New Hampshire: Northwood

The weekend after my marathon, and thankfully my body has mostly recovered (sans a few toenails - what are toenails even for, really?). I head out on my second foliage run of the month, northward-bound again. This time, I’m heading to a beautiful but oft-bypassed part of New Hampshire - the Merrimack Valley wedged between the Seacoast to the east, the Lakes and White Mountains to the north, and Monadnock to the west. Five years here in New England, and I feel like I’m just beginning to see all that the region has to offer. Returning to old familiar, cherished landscapes is always deeply inspiring and meaningful, but there’s something to be said for exploring new places as well. Although its been more than two weeks since my birthday-week jaunt to the Monadnock region (where the foliage was beautiful but decidedly post-peak), I find that the autumn colours here in the valley - perhaps owing to the lower elevation and closer proximity to the coast - are popping off. With the exception of some barren swaths of swamp maples in boggy ground, the region’s hardwoods are a panoply of bright and beautiful hues. Solo again, I carve a winding path through the rural part of the valley: walking the rail trail east of Candia, hiking a section of the Great Brook Trail in Deerfield, exploring the periphery of Freeses Pond, and scouting out my sunrise spot (Stonehouse Pond) before taking a long stroll around the lake at Northwood Meadows State Park.

Northwood (finally, the namesake of this page of the blog - though I imagine I might eventually visit other Northwoods here on Turtle Island) is little less sleepy than your prototypic New England village, but no less quirky and quaint. Whereas my time in Jaffrey two weeks ago felt melancholic and wistful (perhaps owing to the stormy weather) today’s travels feel rambunctious and unbridled. I spend the day carefully exploring small byways, finding places to pull off the road and explore on foot. Some of my favorite moments, none of which were pre-planned: strolling the quiet neighborhood of Deerfield Parade to photograph the nearby brook and cemetery. Spotting a pair of wild otters, swimming carefree in Freeses Pond. Getting location pointers from a fellow walker in Candia - and being mistaken more than once for a birder (woman watching me peer through my viewfinder: “So what should I be looking for?” Me: “Uh, trees?”). Stumbling upon some of the most astounding autumn scenes I’ve ever photographed, beside the area’s many ponds and meadows (proof that even in a drought-affected “off” year, New England’s fall beauty still reveals itself in ample measure). Toward sunset, I grab dinner at Northwoods Brewing Company, a lively family spot with good food, a dairy bar, and a nice selection of mocktails. A few minutes away is my home for the night, Lake Shore Farm Inn beside Jenness Pond. I take my last shots of the evening at the little boat launch and private beach behind the inn: a perfectly calm, perfectly reflected scene of maples and sunset clouds across the water. Upon checking in, I find that I’ve accidentally booked a two-bedroom family suite - no doubt when I thought (earlier in planning) that someone, anyone, would be riding shotgun with me this weekend. I’m usually good about fixing and adjusting these travel bookings, but life has admittedly been a little busy recently. I have a quiet night writing, reading, and reviewing photos - just me, myself, and I.

In the morning, I rise early to photograph sunrise. Well, it’s not any earlier than Jordan normally has us up, I suppose. This is the nice part about mid- and late-fall photography. The days are short, and the nights are restful. Winding my way back eastward through Northwood, I make my way down to the shore of Stonehouse Pond, where pale dawn light is just beginning to hit the granite cliff at Stonehouse Pond. In some sense, this sunrise shoot is the entire purpose of my overnight trip - this pond being one that I spotted years ago while scouting for autumn photography locations. After watching the sun rise against the trees on the opposite shore, it’s southward-bound to Boston, back to the highway along winding country roads.

New Hampshire: Monadnock

After a month of busy weeks and weekends (for work, family, as well as travel), I find two days to get away to New Hampshire for an old-fashioned, so-obligatory-it’s-sacred New England foliage run. Not counting last year’s trip to Colorado, it’s my first Northeast autumn tour in awhile (sans child, grandparents, or friend), and I use the opportunity to dive into a part of southern New Hampshire I haven’t really visited before: the region of rivers, ponds, hardwood forests, and villages surrounding Mt. Monadnock. By all reports, New England fall colour has been erratic this year, as the region’s woodlands have been under drought conditions since the summer. Indeed, on my drive westward along Route 2 and then north through Winchendon past the MA-NH border, I can see from the highway that the lowland maples are well-past their prime, and even the hardier yellows are transitioning. Everywhere - and especially at the edges of rivers and swamps - there are barren trunks and branches; it’s a telltale sign of stressed trees to see significant leaf drop so relatively early in the October. As I encircle the region’s namesake mountain, it is clear that despite coming ahead of the Indigenous Peoples holiday weekend (later than most years thanks to the calendar) I am still a week or so past peak.

Nevertheless, there are sweeps of colourful forests and pockets of beautiful scenery - especially on leeward hills and slopes, and in sheltered coves and bays. I find that I actually enjoy this quieter, muted presentation of autumn more than the explosive, riotous fiesta that accompanies peak colour. Perhaps it’s because I can slow down, take some deep breaths behind the shutter (and the steering wheel), and sink into my surroundings, whereas peak fall photography has the tinge of a manic episode - nervous exhilaration bordering on breakdown. Instead, I take my time on the route, turning off on a whim to scout winding dirt roads that weren’t on my radar, pulling up beside abandoned homesteads and farmstands, and carefully looking for intimate scenes to photograph in the forest and by the water. Some of my favorite compositions come in these open-ended moments of exploration: strolling through the white pine forest beside Meetinghouse Pond, and cutting through the woods to the abandoned railroad south of Jaffrey, where I am overnighting. The Monadnock region as a whole (and Jaffrey in particular) has a somber, melancholic atmosphere this week, a feeling of being slightly left behind, slightly past its prime, headed inexorably toward darker and colder times. “Dark does not drive out dark, only light can,” reads the window of a shuttered storefront in town. Skipping sunset (non-existent due to incoming storm clouds), I buy a sandwich and drink at the local Subway and head over to parking lot at Station 16 Ice Cream to enjoy dinner al fresco at a picnic table, under a canopy of string lights - along with a kiddie scoop of Campfire Smores ice cream, which is as good as it sounds. I ask the girl running the stand when they close for the season. “Sometime end of October - depending on the weather. If we get snow!” It is in moments like this, and places like this, that I remember why and just how much I love the fall.

After a lazy, early night at the Benjamin Prescott Inn, I have an equally lazy start to the next morning, as the forecast calls for heavy rain all morning, from here clear to the coast. Over in the dining room (next to the living room where the innkeeper’s kids are watching Bluey), I sit down to an amazing homemade breakfast of blueberry waffles, sausages, fruit, and local maple syrup. The innkeeper keeps calling me Stephen for some reason, but I’m too content and conflict-avoidant to correct him. When the rain clears up mid-day, I head back out for more exploring and poking around - drawing another slow, clockwise circle around Mount Monadnock, this time taking different backroads, finding my way to the side of ponds, swamps, and woodlands that I missed the day before. During a grocery store stop just outside of Petersborough for drinks and a deli counter lunch, I add a pumpkin to my shopping cart - for Jordan. I round out the afternoon by driving up the winding auto road to the summit of Pack Monadnock Mountain, where I join a group of birders performing the park’s annual raptor count. Back in Jaffrey, I spend the golden hour walking along the abandoned railroad beside the Contoocook River. As night falls, the mercury is dropping. After a takeout dinner enjoyed outdoors at Kimball Farms, I return to the inn to end my trip. The pale amber moon follows me on the drive home, hanging large and low on the horizon.

Maine: Portland at Summer's End

The tail end of a bountiful summer here in New England. My parents are in town for a few weeks, a somewhat impulse visit from California - missing their grandson whom they haven’t seen since late April, and putting in some work on the lakeside cabin in Plymouth. We take them on a two-night getaway to coastal Maine for Labor Day weekend - along with, seemingly, most of the region’s summer denizens. For our little train boy, it’s his first ride on the big train (“Amtrak, Amtrak, Amtrak!” he cries out excitedly upon seeing the Downeaster at North Station). He skips his nap, gets increasingly delirious on the two-hour ride north - but it’s all fun and games with Ah-Ma and Ah-Gong sitting across the aisle. We ply him with a cheeseburger; he throws a tantrum after Jane refuses to let him stay indefinitely in the train-car lavatory. Travel with the family, these days, is all about making little memories and being present for the precious moments - in between copious amounts of the no-simpler-than-usual parenting and caregiving. At the Portland Transportation Center, we catch a rideshare to our hotel on the waterfront. Jordan is stokedto set up his hotel Pack-n-Play (旅館! “Lǚ guǎn!” - hotel! he cries in Chinese). In the late afternoon, my mom and dad head out for a little walk and to buy us takeout dinner from Gilbert’s Chowder House on the waterfront. I take a swim in the hotel pool with Jordan; after his bath, we enjoy our lobster rolls, fried seafood, and bowls of chowder in the hotel lobby.

On Sunday, Jordan is up at his usual time, which means we (and one other toddler plus his toddler dad) are the only ones eating breakfast downstairs at 7 AM. Jordan wolfs down three cups of milk and multiple plates of potatoes, scrambled eggs, and sausage patties (no one to accidentally eat his breakfast sausage this time!). Two cruise ships have docked in the harbor this morning, and Jordan gazes down at them from our window, along with the inflatable advertising tube-man (“Balloon man! B’loon man!”) in the parking lot across Fore Street. In the mid-morning, we take a little ride with the grandparents on the narrow gauge railroad by the water, and walk along the waterfront while sharing fruit bars. Before lunch, Jordan takes another dip in the hotel pool with Ah-Ma, trying on his kid goggles and (BaBa’s fault) getting dunked underwater for just a tiny moment. In the afternoon, we board the 4:30 PM ferry to Peaks Island, enjoying airy views of Portland’s skyline (and the distant Portland Head Light, which we visited last June) on the brief ride across Casco Bay. Peaks Island feels like a prototypical New England summer spot: golf carts and bikes are the predominant modes of vehicular transportation; the roadside stands of beach rose have finished flowering, their hips fully red and plump; and a rocking reggae/ska band is blowing up the outdoor restaurant/bar terrace just above the ferry terminal. We (and maybe all of the other recent arriving ferry passengers) line up for root beer floats and scoops at Down Front Ice Cream. I photograph the flowers in front of the nearby inn, while Jordan and mom and grandparents poke around. At 6 PM, we join what turns out to be a packed crowd for the evening ferry back to Portland - not enough room, boo. We hop over to Island Lobster Company to get takeout dinner while awaiting the next departure. It turns out to be a rather eventful, mad rush to board the 7:45 PM boat; I stop to tend to a peri-syncopal woman and we get nearly trampled. Fortunately I manage to reunite with the stroller prince and his retinue, and we all make it safely back to the city.

On Monday morning, we have another early morning breakfast; Jane teaches me the art of using the hotel waffle maker. While packing for our return trip to Boston, she notices she’s missing her wallet, which is usually stored in the backpack with the kid essentials. She has no idea where it is; maybe it fell out sometime during all the runny-nose wipes and sunglasses/sun-hat placing and replacing, or was snatched during the frantic crush of the ferry boarding last night. Jane calls the railroad company, the ferry company, the hotel front desk, the Portland police department. No luck. Four hours later, we arrive back home in Brookline (Jordan once again a sleepy pile after deliriously bouncing his way through the return train ride). The wallet’s on the piano in the living room. She hasn’t had it in three days. She didn’t realize she didn’t have it for three days. I feel like I ought to win some kind of marital achievement award. Jane’s already cancelled all our credit cards. She says I’ll never let her live it down. She’s right.

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For this little weekend trip, I went out with a slightly different photographic vision than my usual, which is quite journalistic in composition and post-processing. I wanted to shoot a little more free-form, partaking more intentionally in street/travel photography rather than my usual fare (landscape comps with family portraits on the side), and accordingly I wanted to process this set in a way that captures the nostalgia of late summer, the season’s ending, the feeling of bidding goodbye to the slow times, the golden afternoons, and the escapades on the water - a feeling that I think we as tourists shared momentarily with everyone else traveling in New England this weekend. In the photos, you’ll notice lifted blacks, de-saturated tones, warm highlights, and even a bit of grain. I hope to build a little more variety - and a little more intention - as I keep experimenting and practicing with different styles of photography.