Finalist: Michael G. Seamans
This premier category is open to all photojournalists -- independent, agency, wire service, or newspaper photographers. The spirit of this category is to honor a photographer who documents their own community. At least 60% of their portfolio must consist of local or regional coverage from their home or organization’s primary geographic market.
Greaney’s Slaughterhouse
Greaney’s Turkey Farm has been the go-to spot for fresh, local poultry in central Maine for years. Run by Scott and Tracy Greaney, their three children, Emily, Ben and Adam, and extended family, the farm raises and slaughters hundreds of turkeys (and chickens) each year for meat markets around Maine. The farm is a hobby, and a passion, for the family and has been a mainstay through good times and bad. In 2014, when Scott Greaney was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, the kids – who then ranged in age from 11 to 17 – stepped up to run the farm and ensure the Thanksgiving slaughter went off without a hitch. Years have gone by, the kids are grown and have moved out of the house, and a new workforce is now running the farm. Several families of Amish workers who relocated to Maine from Ohio are nowan integral part of the farm operations, doing everything from gutting and slaughtering to packing the turkeys.
Road to Moldova
The sign on the road leading into this war-battered city says "Welcome to Hell" and inside a bombed-out hospital, we begin to see the true horror of Russia’s attacks. A boy injured by their bombs lies in a bed, his body broken, no painkillers to ease his suffering, his eyes glassy. A catheter snakes from beneath a brown floral blanket covering the narrow bed, emptying into a glass jar on the floor. The boy, Bagdan, is just 13. His anxious mother paces the room, carrying a secret she hasn’t yet shared with him: The bombs killed his father. Nearby, another mother wipes away tears as she sits with her bedridden daughter, her legs were broken by Russian bombs. Hand-drawn pictures by other children staying inside this powerless basement of the hospital decorate the walls but they can't hide the grim reality of war outside. Bullet holes mark the hospital’s front windows and military vehicles patrol outside. Russian mines litter the streets outside, making travel deadly for anyone brave or foolish enough to risk it. Russian bombs have destroyed much of the city and the smell of destruction fills the air, along with occasional fires and frequent air-raid sirens. Burned-out and blown-up vehicles line the streets in this city of 285,000, along with a charred tank. Chernihiv is about 100 miles north of Ukraine’s capital of Kyiv and just 50 miles south of the Russian border. Fighting here has been intense for weeks, and the non-profit rescue group Team Humanity has chanced a dash into the city to extract women and children fleeing to safety. The group is based in neighboring Moldova’s capital of Chisinau, and has made multiple trips into Ukraine, delivering food and medical supplies along the southern coast, from Odesa to Mykolaiv. But Team Humanity’s co-founder, Salam Alzeen, has decided this time to plunge deep into the country, far closer to the frontlines than he’s ever taken his convoy of buses and vans. Ukrainian military forces are seen going in
Sarah’s Saga
Sarah Wallingford, 31, ended up at a homeless encampment along the Kennebec River in Waterville, Maine after her boyfriend was hospitalized with COVID-19 and she was evicted from their apartment for non-payment of rent. Wallingford has been using drugs like methamphetamine since she was in high school. She was physically and sexually abused as a child and lost her father to suicide. Over the summer she overdosed at least a half-dozen times but neighbors at the encampment would revive her with Narcan. One time, she overdosed for a second time soon after being released from the hospital following another overdose. “Why did you save me?” she asked after being revived. Unlike others at the camp, she couldn’t take care of herself and suffered from severe depression. Without an intervention, Wallingford will likely die, either from an overdose, the harsh conditions of being homeless, or a combination of the two. Sarah Wallingford, 31, right, helps inject a rig of heroin and fentanyl into the arm of her fiancé, Charles “Chaz” Perri, 50, at the homeless encampment in Waterville on November 9, 2022. The couple have more of a business relationship than a romantic one. The two are heavy drug users with no family between the two of them. What they have they share. Chaz has been suffering from serious health issues and is often away from the camp and in the hospital for treatment of a heart condition from a three-month battle with Covid-19 earlier in the year.
