Sunrise, Bear Island, Lake Winnipesaukee, NH
The muted colors of autumn with an unexpected spark.
After spending some time in Boston on Tuesday dealing with family health issues I returned home by way of Brimfield. I wanted to get my weaving done in a timely manner but have to say my mind wasn’t all there when I arrived. Usually weaving is a calming meditative experience for me and I can only surmise that what had transpired inside of my little world over the past week conspired to keep my mind preoccupied with other matters.
As evening progressed into night I was madly trying to get my little project finish when Pam said, “Come see this sunset.” I got up and looked out at the view from the upper deck and went right back in to get my phone (the camera of the day). I took a few shots, playing with the settings and pretending I could make a photograph with a phone as good as one with an SLR. Satisfied with what I could get I went back in and wove some more.
It wasn’t until later that I realized what calmed me more than anything was the simple act of taking those photographs. That was the true meditative moment. I had to breathe, hold still, absorb and observe what was going on around me. As usual it was the healing power of the natural world that helped me settle. Taking a photograph makes me focus, zone right in on what is before my eyes at that moment. It’s a narrow view yet somehow bigger that anything in the periphery. Here I thought that the weaving was what would bring me down to a tolerable level of stress when in reality it was those few moments of focus on nature, breathing it in and standing still.
The leaves this year are spectacular. The past few years have been less so, a muddled brown mess, a disappointment to the people who travel hours to gawk at them.
Yesterday was a rainy, cold day. I looked out the window often, the color in the back forty at its peak. The grasses have all turned a golden brown with the rust colored ferns mixed in. The maples are wearing their scarlet jackets now, more brilliant with each passing day. The birches a bright yellow. Another week and it will all be gone for the most part, especially if the rain keeps up.
I have seen the leaves change every year for my entire life. Many years ago I was working as a photographer in North Carolina during foliage season and I flew home for a weekend so I wouldn’t miss it.
I have to tell you that I rarely photograph the foliage as it changes. I observe it, soak it in but I’ve found that photographs I’ve taken just blend in year after year. As I left the house in Rowe last evening I drove right past this. The pond is right in the center of town (of course the center of town is just a few buildings). There is a gazebo just to the left out of the photograph. The light was going fast, there was a heavy mist and the fog was pretty dense. I notice the tree right away and thought wow, how beautiful. I kept on driving but the tree was stuck in my head. As I continued down the road I first thought “I’ll take it during the week, next time up.” I then realized this was it – the only moment this would look like this. If it was still in my head a mile down the road I had to turn back. I did.
As I walked around the green I thought about the house that was once in this spot, abutting the road. I thought about learning to fish in that pond and doing it often from the shore with other friends all having ridden our bikes with our poles. I remembered Helen and Ray, creators and guardians of the the Rowe Historical Society spending their retirement years in the house on the pond.
Walking back to my car, my feet completely soaked, I wondered why I never really noticed that maple before. I think it’s just a little gift you get every once in a while. That tree flagged me down, told me to look at the exquisite beauty all around me, stop taking it for granted.
Little gifts, you just have to slow down long enough to accept them. The bonus is I got back into my car, scrolled through the images I had just taken and thought “Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted.” A rare feeling indeed.
There aren’t many times when I’m visiting a new place where I allow myself the time to see what’s around me. I look at things but I need time to actually see them without distraction. My visit to Fort Knox on the Penobscot river last Friday allowed me that time. I had gone to the state park with the intention of going to the observatory at the top of the new bridge. In order to do so you had to buy a ticket to the state park (a brilliant move on the part of the state of Maine I might add). After making my expected trip to the top of the tower and looking at an exquisite view on a pristine, blue sky morning I began to photograph the shapes around me, not just the landscape.
The bridge is an amazing structure. I have to admit it was shocking to see in some respects, it looks so out of place in its modern design as you come around the corner on Route 1 and it seems to appear out of nowhere. From the river it is stunning. The sun on the water reflecting sparkling circles on the concrete above.
I had a few hours at Fort Knox State Park and for nostalgic reasons I figured I’d take a look around the fort. Old forts anywhere were always in our vacationing itinerary when I was a kid and I remember this one being a pretty good one. I was more than pleasantly surprised.
The fort is continually being restored and maintained but is a very large complex of earth, granite and brick. And the light . . . oh, the light. This was one of the first hallway/tunnels I walked into and it took my breath away.
I continued to walk through tunnels with slits for windows letting the morning sunlight in. I thought about the thousands upon thousand of feet that had walked across these brick floors from the Revolution on.
It’s difficult to think of something constructed so beautifully as being fully armed in preparation for defense from attack.
I played with the light for a few hours and walked around really in awe.
This was really the highlight of my time away. It was quiet, I saw four people while I was there. I was allowed a few hours of solitude where I could just soak in morning light on arches. Where I could allow my mind to imagine living here in anticipation of a fight to protect what I felt was mine. Waiting, waiting, waiting. I don’t believe a battle was ever fought here.
I can only speak for myself but photography like this is a very private, personal thing for me. Of all the creative endeavors over the weekend this was really my favorite. Most people around me don’t understand the need to be alone in order to be creative, to see what is in front of you. I don’t know about you but there is just so much noise around all of the time – both visual and auditory. Sometimes you just need to cloister yourself away in order to see, think and create.
Fort Pelham Farm 