Images from Vermont

A few images from our recent trip to Vermont. The foliage was incredible. From the top: 1) more of the barns at Scott Farm in Putney; 2) the view from our condo at Killington; 3) my wife and mugging for the camera while riding the gondola to the top of Killington; 4) foliage along the ski lift at Pico.

St. Vincent Ferrer Church

I've featured images from this church before . . . St. Vincent Ferrer on the upper East Side, Third Ave. at 65th St. Although I'm not Catholic and don't subscribe to their unique form of Marian veneration, I do like this statue of Mary. There are always flowers tucked into her hands and this little garden offers a quiet little respite from the noise of Third Avenue. As for the autumn wreath adorning one of the side doors of the church, one can't help but notice the incongruity between the wreath and the fallout shelter sign.

There's a similar sign outside my office, directing people to the basement for - ostensibly - protection. Did civil defense "experts" honestly think such spaces would offer any real protection in the event of nuclear holocaust. I suspect that they were meant more as visible symbols of reassurance to calm a nervous public, rather than as actual safe havens. (And I have no idea about the canine symbolism in that last image. It's not ringing any bells in terms of Catholic iconography. Perhaps Franciscan?)

Vermont: Part II, Fall Colors

First of the fall colors, with a set of close-up images using the macro setting on my digital. Pretty good results in terms of sharpness. I'm curious to see how these images compare to those taken with 120-size film. At standard snapshot or 5x7" size, I doubt there's any discernible difference. However, I'm guessing that with successive enlargements, up to 11x17" for example, the film image would prove better, thanks to that big negative.

Vermont: Part I

I was in Vermont over the last four days, enjoying the scenery, hiking the mountains, eating lots of food that's yummy but far removed from my diet, and taking pictures - lots of pictures. With the digital camera alone I took over 300. I'm not sure how many I took with the four film cameras I toted from place to place. So consider this a random selection that forms the "tip of the iceberg." No, these sepia images from Scott Farm in Putney don't convey the variety of autumn colors that draw so many tourists to Vermont. Don't worry; the foliage pictures are coming. I'm still sifting through downloaded files.

As always, I'm torn in my feelings between Vermont and New York City. I love both and each place satisfies a different part of my personality. Although we talk about picking up and moving north, I doubt we could leave the city permanently. Moreover, I also doubt we could become full-time Vermonters, fighting against the lengthy winters. In the end, I suspect we'll have to reach a compromise . . . perhaps a vacation home in Vermont. For now, enjoy the pictures.

Jefferson Market Garden - Roses

Walking through the Jefferson Market Garden on Greenwich Ave., one can tell that autumn is here, despite the warm weather and sunny skies. The garden seems "sleepy," as if sensing the approaching cold of winter. The plants appear diminished, tired. The mature trees that shade much of the garden have even started to shed a few leaves, although serious fall "color" is still a month away. Many of the roses, however, are providing a final late-summer display, one of the obvious advantages of more recent hybrids. Enjoy!

Vermont Revisited, Part I

Here's Kip the border collie, one of the sweetest dogs I've ever had the pleasure to meet. For those who believe that there are former human spirits that are reincarnated into other animals, here's a perfect example. Kip just exudes a warmth and affection - along with the playful spirit of a child - that's infectious. And he loves to herd sheep. On Saturday he sat attentively, anxiously waiting for the command that would send him running circles around the sheep. He's easily a better listener than my kids . . . and friendlier than a majority of the people one meets. Truly a prince among canines.

Just a view of a pumpkin among the cider barrels on Scott Farm.

A view of rusty and weathered milk cans at Scott Farm. They proved quite stunning in the late afternoon light.

Detail from one of thee weathered doors at Scott Farm. See earlier posts in October for more photos of doors on the farm. And please note that these shots were taken with the still photo feature on my video camera and aren't of the same quality as other shots on this site. I was hauling around two other heavy vintage film cameras on this day and couldn't carry anything else. When the film is developed I'll scan the images and post the photos - all black and white, by the way.

Autumn Wanderings

I was over at Ornamental's site writing a comment, admiring her good fortune to live in the mountains and have nature and solitude at her doorstep, when I recalled for the first time in ages the forest walks I would take as a kid.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a little neighborhood in southeastern Virginia that was surrounded by ample woodlands, water, and fields. Within minutes we could be running through rows of corn and soybeans, picking our way through thick woods, or stepping onto the muddy shores of a sizable river. When not playing sandlot sports, we were stealing wood from home construction sites to build our treehouses in the woods, which in summer were particularly inviting because they provided some shady relief from the Tidewater heat and humidity. Come winter, however, nearly all of my friends stayed out of the woods, returning only in the spring to observe and repair the weathered remains of their treehouse handiwork.

For me, however, this was the season to wander more deeply into the woods, without the hum of mosquitoes and thickets of poison ivy and oak. Summer was fun, mind you, but by November and December, the woods possessed an eerie hush that at least for me proved inviting and comforting. I remember in particular the sound of my feet crunching over the mattress of freshly fallen leaves and the noisy calls of crows that usually patrolled the adjacent fields of brittle corn stalks. If I went far enough I could explore the derelict remains of an old sharecropper cottage whose walls were plastered in old newspapers and scavenged sheets of linoleum. (I remember at the time puzzling about the people who might have lived there. The only clues I had were a few crumbling photos left behind, an African American family gathered for some unknown special occasion, arrayed in what looked like their Sunday best. A funeral? A wedding? Birthday?) I also wondered about the nearby abandoned pickup truck riddled by shotgun blasts, now locked into the woods by the jail-like bars of young trees.

On the rare occasions that we were blessed with snow, I usually tried to make it into the woods while the flakes continued to fall, just to take in that snowy silence that one can even now experience here in New York City. Central Park isn't exactly a fair substitute for the forests of my childhood, but on a snowy morning, it seems hundreds of miles from the traffic and noise of Manhattan, silenced for a few hours by a little winter magic.

Unfortunately much of that childhood setting has been erased for the sake of "progress." Most of the fields are now subdivisions with overpriced cookie-cutter houses sprouting on treeless lawns. The sharecropper cottage is long gone, and much of the surrounding forest has been stripped away to accommodate streets with names that only echo their presence: Sycamore Lane, Beech Circle, Balsam Way. How sad it is that the kids growing up in these homes will rarely see those sycamore or beech trees. I realize one shouldn't wallow in melancholy nostalgia, especially when the memories are indeed happy ones. But for me, tis the season of nostalgia, for the ghosts of Thanksgiving and Christmas past.

Last from Vermont - Scott Farm

Here are the last of the images from Vermont - more of the barn doors from Scott Farm. As I noted in my first post on these doors, I was really struck by the beauty of these images, their variation, and the ways in which years of harsh Vermont weather had aged the wood. I know neither the ages of the barns nor the amount of time it takes to bring out this kind of patina on white-washed wood. But it's beautiful. That I do know. Enjoy!

A few more from Vermont

Here are a few more from our trip to Vermont: Kip, the border collie who follows commands better than my children, here at my feet after running the sheep in circles; one of the sheep, in this case a "blue-faced Leicester" I believe; a view from the ski lift at Pico, ferrying us to the top of the mountain; and finally a view of a barn and its surroundings at Plymouth Notch on a rainy afternoon. It's amazing how much we manage to pack into four days up there, and the variety is amazing, from hiking the mountains, enjoying the foliage, herding sheep, and picking apples, to careening down the side of a mountain on a luge-like contraption with wheels. Given our growing love for Vermont, I suspect we're going to be spending more time there than our standard autumnal visit.

Vermont Headstones

Continuing the posts from our Vermont trip, here are four images of Vermont headstones. This cemetery is west of Brattleboro, near Marlboro College. We visit every year, in part because we enjoy the beauty and uniqueness of the stones, and it gives the boys a chance to get out of the car and walk around for a bit before we head home at the end of the trip. Although they used to run through the cemetery, playing hide and seek behind the stones, the kids now stop and read the names and dates, remarking on the deaths of the children and infants. It's hard for them to understand the hard reality of high infant mortality during that period, and comprehend how lucky they are to have been spared the uncertainty of life in a world punctuated by periodic epidemics.

Most of the stones date from the early to mid 19th century, but a few, like the first one pictured here, date to the 1790s. They're particularly interesting because of the thin black stone from which they're sculpted. I'm not sure of their geologic specification, but they have a shale-like quality and appear fragile. The angel represents a dramatic departure from earlier 17th century New England stones, in which images - including skulls and depictions of demons - reflected the Calvinist notion of the uncertainty of one's salvation and the potential torments of hell for those not among the "elect." Set in a quiet spot, above a farm with fields of grazing horses, it always reminds me a little of the cemetery on the hill overlooking Grovers Corners in Act 3 of Thornton Wilder's Our Town.

The Boys in Vermont

Here are Ben and Sam in Vermont . . . sitting on the porch of the general store in Plymouth Notch, with me atop Killington, and lounging on a bench at the Vermont Country Store. It's gotten harder to make them sit still for photographs, let alone actually smile for the camera. As for me, the sun reflecting off the top of my head makes me look like I have even less hair than is actually there . . . and makes me think that before too long, Ben and Sam will be referring to their dad as "chrome dome." Ugh.

Fall Colors from Our Condo in Vermont

Here's the view from our condo up near Killington. The colors were incredible this year, and as these photos reveal, the display changed from moment to moment as the sun's angle changed. The last two, taken just as the last bits of sunlight filtered across the surrounding mountains, reveal how much orange and red were present. Some years we arrive and there's virtually no color and other years it's past peak. I'd say were were right at peak, at least in the middle section of Vermont. Farther south, around Brattleboro and Scott Farm, there wasn't nearly the saturation of changing leaves. It was rather sad to return to New York City where there's hardly any color to mention. At least we'll have the beauty of Central Park in its autumn finery in just a few weeks. I can't wait.