sense of it all, through photos and stories. 

I try to be free in all senses of the word, so I made the leap and now work with what I love doing; taking pictures, storing this life in moments, both for myself and for clients. My heart is in photographing birth and motherhood, but I take on just about any photography job. 
(See my birth photos at www.birth.no and the rest of my work portfolio at www.mariavatne.no.)

I live on a farm in Norway with my man Nik and my children Ronja, Freja, Falk and Ulv, plus a bunch of animals. We grow our own food as far as the seasons allow it, we don't go to kindergarten, the three youngest ones will be homeschooled.

We govern our own lives, we strive for independence, we want to be in this life wild and free and full of love.

Lately my life seems to revolve a lot around this one thing, this magic liquid. Falk is now three months old, and I am still breastfeeding him. It is going well, he is putting on a lot of weight, he's happy and sleeps well. My milk is good for him.
Then there's the lambing situation. We have six ewes (mother sheep), and it's their first time lambing. So far, with one ewe still pregnant, we have two orphans, their mothers didn't recognize them as their own. So between feeding my son my own milk, I've been giving these two lambs bottles of milk every three to four hours, when Mr. Payne has been to work. When he's home, he usually does it, and there was one time where we found ourselves sitting together in the living room, me feeding Falk and him feeding a lamb. I grabbed myself thinking how did this happen?. Our kitchen sink-area is now filled with bottles and whisks and trays for mixing the milk, and in the hall there's a huge sack of milk powder, so basically as you enter our house now, you are met by the smell of, yes, milk.
And then there's me, supposedly a grown-up, but still able to go to the shop this morning, hair in a frazzled knot, and a nice prominent milk mustache on my upper lip.
Ah, the glamour of it all.

Ronja, by Kimm.

Peeping Mum.