Our campus’s oldest building (Richardson Hall, just below) and its newest building (Kirk Douglas Hall, farther down) match with a certain degree of symmetry, but while the older building’s symmetry is pretty flawless, the newer building adds wings and windows that disrupt the pattern.
The temperature is rising and ice is melting and after the gritty, dirty snow finally vanishes, spring will come to the Adirondacks.
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.
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.
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.
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?
Far north, spring comes late but brings Bob-Ross-ian scenes with it. This particular landscape in Tupper Lake has been a frequent favorite of mine; I’ve watched it change over the years as the currents shift the islands around.