Up Near Ossipee
A good friend of mine has shown me the value of photographing family. Pointing a camera is a function I have long associated with discovery, exploration, and the otherwise “new”. It has felt unnatural to photograph what I am vastly familiar with, but I am doing my best. I spent a few days with the In-Laws up at a lake in New Hampshire to celebrate Turkey Day and put my camera to some use. The following is both a documentation of a new space and an exploration of the familiar.
This was hilarious. It’s such an ominous scene of curving unpaved road, tangled roots, and dead foliage. “Beverly Hills” really appears in contrast here. Context triumphant.
Markers of the territory. “Live Free or Die” decorates every license plate in the state of New Hampshire, an adage the people have adopted whole-heartedly. The political scene here varies widely depending on your particular location within the state. Here we were.
The water had manually receded for the winter, pulling back to reveal a pitted shoreline. Puddles in the mud reflected a sky swirled with the polluted remnants of boating season. The landscape was stunning nonetheless, and I spent the morning walking the shoreline with my dog.
This is my brother, Aidan. I’ve known him since I was sixteen, and he used to eat toaster strudels at my house each morning before school. We take the dogs out together, and he pretends to ignore my camera.
New Hampshire is cold in late November. G’s winter socks came in handy as we sat on the beach and watched the dogs run themselves into sleep.
The cabin was dog-friendly, and I appreciated the evidence of good times had by previous dogs. Small holes lined the window screens that pointed toward the lake. I hope those dogs got to run the shore.
The flora works differently here, and fragility makes way for hardier, more persistent things in the winter. Lichen, moss, death.
Time spent in the cabin was comfortable. I’d call it time well-wasted. We watched great movies, played games together, argued for the sake of it. I’d never spend the time differently.
Swedish pancakes and mimosas. G and I brought our cast iron Swedish pancake pan, a family heirloom that had worked a very long way down the line to us. I spent time that morning reflecting on traditions. This family has always made Swedish pancakes. I married in, and now I eat them as well. Still, I’d argue that the mimosa is their stronger tradition. I have never visited Adam or Gina without one. I’ve never had a mimosa without thinking of them. Is that not what makes a tradition?
Aidan, Elena, G, and Brennan.
Happy Turkey Day. I hope you spent time with your family. Although I missed my Dad, my Mom, and my sister, it was great to see the other side of my family. It is always a pleasure to be in great company. Until next time.