Images of New England
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There are any number of mobile homes, trailers and campers scattered across the north country landscape, though perhaps fewer than a decade ago. Many of the larger ones appear to be primary homes. The smaller ones seem only intermittently used: weekend getaways or hunting camps. This one looks to be a vintage Airstream Travel Trailer, ready for the open road.
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Here on the northern fringes of Tropical Storm Hermine, with wind coming in from the NE: some branches down later in the evening, and electricity was out for a few hours, but otherwise the area fared pretty well.
Living closer to the water now, I find myself more interested in flags, mostly as a quick read on wind direction and force. In an unexpected way, they’ve also become inspirational, from the Tibetan prayer flags out back over our garden, to the American flags around the neighborhood. They’ve brought me closer to distant places, times and peoples, whether Tibetan villagers or those who fought or otherwise witnessed the War of 1812, from whence comes the Star Spangled Banner (“…gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there…”). Powerful symbols they have always been, and likely to remain so.
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I once picked apples at this orchard, over 30 years ago – the only local (and gringo) so employed – everyone else was from Jamaica. It took me a full two weeks to acclimate my body to climbing up and down the ladder with a load of apples in the kidney shaped bucket at my waist, straps cutting into my shoulder, and I thought of myself in pretty decent shape to begin with. We were on a daily quota for the first week; to a man my co-workers finished by noon while it took me the full day. By the end of the season though, which lasted about 6 weeks, I had pulled even.
Many a fine memory there; the top rung of the ladder offered the best view of the orchard itself as well as distances near and far. It was heaven to be doing that hard physical work, no matter the weather; knowing it was time limited probably helped.
This image is from the beginning of the season, after the trees had been pruned and just before the bees really began pollinating.
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Mssr. Demi-D’Amour appears to approve of his most recent acquisition, a 1955 MG TF 1500.
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There’s a bit of melancholy here, a yearning; the sap is running and the maple syrup season in full swing but these buckets are sidelined (“Put me in, coach!!”). But at least they’re piled in an accessible place; ready for a hardy soul – still sugaring the old way – to put them to use once again.
Howard Prussack, a farmer friend, once reminded me how physically demanding maple sugaring can be; getting the sap from buckets to the evaporator requires a lot of heavy lifting. Of course most large scale operations now use saplines, and the power of gravity.
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