HDR Photography
A fair, complete with Ferris wheel, alongside the river in Portland Oregon is just the thing to post on the first day of the Spring Semester back at St. Lawrence University. As I trudged through snow to get down to business, the memories of warm sabbatical nights last year were inescapable.
North Country temperatures abruptly rose from 20ºF to nearly 60ºF before suddenly dropping to -20ºF—all in under 36 hours. The result was rain that completely melted almost all snow, followed by freezing rain that deposited a layer of ice, followed by a new 12″ of snow to replace what came before.
In the midst of that chaos, I visited the Grasse River through the center of Canton to see it rising above its banks and jamming the shores with ice.
Small-town America seems even smaller in the face of an epic sunset and the thunderstorm it presaged.
Two structures (ship and bridge) designed to cross water, though over very different length scales. The two-centuries-old advances in metallurgy that allow for steel production at this huge scale still amazes me.
Autumn is my favorite season for flying above the North Country. Heading back toward New York, there’s a lot to look forward to with the shift in the seasons.
Hiking in the hills of Picchetti Ranch in Cupertino, views over Stevens Creek Reservoir and the Bay beyond present a classic Californian landscape. Like a postcard from the mid-twentieth century, the little shape of a kayaking fisherman in the foreground (or the people fishing at the shoreline in the background) shows an ideal Saturday afternoon.
This week, Portland was visited by the US Navy ships USS Bunker Hill (the missile cruiser in the background) and USS Jackson (the stealthy littoral combat ship in the foreground). The futuristic structure and military aesthetic makes for odd juxtaposition with Portland’s Old Town/Voodoo Donuts reality.
Canton’s bars are pretty specific in their target markets: bars for students, or for locals, or for the staff of the local schools. There’s not a lot of overlap. The Buccaneer Lounge, housed in the blue and white building at the lower right of today’s quadcopter photo, was the favorite hangout of faculty. The bar closed this winter, and (as with many third spaces) it will be missed.
Flying a quadcopter feels a heck of a lot like flying did in my childhood dreams. Nap-of-the-earth flying reveals new textures and geometries that were invisible from the group. I was perhaps most surprised to realize how bright a road can be, relative to dense summer foliage.
Rural college campuses have components I’d never considered: rivers and boathouses and forests. The arrival of (slightly) colder weather means the canoes and kayaks will be closed away for the winter. Autumn, here we go!
Autumn in the Northeast has its particular look and feel, but it comes quite a bit earlier to the North Country than to elsewhere. Canton, New York is looking its most charming and just over the horizon, Ontario, CA is doing the same.
My background as a chemist, rather than a biologist, is most apparent when words to describe my environment fail me. I can discuss fall colors and grassy areas near streams, and I understand the molecules involved in producing both structures at the microscopic level, but I’m bereft of the ability to precisely identify the transition occurring here.
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.
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.
Coming to St. Lawrence, I was not prepared for the amount of forest space on the school’s 1000-acre campus. Flying above the Grasse River, campus looks wild and vaguely Nordic. I’ve never run into a frost giant on the way to work, but now I’m sort of wondering whether I need to prepare for that, too.
