HDR Photography
After classes end for the day, there’s still an astonishing amount of activity on St. Lawrence’s campus. My favorite detail about this picture (other than its, “Hey, I can see my house from here!” vibe) is the chapel tower sneaking over the horizon. It’s mirrored on either side by a water tower and a cell tower that are, uh, a bit less dramatic.
I’m amazed at what I can capture with my camera, especially given that I can’t see this with my naked eyes. Still, I wish that I didn’t have to contend with the bright lights of even a small town.
Cabins and homesteads have accompanied the Grasse River through the North Country for hundreds of years. Photographing those structures from a GPS-stabilized quadcopter hovering a meter off the water’s surface? That’s kind of new.
Spending an afternoon on the pier in Pacifica, CA is as good a time as any. Crab fishing has its varied sets of tools and techniques, but the experience to me has been about more than that. Cooking on a portable hibachi and getting crusty with salt spray is the real core of the process.
Feeling nostalgic.
Of all the plant phyla, I’ve always felt a particular affinity for the conifers. Those spiny softwood survivors have a diverse yet particular set of aromatic compounds that accompany them; I can chart a lot of happy memories to pine or cypress groves and their applied organic chemistry. Starting on the east coast, through the midwest, and finding myself in grad school on the west coast meant contact with a lot of different species. These ocean-wind-sculpted examples from Pacifica, California are particularly dramatic.
Johnson Hall at sunset in the North Country. No other comment needed.
The DJI Phantom 3 quadcopter is giving me a new appreciation for Canton’s “small town America” landmarks, like the Appleton Arena. The way oblique solar rays reflect from its arcing roof puts the ice rink and the Grasse River in a reflective class of their own; nothing else in town is reflecting the sunset in the same way. Perhaps it’s appropriate that the ice rink and the flowing river, both full of water (though covered, in Appleton’s case) are the most reflective moieties.
I was surprised when I found that I had already named a file in this directory “The Rush.” I guess there was something about the water around here that really said “rushing” to me.
The shapes of the hills of California are odd and impossible by the standards of the Northeast. In spite of my time spent there, my brain has still not adjusted to the angles—either in the distance or under my own feet when I’m there. On a charming horse farm that might be at home in the early twentieth century, the sunbaked scene is too real to be real.
I didn’t think the day would ever come but I’ve become nostalgic for my time in Berkeley. The coming of fall has got me thinking about walking to campus at the advent of a new school year. Walking up Channing, past this Buddhist temple every day. The temple never meant anything to me personally while I was in Berkeley but now I find myself missing walking past it in the mornings. Memories are weird.
The lights mark the border between forest and manicured athletic fields. In real life, crossing the border means risking ticks and perhaps a run-in with a deer; in the realm of science fiction, I can imagine much more terrifying consequences from crossing the border from light into darkness as the sun sets.
Shipping containers are ubiquitous yet mysterious. Because they’re used to transport almost everything, they could contain almost anything—and that has been used to great effect by a variety of my favorite authors. There’s little doubt over what these particular containers are holding—mostly supplies left in dorm rooms by St. Lawrence students at the end of the year—but there’s still a healthy dose of mystery in their juxtaposition with the regular structures of a college campus.
St. Lawrence’s campus includes far more natural settings (and transitions far more quickly to them) than any place I’ve previously experienced. The Wachtmeister Field Station is a field laboratory that feels like a “candle in the wilderness,” despite being within (drone) sight of campus.
Decaseconds 