When it’s a snowy Friday morning and the ski slopes are calling, who can resist the urge to cut class and get to skiing?
Though most pictures show the San Francisco of gleaming buildings like the Transamerica Pyramid, there’s another San Francisco of a perfect grid of squat buildings clinging to undulating hills.
Dotting the road to Ogdensburg’s bridge to Canada are tiny, abandoned houses like this one. It’s rather charming, and just a bit sad, but mostly it reminds me of Neal Stephenson’s Anathem, and the obversations that a society can retreat from the frontiers and back into the cities over time. Sprawl and civilization are not inevitable.
There are few natural features that look colder than a rushing blackwater river when the air temperature is below 0ºF. The convergence of this little reservoir to the far-off (and equally miniature) hydroelectric station neatly contrasts the frigid setting with the optimism of twentieth-century technocrats. (The Adirondacks are dotted with an improbable number of tiny hydroelectric stations.)
The ice hockey season is winding down in the North Country (always much earlier in the winter than I expect), but I captured the last of the women’s games at St. Lawrence’s Appleton Arena. The school is on mid-winter break, so the crowd in the wonderful, old, wooden bleachers are a bit thin. We cheered all the harder when the Saints crushed higher-rated Quinnipiac 3-0.