I upload pictures to be future Decaseconds posts as I find images I think are worthy. (Only the best for my readers.) During most of the year, a three-photographs-per-week pace keeps up with my new acquisitions. This fall, however, was a time of plenty, powered by my DJI Mini 3 Pro’s incredible range and low-light image quality. To keep up with demand necessitates a triple-play today.
Three views of Canton, New York begin with this image over the Grasse River, with islands in the foreground and SUNY Canton in the distance.
Farther south, St. Lawrence University’s campus is lit up for the evening.
And the quad by Kirk Douglas Hall looks warm and inviting. (It’s currently beneath a layer snow.)
Deep reds and purples stretch across campus at sunset. My favorite time to capture with my drone is the moment between when campus’s lights come on and the sun finishes setting—that time in which the two sources of illumination are dueling.
Autumn went by quickly this year; the thermodynamic realities outside my door make clear that the adaptations of the North Country trees aren’t coming any too soon.
When one of my research students needed to dose a large number of samples with bipyridine, they came up with this ingenious approach to running the process in parallel in our sonicator. I was impressed.
When the weather turns warm (in spring, as in this picture’s case, or in autumn, as in this week’s reality), St. Lawrence’s students do love their hammocks. I think this particular pair of trees may have reached maximum capacity.
Park Street might have been named for a different park (the one up the street), but the glow of St. Lawrence’s campus at night (the reverse view of this shot) has a delightful Central Park vibe that matches the street name well.
Visiting my colleague’s property at the height of fall foliage, I was impressed by the contemporary solarpunk aesthetic of a solar panel installation in an orchard.
Following principles of green design, St. Lawrence University’s Johnson Hall of Science was built facing north-south, such that light throughout the day could be used to light rooms on both sides. The inner courtyard even features a light stone facade to help bounce more light into the inner offices. (I can attest that this works.) When the rest of the campus was constructed along the local street grid, rather than the compass points, the result is that JHS looks like a bit of a rebel among its neighbors.
Fall brings both fantastic foliage and dramatic sunsets to the North Country; my favorite evenings are those in which the hues of the the sky and the leaves match the red brick of St. Lawrence University’s Richardson Hall.
One of St. Lawrence’s monikers is “A Candle in the Wilderness,” and this drone shot of the bright campus with the dark forests beyond explains the name.
I’ll be teaching my first class of the Fall 2022 semester tomorrow morning, so today seemed like the perfect day to reflect on the campus to which I’m returning. The structures amidst the trees sure look good from 100 meters up.
This image also brings up an interesting note on aspect ratios: Since the start of Decaseconds, I’ve largely been formatting my very favorite images in a 1.6:1 (i.e., 16:10) aspect ratio, such that they’d function well as desktops for my various MacBook Pro laptops. The advent of the “notch” and associated added screen real estate means that new MBPs have a 1.547:1 ratio—and thus my favorite images (like this one) are arriving with a new aspect ratio.
A full-scale fireworks display is usually “far away”—over a park or a body of water, perhaps. When St. Lawrence University puts on a fireworks show for graduation, however, the fireworks are right on campus. Imagine watching that show from your dorm-room window!
Fireworks are lovely displays of chemistry and physics in action on their own, of course, but there’s an extra dimension of enjoyment from being part of a crowd and feeling the shared excitement.
Congratulations to St. Lawrence University’s Class of 2022, who graduated yesterday. Celebrations on campus included this fireworks display. Huge arcs of chemical light across the sky look particularly appropriate over Johnson Hall—the chemistry (and biology) building.
Walking home through the blue hour at the height of spring, the momentarily deserted campus made me feel as though I’d passed into some alternate fey dimension—as though I might emerge at some radically different position in time or space.