Out of Reception: Oregon In Maine

Reluctantly, the snow and ice receded, exposing dead grass and last fall's leaves. Occasionally, wet flurries peppered the recovering landscape but never had the wherewithal to stay until the next day. I pulled shorts from the depths of my dresser for the first time in five months and braved the lower 40's with the same boldness as a 13 year old trying his first beer. Normally this pioneer spirit comes in the first week of April, not the last week of February.

Over the last few weeks, the surprise of a few unseasonably warm days gained momentum, ushering in spring in a fashion more resembling March in Oregon than Maine. Unfazed by the rain and threat of flooding, I ventured into the freshly exposed Maine countryside with the kind of excitement only found in springtime carrying my Iphone 3GS.

Sunset at Popham State Park, outside of Bath.

A coastal inlet in Reid State Park.

A hazy day at Popham Beach.

Marshland near Phippsburg.

A failed winters storm's lingering waves.

Rocks at Owl's Head State Park.

Milk glasses in an antique store.

Heading north in Phippsburg.

I will miss my Eddie Bauer down jacket and my Woolrich Hunting gloves, but seasons change and the snow leaves. I am so glad spring's here.

I took all of these photos on my iPhone 3GS and used the Colorcross Filter from Camerabag.

Here are some more links,
Out of Reception: Oregon in Maine (Picasa),
Out of Reception (ART).

The Calm Between Storms

Last week, two Nor'easters slammed into the Maine coast, bringing 90 mph winds and 20-foot waves. The harsh weather uprooted 100 year-old trees and flooded much of the coastal area. Twelve hours separated the two storms and on Friday afternoon a group of close friends and I went to the coast to watch the waves crash in.

The crashing of the waves a half mile away blocked out the thudding of the car doors as we eagerly hopped out of the car and set off for the beach.

Cauldron.

Our Danners in action.

A pink haze floated around the beach like patchouli oil at a jam band festival in Vermont, making the thunder of the waves feel distant and nonthreatening.

There is something both endearing and dangerous about big storms. Nick dodging spray.

For hours we wandered around the abandoned park, captivated by the constant thundering of waves and the bright colors diffused by the humid air.

Spencer's Danners Mountain Light II boots, APC New Standards jeans, Seil Marschall backpack, and a Blistex wear mark.

I don't know if it's Hell or Heaven, but I am drawn to it none the less.

Spencer snapping an instant with his Polaroid 210 Land Camera.

White foam covered the beach, offering insight into the ferocity of the past storm and an idea of what the coming storm would offer.

As we left the beach, dark clouds covered the sun's light and a wind picked up. The imminence of the sideways rain falling from the heather-gray clouds off the Atlantic gave us purpose in the mile walk back to the car. As we headed home in the comfort of our car, jellybean sized raindrops started obscuring the windshield as the last rays of direct sunlight cut through the trees on the rural highway.

Here are some more links,
The Calm Between Storms (Picasa),
The Ocean (ART).

A Visual Journal

Growing up, I never kept a journal, despised school and spent most of my time staining clothes with blood and grass and scratching my knees and elbows with my younger brother Tim. As a dyslexic, my interests and intellectual appetite quickly surpassed my ability to read. Instead of fighting tooth and nail through Charlotte's Web, I spent my time looking at pictures in books during reading time in elementary school. My first memories of an Encyclopedia were the colorful diagrams of airplanes, not a list of the 50 states and their capitals. In order to make it through school, I learned to use my visual perception and stored my experiences as etchings in my mind.

For the last three months, I have carried my camera with me. Sometimes I see special things, sometimes I see monotonous things but mostly I see juxtaposing parts of things that make up my life.

An inlet in Reid State Park in late February.

Hope on a walk in mid February.

A shanty Down East in early February.

A gray, December day in southeast Portland, Oregon right near the Hawthorne food carts.

Picnic table at Fort Popham in January.

Ed's shanty catching some rays in February in Palermo, Maine. I love the font.

Christmas lights in Portland, Oregon in December.

Pumpkins in February.

An old logging road in late December in Skamania, Washington.

Down East in early February.

Waves breaking in late February at Reid State Park. I love the meandering footsteps in the foreground.

This space shuttle crashed on a frozen lake a few miles inland in the Mid Coast region. Well actually it's just an ice shanty.

Weathered shingles on Valentine's day.

Instead of writing notable parts of my day down in a journal, I take pictures of inspiring things around me. What inspires me a year from now will certainly be different than what inspires me today. Having a collection of images and my thoughts helps me keep track of my creative process.

Here are some more links,
A Visual Journal (Picasa).

Drawn to the Sea

I am drawn to the sounds, smells and seclusion of the sea. At the sea's edge, I wander for hours taking pictures, kicking sand and watching waves roll in from somewhere out in the expansive heather-gray pond. The clapping of the waves, squawking of the occasional gull and whisper of the sand skipping through clumps of tall grass instantly remind me where I am when I close my eyes.

I could never live in Denver or Austin. Sure they each have their advantages: the dramatic Rockies border Denver's backyard and Austin gets 300 days of sun per year. Despite these incentives, I would rather live in a cold, rainy place where I could go walk along the ocean each day and listen to the sea slap against the shore and smell the bitter scent of salt in stagnant tidepools. In my free time, I often drive to the sea, even for just an hour or two, to meander the shore.

My favorite sign, Owl's Head state park.

An oil shed on Pemaquid Point.

A sunset Down East.

Ernie looking for footing on the a rugged point in Owl's Head state park.

A granite beach in Bass Harbor.

Dogs know the sea is playful. They run feverishly to and fro, chasing other dogs and kicking up sand in their wake like jet contrails in the sky. I try my best to follow suit.

Looking south from the southernmost tip of Mt. Desert Island.

A weathered tree on Owl's Head.

Ernie skipping stones in West Penobscot Bay.

I am drawn to the sea.

Here are some more links,
A Storm is Coming (Picasa),
Owl's Head (Picasa),
Up Here We Take Canadian Coins (Picasa),
A Point on the Mid Coast (Picasa).