HDR Photography
As frozen rain bounces off the roadways of northern New York, I’m reminded that our town works truly do battle with the elements each winter. Floating high over their facilities when spring finally arrives, I feel like I’m looking over the encampment of a victorious army.
Winter grays have locked down the North Country, but my photographs still contain the memories of a gorgeous fall. Now if only the polished, crystalline, snowy winter would arrive; I’m done with stick season.
November snow means the football fields, like everything else in the North Country, need to be plowed.
When spring shades into summer and the students go home for break, the campus is oddly empty for the best weather it ever sees. The empty dorms feel a bit like the result of a very tidy zombie apocalypse.
This nineteenth-century water tower in the North Country hamlet of Heuvelton, New York is scheduled for demolition (or disassembly, really) to make way for its modern replacement. In the process of preparing the site, however, it was discovered that the original graveyard that was moved to make room for the tower was, uh, not so thoroughly moved as originally assumed. Now, biological anthropologist Prof. Mindy Pitre and her team are on site (beneath the oak tree) to properly finish the job. I joined her for an afternoon to photodocument the site and its tower before ongoing construction forever alters it.
I’ve been capturing images of Johnson Hall of six years, and though the building itself stays the same, the trees outside have shifted and grown (and some died) over time. Time marches on.
We may be deep within the glowing core of autumn in the Northeast at this moment, but I can’t escape the feeling that spring and its attendant graduation drama is fast approaching. If winter proves deep and dark, that may prove itself to be an illusion.
Each tree in the canopy is roughly rotationally symmetrical, resulting in an anisotropic pattern. The sunlight breaks the symmetry and produces this beautiful streak of bright, cadmic yellow.
Nights may have turned cold and the first leaves have lost chlorophyll to turn gold, but fields are still filled with crops today—the Autumnal Equinox.
St. Lawrence University’s campus has an “everything the sun touches is your kingdom” vibe—the school extends over almost an entire quadrant of town. Just under the setting sun is the most-frequented version of campus, but it continues to extend over the woods to this oxbow.
I cheekily posted this picture to Instagram with the caption, “Get ready for fall(s),” last weekend, but I have to admit I really am. Photographically, autumn means peak creativity for me in the North Country, including visits to places like this: Lampson Falls.
Libraries already have a capacity for bending time a bit (“I’ve been studying for how long?”), so it’s only appropriate for St. Lawrence’s most haunted building to have its space bent a bit as well (by, say, a fisheye lens).
Threatening storm clouds gathered over campus on the eve of Commencement this year, forcing the event inside… Only for the weather to be sunny and mild the next day. Even access to flying robots can’t fix the chaos of weather prediction.
Late spring on college campuses around the country presents perhaps the loveliest views to the fewest people—students have graduated and perhaps a few reunioners are the only audience.
Spring marks the return of leaves to the trees around the North Country; in the tiny window between snow-covered and leaf-obscured, I get to imagine the story behind this long-abandoned and island-isolated shack. Was it a weekend fishing spot? Was the construction of the nearby bridge what caused it to be abandoned?
Decaseconds 