Wearing Red on Valentine's Day

On Valentine's Day I awoke at seven, put on my red Eddie Bauer vintage down, my Danners with the red laces and had breakfast with my roommates at a local diner. After mowing down a breakfast sandwich and a bowl of oatmeal, I bid farewell to my friends and drove off alone, dead set to carve out my own Valentine's Day. I called my mom and grandmother to wish them my love as I left Waterville and then put a Dire Straits tape into the deck.

I headed southeast towards the coast, driving slowly and enjoying the freedom of solitude. After two complete rotations of Brothers In Arms and a half a dozen stops, I stopped at a fork in the road to pick my next move. As the various potential routes percolated through my mind, I looked through my photos on the LCD of my 5D Mark II. At first the red in the images I photographed seemed like a mere coincidence but as the sound of the selection wheel clicking rhythmically continued and the red pixels hopped around the screen with increasing fervor, I had my shivering moment like the first time you share a gaze with a pretty women.

I would live here in a second. Bunker Hill, twenty minutes north of Route 1.

Open Sesame.

I failed to understand my attraction to the red details in the photos I captured, but half way through my explorations, I followed my instincts across the party in search of a pretty girl, except this time I had a my camera in my hand, not a beverage, and was chasing weathered red paint on 100 year old buildings.

Note the hay on the lip of the second level.

Cyclops.

I wouldn't try to jam on that hoop.

Barns look like faces that make me smile.

My favorite red that I saw all day.

The spirit of my Valentine's Day materialized in my capturing of red objects on the Maine countryside with the same uncontrollable attraction that leads men my age to buy flowers and fancy dinners for the special people in their lives.

Here are some more links,
Wearing Red on Valentines Day (Picasa),
Side of the Road (ART).

A Hike on the Beach

On Tuesday, temperatures crested 40 degrees for the first time in months. Feeling like millionaires in Vegas, Dan and I headed to the beach to catch some cosmic rays and go on a short hike on Morris Mountain and the surrounding beaches. Arriving at the parking lot just after 12:30, we set out for the beach. Dan sped up ahead towards the water, eager to do his geological research, studying erosion of a nearby river system, and wandering slowly down the trail towards the beach with the urgency of grandmother on Christmas morning.

The three and a half mile trail follows a seasonal gravel road through marshlands, woods and iconic summer houses towards Seawall Beach. I moved slowly, humming various Pink Floyd songs to myself as I took in the scenery and snapped pictures.

Boarded up for the winter.

Ice, shaded from the sun by evergreens.

After an hour, I finally crested a small hill and heard the faint clapping of shin-high waves. My slow and carefree stroll evolved into a purpose-driven walk as the sand drew near.

Low tide and a washed-up tree.

Where the grass meets the sand and water.

Sand arranged by tides and storms.

Erosion at Popham State park.

Clam pits at high tide.

Clammers digging through the exposed sands of Popham Beach.

I wandered through the knee-high grass and soft sand, enjoying the relative tropic temperatures for hours. I didn't see Dan for some time, but I knew he was out there enjoying the day in his own way. Finally I spotted Dan's blond head bobbing around against the blue of the Atlantic and yelled "Ohhh Helllloooo" in my best Mrs. Doubtfire impression. We sat on a washed-up tree lying parallel to the beach and took in the rolling waves and rustle of sand and wind through the tall grass. I longed for a match to start a campfire but settled on playing music on my iPhone as Dan and I watched the sun sink towards the west.

Here are some more links,
A Hike on the Beach (Picasa).

On Four Wheels

Constant snow and subsequent salt on the roads of Maine erode cars' paint and all exposed steel. After a few years, the harsh winters change a car forever. No two are the same. Mainers use their cars as plows, warming rooms, snowmobiles, grocery getters and basic transportation. Each one fits a specific purpose, place and owner.

A classic 15 miles north of Bath on 139.

Stationary for winter near Woolwich, Maine.

A modern day ox near Carr's Corner, Maine.

A Jeep delivery truck near Unity, Maine.

A pair of plows near Reid State Park, Maine.

On my travels I am always on the lookout for things on four wheels that tell stories just as dynamic and complex as the people that drive them.

Here are some more links,
On Four Wheels (Picasa).

A Wall in My Room: Part 3

People's taste evolves. It grows more complex and requires more to satisfy its increasing appetite. Starting in August, I decorated my wall with pieces of things found in the world around me. I started small with a piece of driftwood from Lake Champlain in Vermont and a few odds and ends from a flea market in Woolwich, Maine. From there I found a blanket at a garage sale and an American flag at an antique mall near my school. Recently, I pulled everything down and added some new finds.

My most prized piece of L.L. Bean clothing I own: vintage barn jacket.

My two favorite packs.

Face t0 face.

Shoes I have loved.

I like red details.

I enjoy the process of envisioning something and then trying my best to execute it, even more than the final result. In a few months I will grow restless and take it all down again, but I am okay with that.

Here are some more links,
A Wall in My Room: Part 3 (Picasa),
A Wall in My Room: Part 2 (ART),
A Wall in My Room: Part 1 (ART).