In a too-on-the-nose metaphor, here the Oswegatchie River joints the St. Lawrence River, with Canada looking on; this week, a new class (2024!) of Laurentians arrived to St. Lawrence University’s campus.
The grayness of Chicago-area sprawl takes on a golden hue at sunset.
Flying again in the spring means a special view of the Adirondack foothills, particularly in areas like this: Lampson Falls in Clare, New York.
I often show what I think of as the front of Johnson Hall of Science, but inspection of this image (particularly the top of the brick wing on the left) shows that the building’s name, and thus its front, are on this side. The dramatic glass structures extending between and out from the wings lend credence to the idea.
St. Lawrence University’s Saddlemire Trail (just to the right of the creek) runs through the wilder parts of our campus. A sunset stroll along it (and its twin, the Kip Trail) makes for a perfect early-June evening.
At the dawn of aviation, flight was magical. Then, it became routine. Now, after months in lockdown, a view above the clouds once again feels pretty special.
Battling the breezes of late summer above the fallow fields of the North Country, this image might appear to be capturing the edge of a farm. In fact, this is the southeastern reach of St. Lawrence University’s rural campus. The stables, home of our IHSA riding team, are off in the distance.
Or its alternate title, “High above shallow water.” Near an oxbow in the Grasse River, shifting land is turning the pine forest into an area of swamp.
When foot upon foot of snow stacks up outside, looking back to pictures from springtime on St. Lawrence’s campus helps to remind me that this condition is not permanent.
Under a layer of winter cloud cover, cities look so bright and fancy—or maybe so sci-fi-y.
St. Lawrence University is renovating its historic Apple Arena, home of the Skating Saints, and the project is entering its final phases. Back in May, however, the foundations were just being poured and the skeleton of the structure was laid bare. Can you spot the steeple of Gunnison Memorial Chapel on the horizon?
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.
November snow means the football fields, like everything else in the North Country, need to be plowed.
Neighborhoods like Greenwich Village, Chelsea, and the Bowery are remarkably low-rise until they suddenly run into the wall that is Midtown Manhattan. The new pencil towers under construction may look out of place, but at least they don’t block the views of nature to the north.
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.