Plain Beauty

I just returned from a short visit to a place where I grew up. One of the places. I always felt like a visitor there. Good people all around me, but not my people. If you know what I mean.

What struck me on this visit, as always, is the landscape. A German work ethic is applied to the land with a firm hand, and in early spring the whole place is fields of color. And I don't mean planting fields.

Broad expanses of saturated color. Grass green. Sky blue. Earth brown. With sharp edges and angles between. (In fact, Mennonite women bent over edging tools and weed wackers along roadsides everywhere we traveled). No serendipity or happenstance. Orderliness and plain beauty.

It makes this part of upstate New York, which I love, look like it needs a haircut and a shave. And the quick touch of a hot iron.

(Thank god I finally found my people.)

The Evening Star

Late last month, I spent a long weekend off the coast of Maine on Vinalhaven. And there I met Hesperus. Venus actually. When the ancient Greeks looked up into the night sky at the Evening Star, they named it Hesperus. Hesperus is Venus at night.

I have a real fondness for Venus. I own a little house on the other side of town (which I miss if I give it too much thought). On winter nights when I would hurry in with my little boy bundled in my arms, we always stopped on the footpath to find Venus in the night sky. She was just over the rooftop in the west. At two, he could point her out to you.

One of these winters soon, I'd like to be looking for Hesperus in the winter sky over Carver's Harbor with my boy.

Because in winter, it is quieter than quiet. And we could all do with more of that.

Harbor in the Storm

On the day before Irene made her way up the East Coast, I was in the Hawkins Boatyard watching lobster men (and their wives, kids and dogs) haul boats out of the harbor. I had nothing to do but wander around with an old camera. And, hear tales of the worst ferry crossings the good people of Vinalhaven could recollect.

The calm before the storm was beautiful, uncomfortably still, and unnerving. The fog thickened by the minute, and I was making mental preparation for a rough ride on a small ferry with everything I hold dear the next morning.

As luck would have it, our crossing was calm. The storm bypassed this little harbor in Maine, and the hardest hit were our own beautiful Catskill Mountains. We've pumped out the basement and donated clothes to our neighbors across the Hudson River. And, we've marveled at the damage water can do.

Summer Rental

 

For the second year, we returned to a little house that we've come to think of as our island home. Nothing fancy really. Lumpy beds, dull kitchen knives, a broken player piano and lobster traps piled in the dooryard. 

But, there's a collection of 80's vinyl for the turntable, and we can hear the Vinalhaven Ferry fog horn when we're making coffee. No cell service. No internet. No TV. Just the sound of the ocean in the distance and the occasional apple dropping from the tree outside the kitchen window.

Of course, the camera collection was tucked into my tote bag. I gave my new old Polaroid 250 a try with a pack of Fuji instant film.

I'm in love.

Tuesdays in Thailand

In the early morning, samlor drivers pedal women to and from the local market where they fill their plastic market baskets. The pace of the samlor is contemplative. The conversation amiable. And, every red light offers a brief rest. No better way to travel the streets of Chiang Mai, a city full of country people which is its abiding charm.

Tuesdays in Thailand

Oh, how I miss my local market in Chiang Mai. These tiny little Thai eggplants are essential in a good green curry. Though I've searched in the best markets here, none are to be found in my part of the Hudson Valley. This year I'll find some seed and plant them in the garden. Authentic green curry by August!

Segments

The theme of the week is texture. This impossibly fragile branching coral from an island in the Penobscot Bay perfectly complements yesterday's bamboo splits. Neutral and textural.

Tuesdays in Thailand

Remembering an afternoon in the Bo Sang umbrella making village outside of Chiang Mai. The biggest, reddest bamboo and mulberry leaf paper umbrella that I could find went home with me and shaded my little garden seat until the day I left Thailand (and I passed it on to my teak house's next occupant).

Tuesdays in Thailand

Cambodia, actually. Remembering a little trip I made to Angkor Wat. Hottest, most beautiful and puzzling place I've ever seen. Ate crunchy little fishes on bowls of rice and downed Coke like it was (clean) water.

Tuesdays in Thailand

 

For several years, I lived (quite happily) as an expat in Thailand. My camera went with me everywhere. I'll dig through the archives once in awhile to give you a taste of "the land of smiles."