HDR Photography
This hill in northwestern Connecticut is, tragically, not really named “Dragon Mountain.” That never kept my elementary-school-aged self from calling it that. The way it rises, green and different, from the surrounding winter landscape brought to mind Smaug, sleeping under the mountain. At age seven, I half-wished that it would awaken and soar above the miniature houses below.
During the blazing August heat, looking back to winter pictures leads to the oddest “time machine effect.” As you can see from the rapidly filling tire tracks in the driveway, we barely made it home ahead of what turned out to be a fierce storm. The comfort of “I don’t have to go out there” is so amplified when standing on a perfect porch, next to the door to a cozy house, and seeing the frozen, dark contrast in the graveyard across the way.
In the dead of winter, the rocks and trees and streams of northwestern Connecticut are a textured but monotone canvas. In this photograph, I’ve only exaggerated the stark difference between the dormant surroundings and the bright red of the small barn-like structure perched at the creekside.
There is something very odd about finding frost on driftwood, or finding a beach covered in frost. The pitting on this particular bit of driftwood, combined with the frost gives an impression of some sort of alien terrain or alien life-form.
While on a walk around the suburbs of Seattle in the “dead of winter” (or the nearest that Seattle ever gets) I was amazed at all of the color present, despite the lack of flowers. All sorts of brightly colored berries and these brightly colored leaves.
In the hills of northwestern Connecticut, little compounds dot the landscape–the remnants of centuries-old manufacturing or artists’ collectives. The dusk-laced sky and the craggy-tree skyline combine to produce a lovely picture of New England Americana.
My brother stands on the bridge over the creek behind our childhood home. Inside all of those prepositions is the feeling that it used to be so much larger, grander, and more exciting when we were kids. Though we used to make whole forts under the bridge, we now barely fit.
Out for a hike on freshly fallen snow, it was a shame to see the day coming to an end. (And the views on that hike were spectacular.) Still, there’s something very satisfying to heading back home to the comfort of a roaring fire and a glass of hot chocolate. (It’s a cliché for a reason!)
From Lion’s Head in Salisbury, Connecticut, views of three states stretch out to the horizon. Rolling, pine-encrusted hills mix with lakes and farms to produce the perfect mélange of New England scenery. On the day of this particular hike (just before New Year’s), the whole world was napping in the sunlight.
It’s not everyday you decide to go to the beach and find that it’s covered in frost.
As the last days of 2012 fell away, I went hiking with the family to Lion’s Head in northwestern Connecticut. We tromped through the recent snow, dodging bits of falling ice and hidden stones. On our way back from the the summit, we passed under the bent bow of this enormous birch. Though the forest is dormant, the tree is still very much alive. Its smooth, horizontal curve was in fascinating contrast with the stark verticality of the rest of the forest.
Today’s post comes courtesy of Colin Hill.
This is a shot of Stockbridge Bowl in the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts. It was a relatively warm day, but the lake was still frozen over. I love the details in this picture: the huge cracks forming on the lake’s surface, the snow covered houses nestled into the hillside, the hills rolling off into the distance, all watched by the two tall pines in the foreground.
This brook runs behind my childhood home; today, I present it to you as I remember it. Smooth currents of dark, freezing water (even in the summer), and the entrancing mishmash of old stones and roots encrusted with snow. No video game tops the pleasure of watching a leaf drift downstream.
Trinity College’s massive Neo-Gothic chapel is enormous and imposing and an utter masterpiece. Though the school has no official religious affiliation, the campus centers on the building both geographically and conceptually. In these final moments of the day, as the sun sets and paints lovely golden shadows on the structure, I appreciate how the building achieves this.
Today’s post comes courtesy of Colin Hill.
While driving around Berkshire county testing out my new camera (which is in fact my brother’s old camera), I took a wrong turn and wound up on a small road sporting a recycling center and this small logging operation. In the background of this shot you can see train tracks which run parallel to the road and the edges of the October Mountain State Forest towering in the distance. In the foreground you can see lots of snow and logs stacked up like firewood for a giant’s furnace.
Decaseconds 