Catching a Case of Kankamagus, Salem Gloomies & Finding Home

The town of York, Maine had colonial history, a yummy cafe and a great ocean view. What more could you ask for? The cemetery was located at the site of a large massacre by the Abenaki Indians in 1691. The tombstones dated back to the early 1700's.

It was then to Chocorua, New Hampshire. The drive was into the forests to a bed and breakfast along a bend in the river along the Chocorua River. After a stay and shoot of the charming place it was off, northwards to Lincoln. I wanted to see the Kancamagus Highway, supposed to be on of the most scenic drives in America. I'm glad my aunt told me of it, otherwise I might have missed it. It dropped down along a rushing river and looked up at steep cliffs and mountainous hills.

Lake Chocourua was silent and reflected the mountaintop of its namesake. An old splintered tree stood in the foreground and a lone kayaker paddled in the remote distance. It was very much worth the drive!

The last morning in Maine began with a shoot that brought me out onto the the wave-slammed rocks of the Marginal Way. The morning had brought in some wind and sporadic rain, creating a scene I had hoped to see whilst in this northern coastal state.

I was out on a branch of sharp rock, some ten to twenty feet above the water and the rolling waves came slamming into the base, shooting spray up and over. The noise was fantastic and all I really wanted to do was stand out on the edge and let the white waters crash around me. Alas, work to do. I shot video of it but only had my phone to snap a quick pic.

I departed the gray of Ogunquit, an up-scale tourist area, just south of Kennebunkport. It was time to head to Boston, pick up my cousin, a fellow video-hound at WGBH and then, Salem.

The underground tunneling maze of Boston was a new experience for me. I had my GPS but found that it got scrambled beneath the concrete caves. With the traffic and the quickly oncoming exits I found myself having to take a second pass to get it right.

From WGBH we went in the direction of Salem. Since there was only time enough to shoot one location I thought it appropriate to shoot Salem at its busiest time of year. I may have some childhood memories of witch-related images in my head, but can't recall any specifics.

We parked the car and then poked around.

Salem is the place that was hit with witch hysteria in the early 1690's. There happened to be politics brewing between the farming and merchant class. Soon, the Revered Parris had taken sides. When accusations of witchcraft arose, trials began, resulting in the arrest and deaths of dozens, some by hanging, pressing and exposure to the elements while in jail. As fingers started pointing a little too close to those in power, the hunt came to an end. To this day researchers speculate about why the accusers did what they did. Was it moldy bread that created hallucinations or mass hysteria that drove people to believe they saw people flying and afflicting them at night? Regardless, it was one of the grossest episodes of persecution in history.

But scary skeletons and Wiccan gatherings are so much cooler than that! And where else can you wear black every day of the week and be fashionable?! You will have to pardon the sarcasm, but we felt a very nasty vibe in that town. I should begin by saying that we met some really cool and friendly people in that town on the way out! But many of our first interactions involved people being openly rude beyond the norm.

They've really capitalized on the whole 'spooky witch' thing. Many of those of the Wiccan persuasion consider this Mecca and Halloween celebrations and ghost tours are very popular.

We visited the cemetery, grabbed some food (sweet potato fries) and did shots all throughout the town. As we head out of town a hustler for a freak show saw our camera and just had to do a plug. We were more than happy to get him in the lense. He hammered a nail into his nasal cavity and my cuz pulled it out. Good stuff!

After dropping off my cousin I head out of town. Both in and out I had passed by the illuminated Fenway, where the playoffs were taking place. In addition to the tunnel I became proficient driving in Boston rush-hour. Weaving the full-size Grand Marquis in the herring bone flow of traffic felt good. Waiting through a series of red to green sequences of stoplights didn't feel so great. But one way or another, I would see Cape Cod that evening.

One thing I learned, and learned it the hard way, was how quickly the tolls sucked through available cash. I hit a toll with no cash in hand. (I had always wondered what would happen in that type of situation.) Well, the woman in the toll both gave me an envelope to fill out and in the rush I inquired to how one goes about getting an EZ pass. She procedes to tell me that you get it online and they mail it out to you and you put it on your windshield. "You have one right there!" What I didn't realize is that my rental car came equipped with the EZ Pass. You simply pull the slide towards you. This way you can ease through the toll lane and when you see a green light, continue on. I was amazed that there was no honking behind me, no angry toll worker. Sometimes you learn things the hard way. But at least now I know!

I was in Cape Cod for only an evening and the beginning of a morning. The weather was warm and moist with a breeze coming over Hyannis harbor. My lodging and appointment was right across from the docks, so the feel of the Cape was in a stone's throw.

I wanted to make Callicoon, New York following my shoot. It would be nice to explore the Cape but the five and a half hour drive would be over more quickly if I head out ASAP. Besides, the Cape needs some quality time. I was fortunate enough to spend time out there when I was little and grew up with many echoes of the region.

Callicoon is on the border of Pennsylvania and is known to sit in the 'Bocce Belt.' The place I shot seemed to accentuate that. In fact the decore did not sit so well with the manager I was working with but the Italian-American's seemed to love it!

Next, it was time to hit my birthplace. As the next day's shoot was in the vicinity, I drove to the Hudson Valley, where West Point sits along the Hudson.

I tried to enter the gate but was turned away without an appointment. I know we were able to enter when I was little, but September 11 must have changed things. I could have called ahead and schmoozed my way in like usual with the camera, but not this time. Instead, I head down to my first neighborhood, Highland Falls.

Of all the beautiful fall foliage I have seen, the Hudson Valley seemed the most beautiful. I liken the autumn drive to cruising through a bowl of Fruity Pebbles (but you may need to kick out out of few of the purple ones.) It has seemed too consistent to be real at times. It's easy to be impressed with a few clumps of nice colors mixed in with the drab. But through Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut and now New York, I have seen the fall colors at their peak of perfection.

In the Hudson Valley the mountains are almost completely covered with trees and instead of rolling, gradual rises like in the Poconos, there are sharply rising domes and series upon series of valleys and peaks. At times the rock is so shear that it exposes a gray cliff that cuts clean from the trees. The Hudson river runs through all of this.

You can look down upon West Point from the heights above. It makes you think about how important the river was in making inroads into this place and how much sense it made to build a fort here. During the American Revolution the British realized if they could take the Hudson they would have severed the head of the Revolution (New England) from the remaining colonies and the war would be over. Well, we kept Fort West Point but just barely. Washington gave command of the fort into the hands of his most trusted fellow General, Benedict Arnold. But by then Arnold had been so slighted by our government and had married a British sympathizer. Arnold let the for go to ruin and was about to hand it over to the British when his planned was discovered, just in time!

It is a sad chapter and Arnold would have likely been one of our greatest heroes had history not had taken such a different course. But the fort stayed in our hands and later became the United States Military Academy.

When Vietnam came about it just so happened my dad got stationed there. Then, I was born there. The first hands on my head were those of a Major. The ghosts of General Washington, Lee and Arnold whispered in my ear, "Remember Us!" To be near a great river and a river valley would be sated only in places such as this or the Mississippi river valley! ;)

The downtown stretch of Highland Falls has quite a few businesses across from the great big West Point Museum. Inside the museum there was wings that focused on West Point History, American Wars and the like. I had lunch in the Park restaurant. It was a popular, cozy and down-to-earth local place with a huge menu and these cool moon-shaped leather booths.

Across from me was a young female cadet and her mother. A few things really struck me, one being that old historic gray cadet uniform. Another was that it was a female. It's amazing how the male only tradition has changed within my lifetime. And finally, was how young these cadets appear. I mean, yeah, they are just out of high school. But for some reason, the fact that they are military cadets puts it into a different perspective. Then again, I am getting old. In fact, I am ten years older than my folks were when they were out here! Now if that doesn't make one feel aged!

Finally, the task of finding my first home! Through piecing together my folk's good memory and some exploring of my own I found it. They were the buildings that originally housed J.P. Morgan's horses and carriages. Ours was the carriage house. It composed of a front room with a bay window, a bedroom and a small hallway where I slept. Of course, I have no memory of any of this, but it was something pretty see. It had become run-down since my folks lived there and there was a couple that was arguing about their food stamps and stuff as they entered their apartment. But I did meet an overly friendly fellow that confirmed the location and the history and volunteered a view of his place.

There was a creek that ran beneath a bridge and over the bedrock, dropping down to the Hudson. I walked down and videoed it, spending time to listen to the sounds of the place. You could hear the trains that ran along the Hudson and the rushing of the steady stream. At the end of the road you could see the great big Hudson and the tree-topped mountains all around.

I'm sorry that I didn't have time to stop in the parts of New Hampshire where my Great Grandfather immigrated to when a teenager, but that will come another day.

Tomorrow is another shoot and then another long drive to the Finger Lakes region. But one more day closer to being back in my own home near my own river valley!