Why Are Cemeteries Named Pleasant?

Both in Livermore Falls, Maine.

It's Been a Long Winter

In Bethel, Maine they create the world's largest snowwoman to pass the time.


Despite a treacherous plaza of lumpy ice, a steady stream of camera toting visitors makes their way to the foot of the snowwoman. Be careful Grandma!


Oh snowwoman, please make this winter end!


Bah! Don't bother me you pathetic warm-blood. I will freeze you and crush your tacky duplexes! Bu-wah ha-ha!

One Morning at the John Hancock Building

See that guy there?

Where?



The guy walking towards you.

Oh, I see him now.



He's going to tell you you can't take pictures of the John Hancock Building.

Phosphorescent Frogs!

Odd stuff at the barn...


DA-DUM!


DA-DUM!


DA-DUM DA-DUM DA-DUM DA-DUM...

Franklin and Abe's Ears

Franklin


Abe

Rotate!

Bon is a long-haired German Shepherd.


She's not much of a "trick" dog.


She'll sit and lay down and stay (if she doesn't see something she'd like to investigate).


But she excels at rotating.

Out for a Walk in a Snowstorm

There's something about a red door...


...especially in a snowstorm...


...that makes me want to take a photo.

Can you spot the non-MIT student?

At Kendall Square T station in Cambridge...


...three out of four passengers...


...are students at MIT.


Can you spot the non-student?

The Pavemen Cometh

It's a know fact that the asphalt plants in Maine close for the winter on Thanksgiving day. Therefore, the first three weeks of the month of November is macadam madness, as every Mainer who's seen one mud season too many, decides to pony up the big bucks and get their driveway paved before spring!

Steaming asphalt - the way life should be...

A Walk Through Augusta, Maine

Augusta, Maine's capital and nerve center. Teeming with state employees from 8 to 5 on weekdays. At 6:00 AM on a Saturday, not so much.















The famous Mid-State College (not to be confused with Max-State College or Average-State College).















The Colonial Theatre, built in 1913. Every 10 years there seems to be a movement to restore and re-open it. Alas, not yet.

Another Dance Lesson

It's Polka Time!

Always be careful when you accept a polka lesson.

A Visit to Sing Sing

I’m on a trip to New York, staying at a campground in Westchester County. Driving through Ossining I see the name on a map - "Sing Sing Prison".

Sing Sing?! The actual Sing Sing Prison? The setting for The Big House and movies starring James Cagney? The origin of the phrase "sent up the river"? The home of "old Sparky" the first electric chair in the USA?

I take a turn off Route 9 onto a quite suburban street. The neighborhood becomes more residential as I approach the Hudson River. The road curves to the right and there is a fence to the left. With concertina wire on the top. I crest a small hill and suddenly a blank concrete wall - 20 feet high - looms ahead.

The road turns right and follows the wall towards a corner with a tower.

I park in a small pull out and walk up the street to the corner. The wall continues for half a mile. I snap a few pictures.

Suddenly, a door clangs above. "Hey you! You can’t take pictures here!" A large, heavily armed guard glares down at me from the wall. "Oh yeah?" I say "Try and stop me!" I run for the car as an alarm wails from somewhere beyond the tower. Spotlights flick on as I open the door and hop in. "Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!" "You’ll never catch me copper" I yell as I hit the gas and speed off down the street.

Later, at the Ossining Quimbaya Coffee Shop, I watch the meter maid check my time. She doesn’t suspect a thing.

A Quick Trip to Newfoundland - The road north

I get up very early and quickly pack everything while my stove heats up water for coffee. I’m planning to have my “real” breakfast somewhere on the road overlooking Bonne Bay. As I leave the campground, a young moose bolts from a ditch and runs across the road mere inches in front of my bumper.

I stop quickly and hop out to try for a picture but she’s long gone by the time my feet hit the gravel. However, I look down and spot a small snail crossing the road ahead of my front tires so I take his picture instead.

A small picnic park on the north shore of Bonne Bay serves as my breakfast nook.

I also take the opportunity to reorganize the back of the Element so I can more easily get at things I might need during the day (like my rain coat).

The weather alternates between showers and fog so I continue north on Route 430 through Gros Morne and past the various “scenic attractions” announced on roadside signs.

Somewhere around Port au Choix, the rain stops and the clouds lift and I see blue sky ahead. When I reach Saint Barbe, it has become a fine day and wherever the road follows the coast, I peer across the Strait of Belle Isle trying to get a glimpse of Labrador’s coast, 12 miles away. However, the fog lies a few miles offshore and I see nothing. Except, there is something out there. A large sailboat?

I pull over and get out my binoculars. An iceberg!

At Eddies Cove Route 430 head east and leaves the Strait of Belle Isle and the icebergs behind. Along the road I notice many small fenced in areas.


These are Newfoundland gardens plots, planted out here in the relatively rich soils away from the coast and the salt spray.

Unlike the Tablelands, the bedrock underlying this region of Newfoundland is limestone and, where the soil is thick enough, it’s relatively good for growing.

Where the soil isn’t thick and the winds are strong (pretty much everywhere) a number of rare plants still occur, taking advantage of the small, sheltered micro-climates in the cracked limestone barrens.

It’s late afternoon when I reach Pistolet Bay Provincial Park. I set up my tent and have a real meal, my first in three days. The sun is still high in the sky – it doesn’t set until 9:30 at this latitude – so I take a drive out to Cape Onion.

The horizon is dotted with icebergs, though only a few small ones are in the bay.

There’s a small cemetery next to a church on the Cape and as I follow a trail past it I find a lone grave in a sheltered swale a few hundred yards below it:

BABY BOY ANDREWs
Born Sept 21, 1969
Died Sept 29, 1969

As the sun slips behind the fog bank hanging in the Strait, I head back to my tent and wondering about the circumstances of his birth and death and why he’s buried here, outside the churchyard.