December 7, 2010

Vermont Snow

In my wisdom, I left my gloves in my apartment back in Manhattan. The biting cold assaulted my hands as I walked down the gravel road tenderly clutching my camera. Ten minutes earlier, the sun’s light had cut through large windows on the converted barn and awoken me, cocooned on the couch. Afraid of disturbing the other sleeping twenty-somethings and excited to explore my foreign surroundings, I dressed quickly and headed to the door.

Sleeping by the door, the family Golden Retriever jumped to his feet and eagerly shook his tail. Without hesitation, I held the door open and followed his bounds out into the early Vermont morning.

The night before, I had packed my things into a rented Penske truck and left my beloved coastal Maine, heading south on 95 towards the rolling hills and farmland of Vermont. Arriving late under the cover of darkness, the bright stars of the moonless light illuminated the silhouettes of barns and the impenetrable darkness of the Vermont woods. When I took a wrong turn on the three-mile dirt road leading to the Durkin farm, a friendly Vermonter, and proud owner of the Dodge Power Wagon pictured in this post, gave me directions better than any iPhone and sent me on my way.

Following the syrup lines, I walked down the road towards a large field, once used by local dairy farmers. In the distance, wisps of smokes emerged from the stone chimney of a 200 year old farm house, signaling the start of the day.

The sun broke the levee of darkness, casting its first shadows of the short November day. Enjoying the early light, I wondered for another twenty minutes before heading back to warm my hands and toes by the fire.

As I arrived back at the farm, the first snowflakes of the day’s flurries rode the light winds.

Ian and Barkley standing guard.



Heating with wood.

Skis of yesterday.

Snow fell for the rest of the day, gaining from distant flurries to a relative whiteout. Periodic, under-prepared adventures in the snow made stretching out next to the fire on a couch that much more enjoyable. Delayed by the weather, I stayed around for an extra day. Do you blame me?
Here are some more links,
Vermont (Picasa),
Foster (by Ian Durkin).

January 26, 2010

My Own Private New England

In four months to the day, I will pack up my belongings and move away from New England for the foreseeable future. Three years ago, I arrived at Boston International Airport, naive, unsuspecting and excited to spend four years at a tiny college nestled in the Maine woods. It wasn’t until my junior year that my curiosity drove me out of the walls of my college and I started appreciating the history and texture of the area around me. As the shadow of moving away from New England edges closer, I find myself looking for excuses to explore bumpy side roads that connect the forests and fields of Northern New England.

Crates in a lumber yard near Unity, Maine.

Convenience store near Decker Corner, Maine.

Locomotive breath near Detroit, Maine.

Jeep delivery truck near Dodge Corner, Maine. I wish it was mine.

A country road near the New Hampshire and Maine border.

A pair of weathered barns near Burnham, Maine.

A lone tree in a field near Shoreham, Vermont.

Aimlessly, I wander the cracked roads, listening to songs on repeat and measuring my trips in time, not miles traveled. I drive alone. Stopping often, I leave the car running as I skip across the road and into the snow. Through the lens of my camera, I try to capture my own private New England.

Here are some more links,
My Last Four Months in New England (Picasa),
Side of the Road (ART).

August 4, 2009

A Few Days in Western Connecticut

After cleaning my APC’s in the sea and eating my share of fried clams, I headed towards the hills of western Connecticut to catch up with my friend and contributor to Fat of the Land, Evan. For the last six months, Evan has been romping around South America taking photos and studying industrial design. Head over to his blog Ideal Uses to check out an archive of his journeys if you haven’t already.

Evan showed me around his dojo including this early nineteenth century barn. I love the weathered paint

This bull, the archetypal field and the lonesome tree reminded me of my favorite childhood story, Ferdinand the Bull. He was kind enough to let me snap a few photos.

I love his hair and horns.

Spending two and half months indoors gave a new-found appreciation for simple things like a sunset unobstructed by a skyscraper or a bull eating grass in a field confined by a buck and pole fence. I can’t wait to get back to the rocky beaches and rolling hills of Maine.

Here are some more links,
A Few Days in Western CT (Picasa),
The Fat of the Land.

May 25, 2009

Flags for Memorial Day

In honor of Memorial Day, here are some photos of flags draped on houses or barns throughout New England. I love how the character and charm of their surroundings transfer to the fabric or paint of the flags.

Down East Maine.

The Berkshire region, Massachusetts.

The Berkshire region, Massachusetts.

Central Maine.

I want these flags.

Here are some more links,
A Walk Outside (Picasa),
Memorial Day (Picasa),
Millard Wardwell (Picasa),
First Day of Summer (Picasa).