I don’t know what heals us. Maybe it is time, or the woods, or simply the reminder that the world goes on being beautiful whether or not we are ready to look. I only know I walked out of Winona lighter than I walked in.
Finding the perfect time to see the changing leaves of the Adirondack Park requires some finesse. Not every weekend allows for the drive. If the goal is photographing in the High Peaks area, located on the opposite side of the park from where I live, that is best accomplished over two days. The sun brings out the best of the autumn colors, so questionable fall weather also cuts down the number of ideal weekend opportunities. And there is always the point at which the wind and rain manage to strip the trees of their color, leaving us with something between brown and black, the opposite of what I came to photograph. But getting outside the house and inside the Adirondack Park is an excellent experience no matter the season. Roads of dirt or hard-packed snow make the experience even more compelling.
This past weekend was a shorter trip. The Stillwater-Big Moose Road offered dirt for the Subaru, foliage for the handheld and drone cameras, and water for some reflections and added scenery. The water in the Stillwater Reservoir was quite low, which made for some interesting photographs and hiking in places that normally would only be accessible by boat. It wasn’t the High Peaks weekend I had been waiting for, but a dirt road, a half-empty reservoir, and a few hours of sun gave me more than enough.
All of these photographs were captured with the drone, a DJI Mini 5 Pro. The launch point was 43.85943° N, 75.00660° W.
My Dad’s favorite season was Fall. He always saw the good in things, so I’d be reluctant to argue with his choice. On this particular morning, Fall was going out of its way to be good and beautiful, and snapping photographs along the way was a delightful disruption of the daily commute. Even a line of transmission towers had turned to gold in the first light. He would have seen the good in that, too.
Predating both Canada and the United States, the Indigenous-derived name of Lake Ontario has been recorded by Europeans beginning in the 1630s–1640s. “Ontario” comes from an Iroquoian language, but its precise source and translation remain debated. It is commonly connected either to Wendat Ontarí:io—interpreted as “great lake” or “beautiful lake”—or to Mohawk kanyatarí:yo, meaning approximately “beautiful” or “handsome lake.” “Sparkling water” is another familiar translation, although it may derive from a related form rather than from Ontarí:io itself.
Whatever its precise origin, the name reflects the awe the lake inspired in those who first walked its shores—an emotion that still lives in all of us fortunate enough to call this place home.
There’s a particular kind of pride that comes from loving a place other people have never heard of. Oswego is, in its own way, a postcard town—its shoreline on Lake Ontario offers views worth stopping for, all along the city’s edge. It’s also a college town with the same everyday mix of shops, diners, schools, and neighborhoods you’d find in any small city. Ask anyone who grew up here, and you’ll hear the same thing: there’s something about this town.
I took this photograph from the old railroad bridge, now just a footpath, that spans the Oswego River—a structure that once carried freight and now carries walkers, joggers, and people like me chasing light. From up there, you can see why Oswego is here at all, laid out at once: some buildings that have watched the river for generations, the water moving steadily toward the lake, and at the very end of the frame, small but unmistakable, the lighthouse standing watch over the harbor.
The Iroquois called this spot osh-we-geh—”pouring-out place”—and for good reason: whoever controlled this river mouth controlled the route between the lake and everything inland. Just east of the harbor sits Fort Ontario (hidden from view in this photograph by progress), rebuilt again and again since 1727 because the ground mattered enough to keep fighting over. Centuries later, in 1944, that same fort became the only place in America to shelter refugees fleeing the Holocaust—people finding safe harbor at the very spot where the river empties into the lake.
People are fond of their hometowns in a way that’s hard to fully explain to someone who didn’t grow up there. It’s not that Oswego is the biggest or the most photographed place on earth—it’s that it’s mine. This is the Oz I know: postcard-pretty in places, quietly historic in others, and, from the right vantage point on the right evening, absolutely magic.
My overwhelming amazement with a full frame camera sensor continues. Getting straight-out-of-camera images is remarkably simple by combining the Lumix S9 with film simulations created by RossAndHisJpegs.com.
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Those were the words Alice used when replying to the Gryphon and the Mock Turtle as they asked her to tell of her history and adventures.
Those can also be interpreted as words to live by. What a wonderful way to approach life—to continually embrace change, to keep moving and growing, and to greet each new day with a perspective shaped and informed by everything learned along the way!
After 200+ miles on the Gold Wing yesterday, I was ready to trade speed for something slower and more deliberate. That meant riding the Can-Am Spyder F3 with the Panasonic Lumix S9 readily available from the storage area above the handlebars. I was now ready to pull over quickly, make rapid U-turns, and navigate dirt roads without hesitation. All images are straight out of the camera without edits.
I don’t know exactly what this spot is called or what purpose it actually serves. But along route 104 as you approach the Happy Valley Wildlife Management Area, this quick pullover always provides something different as it goes from lake to swamp to field across the course of the Summer.
Happy Valley Wildlife Management Area
There are plenty of roads to travel within this area, but many are a bit too rough for the Spyder. I stayed only long enough to enjoy one of the main roads while also ensuring that I didn’t bleed out from all of the mosquitoes.
The Finger Lakes region has a way of hiding its best moments just off the main road—you simply have to be willing to wander a bit to find them.
Autumn was settling in when we visited here in early October of 2022. The trees were beginning their quiet annual negotiation: each leaf slowly sealing itself off at the stem, an invisible abscission layer cutting it free from the branch that fed it all Summer. The result is the show we wait for all year—chlorophyll fading to reveal the golds, ambers, and rust-reds that were hiding underneath all along. It’s less an ending than an unveiling, and it’s reason enough to slow the car down and just look.
