Dark at 4

Flights to and from Portland Jetport (PWM) never leave on time and always run late. Thick fog often blankets the bay, limiting hourly traffic at the one-horse airport. In the cold months (September to April), Nor'Easters sporadically slam into the coast adding another layer of flight delays. At first, these delays pissed me off like a scratched DVD from Netflix. After hours spent meandering through the magazine shops in airports , I realized that these systematic delays contributed to the remote appeal of Maine.

Without fail, fog and rain delayed my flight to Portland from LaGuardia the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Excited to have nothing better to do than read emails and articles on my phone, I waited at the gate. On the flight, I sat at the window, face pressed against the safety glass watching the lights pass miles bellow. Flying out over the Connecticut sound and up 95 through Mass and New Hampshire, the pilot signaled the initial approach some 25 minutes into the flight.
Walking through the airport with its familiar windows and posters, I bypassed the baggage claim and stepped into the cold November air. I didn't see a single cab.

For the next three days, I wondered the familiar country with my college roommate and frequent accomplice, Tucker.

Higgins Beach.

The Old Port, Portland.

Cape Elizabeth.

A Portland land mark.

Darkness descended early with shadows stretching eastward at 2:30. By 4, the last glimmers of light bounced around the clouds before sinking down for a sixteen hour night.

Red, yellow and green.

I like this hanging light.

The last leaves of fall.

Enjoying the warm light afforded by a mere eight hours separating sunrise and sunset, I shot often. Protecting my cold fingers in the wool pocket of my Mackinaw jacket, my memories of living in Maine for four years quickly came back. However as a visitor, my perspective changed slightly, making me thankful to smell the cold sea air and see the dark night sky far from the shinning lights of twenty million people.

Here are some more links,

Harry McCotty and His Rose Tattoo

Harry McCotty is the real deal. During the summer, he is a stone foremen. During the winter, he splits wood in his backyard outside of East Dorset Vermont. Regardless of the season, he wears wool.

Although born and raised in southern Vermont, Harry received formal training as a topiarist in London, England in his early twenties.

Harry got this Rose tattoo during a 5 year stint in traveling throughout Europe in his mid 20s.

Harry manning his hydraulic wood splitter.


A tribute To Wool

I love wool and I love the Life Archive. Here is a tribute to both.

These photos were taken in 1946 in Satran Scotland by Hans Wild.

Wool Sweater, Wool Shorts, Rubber Boots, and a white collared shirt.

This is where I imagine every shepherd living.

Here are some Wool links,
Tim's Wool (ART),
Shearing Wool (Life Archive),
Wool (Wikipedia),
Pendleton Mills,
SNS Herning,
Filson Semi-Annual Sale,
Icebreaker Merino Wool,
Spinning Wool (Youtube)


Tim's wool

I claim to like wool. Sure I wear wool coats, wool shirts (with cotton undershirts), merino wool socks, and even merino wool underwear. But I am a fair weather wool wearer.

Yesterday when we went outside to play in the snow, I bundled up in the latest outdoor gear; Holden Jacket (Gortex), Airblaster Pants (Gortex), Smartwool leather gloves, and Vans snowboarding boots. Tim on the other hand, threw on some Pendleton virgin wool pants (discontinued), a Pendleton virgin wool shirt, an Icebraker merino wool sweater, virgin wool gloves, a Woolrich wool coat, and a pair of Danner boots with gators.

Needless to say he had just as much fun as I did. Here are some pics from the day.