Vermont is a pretty place, I’m really quite fond of it. It photographs well because it is well.
Looking through my old pictures has got me thinking about what people other than me and mine like to look at.
Vermont’s part of that subcategory, I guess: of things people like to look at.
The old barns, the rolling hills and the trees, they’re the fabric of a life I grew up with and have seldom left behind, even for a long weekend.
Looking through my old pictures has got me thinking about what people other than me and mine like to look at.
Vermont’s part of that subcategory, I guess: of things people like to look at.
The old barns, the rolling hills and the trees, they’re the fabric of a life I grew up with and have seldom left behind, even for a long weekend.
Does that familiarity make me more capable of appreciating the beauty, or less? Does it give me insight or bias? Maybe it depends on the year. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think insight matters much when compared to simple appreciation.
Has my time here made me appreciate it more? Love it more? Absolutely yes. There was never really a time in my life where I resented it, or was unable to see the beauty in this place. Well, maybe in February some time, every now and again.
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But it’s March now, and that’s a very fine thing.
Has my time here made me appreciate it more? Love it more? Absolutely yes. There was never really a time in my life where I resented it, or was unable to see the beauty in this place. Well, maybe in February some time, every now and again.
