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for the interested

The entry below has been turned into a photoessay, over at Retrovertigo.


I love your photos of the now, and the leaves floating in the water. It really takes me back home.

I'm from upstate NY originally. A small town called Queensbury, which is about 45 minutes north of Albany. I spent four years at Hamilton College, which is in Clinton, just outside of Utica. I drove weekly to my ROTC drills at Syracuse U. You could say that I spent virtually my entire life in upstate NY.

I moved to DC about three years ago, and I love it here. But I do get a little homesick sometimes. I really miss those long, winding roads that snake through the Hudson and Mohawk River valleys. There was nothing more relaxing than driving a manual car through the narrow and twisting back roads of New York State, on an autumn day with the sunroof open. I'd slip my sandals off and drive barefoot, enjoying the sounds of the engine as I shifted, driving far too fast down roads that hardly anyone used. The sky was pale blue and the trees firey red, orange and brilliant yellow.

I sometimes have dreams where I'm driving. I don't have a car anymore. I really have no use for one, given that I live on Capitol Hill, and work in the city.

When I was bored or depressed I'd wake in the middle of the night, get into my car, and drive until I found a large body of water. I'd drive to places like Ticonderoga or Long Lake, and listen to the long, mournful calls of the loons. I'd pull over at random, and walk through the woods that seem to encompass any town or farm, enjoying the peculiar stillness of it. I'd drive down narrow country roads I'd never even noticed before, just to see where they went.
I remember the two hour drive from college to home, which went through some of the most beautiful countryside.

There were other things, too. The races and spas at Saratoga. The great beer served at Davidson Bros., in Glens Falls. The sense of history you felt touring Fort Ticonderoga, Fort William Henry or the Saratoga Battlefield. You could stand on a hill, or behind a rampart, and see where America was born. There was the sound of a paddle cutting through the water, as you guide a canoe through the lakes and rivers of the Adirondacks. Climbing the high peaks of the Keene Valley.

God I miss that place, sometimes.

Damnitalltohell, that's "snow" not "now". Not only did I use the @#$%^&* preview, but I used to work in journalism.

Yeesh. Too little coffee this morning.