HDR Photography
I swear that this shot is a candid: no posing or planning went into the moment. A little image of American aristocracy, expressed as Anglophilia: the thick hedge, the English riding garb, the friendly pony ears, the quiet attention. The cover of some future magazine, perhaps?
When the perfect blanket of snow is gone and mid-spring is grimy and gritty, I kind of miss the winter.
A bucolic vision of the North country: a field of munching sheep, a barn and silo in the distance, a stand of trees, a simple fence, and a gentle brook. Spring is charming when it finally arrives.
Waking up early on a cold morning can be tough, but riders never seem to have trouble getting up for a show. (Caffeine seems to help!) I loved the moment of calm and intimacy between horse and rider in this particular image, and the comfort it conveys.
The combination of chestnut horse and bright red Coke can also goes a long way to making the scarlet and brown St. Lawrence color scheme appealing.
The narrow depth of field exaggerates an image that flashed past me in an instant while we traveled: a few children, playing in the crunchy remains of winter outside a barn. Ignoring the safety orange hat and the electrical conduit traveling up the side of the barn, and this seems like an image that could have come from any point in the past 150 years.
After dark on an empty stretch of highway, the reflective signs become hypnotic.
Traveling through the Adirondacks means passing the semi-abandoned cabins that dot the roads. I particularly liked the image of a basketball hoop hanging above a driveway entombed in three feet of snow.
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?
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.
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.
I present to you a pair of photographs:
The first is from Muir Woods on the Marin Peninsula of California. That morning was rainy and the colors are rich and dark and the setting is some natural/romantic variety of Baroque. Practically overwhelming.
The second is from Stone Valley this weekend, dry and crunchy with snow, the river mostly frozen at the surface, with currents of dark water beneath. More minimal, more quiet, more subdued. But is this trail any less beautiful than the first?
The St. Lawrence University Outing Club always has something interesting set up outside their house, no matter the season. Even when they’re away on break, the frames and supports and ground-work for some crazy stunt of the future are ready. This peaceful moment seemed uncharacteristically placid and I just had to capture it.
I’ve been on a serious St. Lawrence-in-the-snow photography kick lately, but pictures like this shot of Kirk Douglas Hall (the campus’s newest dorm) really justify the trend. Framed by trees and isolated in the snow, the idyllic nature of the place is enhanced.
The wind blew warm at 45ºF, the rain stopped, the sky cleared, and then a new front blew in bringing -15ºF temperatures and, eventually, a load of snow. Standing in the oddly warm breeze, sun suddenly in my eyes, felt momentous. When I looked at this image, with its huge, Yggdrasil-esque tree and Bifröst-esque rainbow and flair of atoptics, I couldn’t help but think that I had my own backyard version of Ragnarök.
(This post was extra-fun to write because of all the excellent, Nordic umlauts.)
In case you were wondering where I get the expression that St. Lawrence University looks like “a ski resort without the ski slopes,” last weekend provided some pretty good evidence. The modern-but-slightly-Nordic buildtings, the oft-cleared pathways, and the gates with reflective tape on them all remind me of ski lodges. Perhaps the best way to describe the school during winter break is a ski lodge for cross-country skiers?
Decaseconds 