Today is the day between my late mother-in-law’s birthday and my wife Susan’s birthday. October 26 is also exactly half a year until my next birthday. An interstitial day, perhaps no more or less important than yesterday or tomorrow, and yet these in-between times, these slightly symbolic signposts draw my attention to time. The passage of time. And timelessness. To the todays we will hopefully live in the future, and those we have already lived. Let’s meditate a moment on a couple of yesteryears today, specifically on October 26, 2015 and October 26, 2016.
Why those two previous incarnations of this day?
One of the quirky habits I’ve developed over the last year plus during my deep dive into our years at Rosslyn is to filter my photos by the current day of the month. this works really well for photos in the last decade or so. Thank you, clever technology!
But unfortunately, photographs from the early years do not all have similarly reliable metadata. Sadly, they don’t surface in these capricious camera seines. Long on my to do list, I resolve to dig into those early years and do my best to add dates (and correct, mistaken dates due to incorrectly, set dates on cameras, etc.)
For now, I offer you a few yesterdays today from 2015 and 2016. Enjoy.
Those first photographs of the sun rising out of Vermont’s Green Mountains are a recurring theme over the years. Each time startlingly new and stunningly beautiful. A new day.
The two photos of the gates and railings at the boathouse are especially poignant as we rehabilitate our rehabilitation, repairing and replacing so much of the woodwork that we had originally built a deck and a half ago. Such of the challenges of such a harsh lakeside environment.
Susan’s interestingly framed snapshot above combines these almost-Halloween days with a sweet cameo of Tom Duca’s gates that I recently featured.
A wider panorama with over-juiced color!
That image of Rosslyn’s boathouse with plenty of sandy beach (typical for this time of year if it weren’t for the unprecedented rains, rains, rains this past summer) almost feels like a photograph.
And I’ll conclude with the snapshot of our docks, resting on the grassy terrace behind the seawall. This has been the case every year except for this year. Flooding concerns next spring compelled us to transport all of the docks inland and upland.
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