Took a long weekend to ski in Sugarbush, Vermont, recently. While that was our primary reason to head north, we usually manage some free time to explore the state's backroads, trying to capture Vermont's stereotypical charm of its pastel yellow homes, blue homes, bright red barns, its snow-covered mountains and nearly-frozen rivers.
I've always struggled shooting winter. No matter what I try, winter always looks better in my eye than in the photographs I shoot. But I keep trying-- keep looking for that perfect picture.
But on this day, it was just a house and barn that captured our attention. We were on our way to Magog, Quebec, and our favorite restaurant for dinner (about three hours away) when we spotted a long, winding road that crept up a hill through the snow. Being a firm believer of always taking the road less traveled, we drove up to look over the entire scene. At the top of the hill was a beautiful house and old farm.
Suddenly, the road wasn't important anymore. This farm house told stories about its life and its hard working owners. We knocked at the door to ask permission to take photos of this big white house and the farm across the road. The white-haired lady answered, looked at me rather strangely, and said "My house looks like hell. But go ahead."
Oh, the house could have used some paint, and the gutters were filled with leaves, forcing huge icicles to drip down. The Christmas wreath and other decorations maybe should have been taken down last month. But the place had character. Old rusted locks kept the barn doors closed now; the tractor hadn't plowed anything in years. The fences needed mending and the posts needed to be straightened. An old shirt hung at the broken garage window.
It was plain to see the owners had retired now, and had earned the right to swim in the lifetime of memories made here. And I thank them for letting me photograph this chapter of their life.
Oh Mr. Bowden...you are the master no matter what you think.
Cute mug shot in the corner. How'd you do that???
These look like paintings.