Maine is certainly home to some spectacular vistas from the Appalachian mountains to the Gulf of Maine. But it is the small places that populate the State that holds Maine’s real charm. Getting off those large numbered roads gives passing glances into a myriad of landscapes. Those small, unknown byways always lead somewhere.
This is one of a series of portraits I did for Translation: Bates International Poetry Festival, 2011. Carmen Elisabeth Puchianu is a wonderful poet from Romania. Her dynamic reading and humor were captivating. You can see her performance at the Translations website as well as the performances from the other seven poets that appeared. An iBook of the festival for the iPad can be downloaded here: Translations – Claudia Aburto Guzmán & William Ash. A pdf version of the book is on the Translations website. Click on the image for a lager view.
Click on the image for a larger view.
Early fall is one of my favorite times in Maine. Apple season is just starting and late tomatoes are still being harvested. But the real magic is in the forests. While the deep ambers and reds of late fall are spectacular, the electric yellows and gold against the remaining green is just so vibrant, so full of life.
A note about my photography. I come from a documentary background that photographs without cropping, creating the final image in the camera. The photographs here represent what the camera saw. Except from some simple work on image contrast, nothing was added or changed digitally later. Click on the images for a larger view.
This is a dynamic time of year in Maine. The foliage just ignites against the deep blue skies. Click on the image to see it a little bigger.
Naomi and I took a drive to Pemaquid Point yesterday afternoon. It was a beautiful fall day. The sky was cloudless and the horizon sharp in the dry air.
As we walked to the point, a cloud lay on the water well off the coast; fog hugging the ocean is a common sight in Maine. We were surrounded by blue ocean and sky.
In a matter of minutes, the fog bank rushed over us like a tsunami. But unlike the surf, the bank rolled in like a whisper. The late afternoon sun turned the air gold. The world, which seemed so solid and large a moment ago, fell away. Click on the image for a larger view.
The Swift River in the White Mountains National Park in New Hampshire follows the path of the Kancamagus Highway. The moonlight illuminates the coursing water and polished stone. The interplay between these two elements reveals their shared destiny. Both creating and destroying their mutual forms.
Clicking on the images will enlarge them.
The garden is winding down from the intense summer growth. Plants and animals are preparing for the end of the year, when they magically disappear into some place that sees them through the cold winters. But yet, the pace is not hectic—there is still time to slow down and smell the roses. Click on the image for a larger view.
Late August and early September bring storms. As the sun sets, they transform into amazing Baroque creations just waiting for cherubs or a chorus of angels. Seldom do they pass without divine signals of light and sound. Click on the image for a larger view.
This time of year, when our harvest comes in, is a real blessing. Even with the cold, wet summer that has kept our tomatoes from being a nice ripe red, we still feel very grateful for the bounty.
Our largest and most anticipated crop is our blackberries and black raspberries. For three to four weeks, we will collect three to four pounds of berries every other evening. The scars and wounds the thorns leave on my arms are a small price to pay for this fruit. Not only will this provide fresh food for our breakfast and dinner table for the month, we will freeze a good portion which will last well into the new year.
The amazing thing about blackberries, beyond the terrific yields, is the carefree nature of the plant. They do as well in the shade of our forest as under the bright sun in our field. They are not fussy about soil type. They can dry out under the sun, but once they establish a good ground cover, they can protect themselves. Our field briers provide habitat for beautiful orb-weaver spiders as well as bedding and shelter for the local deer.
But the blackberries signal for the end of this season in Maine. These plants project the wisdom of age, contrasting their explosive and impetuous growth of spring. They lead us gracefully out of the last stage of summer—their yellowing foliage on the canes anticipate that of our trees and the approaching winter.
