Erie Canal Lock

The New York State Canal System entails over 500 miles of waterways throughout upstate NY. A major portion of the system is the famous Erie Canal first opened in 1825. The canal passes less than a mile from my house – walk up across our hay fields, through the hedgerow, across a neighbor’s field, through a swamp, across the RR tracks, and boom you’re there.

The canal hasn’t been used commercially for many years. It fell on hard times and wasn’t exactly what you would call an asset to the community for awhile, but these days “it is enjoying a rebirth as a recreational and historic resource” as they say on the official New York State Canal website.

Just outside of town is one of the many canal locks. Locks help hold the proper water levels and deal with changes in elevation.  A lock basically consists of two gates between different elevations. A boat enters the lower gate, the water is raised inside the lock to match the upper level, and then the boats leaves the upper gate. Here is a link to an animation of a lock.

Watching a boat move through the lock might not sound like the high point of year, but it is actually pretty amazing to watch in a leisurely sort of way on a hot July afternoon. There is a walking/bike path that runs for miles along the canal and near the lock are some picnic areas that are nice for lunch breaks.

Mid-February is not a good time to hang out at the lock. I’m not exactly sure why, but they drain large parts of the canal during the winter – our little stretch is one of them. It isn’t completely dry or anything. There is always a stream of water running down the middle of the bed. So the lock sits quietly all winter long waiting for spring like everybody else.

The locks have a lot of big bright yellowish orange and blue boxes and huge gears and pipes and control booths and boats and what not so they get photographed a lot. I’ve never bothered. Then one night I was driving by and I thought it might be cool to take some shots at night during the winter when everything is sort of abandoned and quiet.

I let this idea roll around in the back of my mind for a few weeks and finally decided to try it. Unfortunately the weather decided not to cooperate. Every time I had an evening free a blizzard would hit. I don’t mind working in the cold, but negative wind chills and horizontal snow fall just isn’t conducive to photography.

After several weeks of this I fianlly got a break and headed out. It was maybe 25F, but no snow, not much wind, and nice clear black skies. I spent a couple of hours fiddling around down there. Nobody else was around – just me moving in and out of the shadows with the sound of  water hissing through the culverts as background.

I might go back during the summer when I don’t have to jump up and down to keep from freezing!

MDW

P.S. It has been a while since my last post and since I visited any one else’s blog. Sorry about that, chief. I have been spending most of my time the last few weeks printing and framing images for a gallery show at the Image City Photography Gallery in Rochester. Tomorrow is the day to hang everything so it will be all downhill from there and I should have time for other things.

Winter Walking

 

Weary in mind and body – I chanced by a pine wood cathedral and turned in for some solace.

The trees of rough reddish brown reach down and gather the strength of the earth as raw material to build soaring columns. Through the years they build, layer upon layer, until high above they spread their arms in wide capitals and weave themselves into the sky. They shape not only the roof but also the walls, the aisles, the pews, and the light.

From outside it seemed dim and foreboding in here, the deep dark woods, but entering in I found that the light was not gone. It was just a different kind of light that my eyes were not prepared to see. Here the common light from outside is sifted through apertures in the walls, reflected from the clean white frozen carpet, and thus purified, it gently illuminates the air.  It is a light that you need to touch and listen to before you can see with it.

It is quiet here, but not silent. This building is living and breathing with creaks and cracks and sighs and whispers. Sometimes there is music from the choir – the trill of the squirrel, the brazen croak of the crow, the small pipes of the chickadee, the rapid drumbeat of the woodpecker adding adornment to the columns and beams. I sit and I listen.

In the ”dead” of winter here is grace and comfort. Here is a nexus, a touching point between creator and creation. I am reminded of a painting on another cathedral’s ceiling many miles and many years away of a man and God reaching out to touch one another.

I grow weary of the affectations, the pride, the prejudice of people. I feel the prick too of my own failures. The forest is free from such things. The plants and animals live only to be what they are. They do not try to sell me anything or influence my actions or deceive me or threaten me with harm.

They take only what heaven provides for them.  They take thought only for the here and now. The human mind with its swirling dreams of the future and its joys and regrets of the past, finds their existance dull and simple. Yet it is refreshing to the soul to be in their company.

I want to linger for hours, but still it is winter and I cannot brave the cold like the birds and the deer. How do they do it? Day and night and the cold seems not to touch them. I need to rise up and warm myself with some more walking. Although my body is leaving, I think my spirit may stay here for a while longer – it can catch up.

As I shuffled along the snow covered trail I thought of the flowers long past that in warmer days stood shoulder to shoulder row upon row along the verges of this path – white, orange, purple, blue, yellow, green. They would raise their faces toward the brilliant sun and wink and sigh in fragrant breezes.

The wild flowers put on their show not for pride but for sheer joy. They gladden the hearts of all that pass this way and if no one is there to see – oh well – it doesn’t bother them a bit. Bees and butterflies at least can be counted on to stop by for a taste of nectar. Sometimes they are so intent on their meal that they pay no attention to me watching them quite closely.

Under grey skies the flowers have taken shelter in root and seed. The alluring colors have turned to brown. Thistles, soft and green and purple in summer, are now all razor leaves and dagger points. Queen Anne’s Lace once wide and bright white have drawn their fingers closed - each dry fist clutches a small ball of snow. Everywhere brown heads stuffed with seeds poke through the snow – Indian Paintbrush and Daisy, Milkweed and Wild Geranium.

They leave their future to the winds of winter and to the birds. They rest until summer returns and the sun calls to them - time for another show.

MDW