This morning I'm leaving Barrington Rhode Island, a satellite of Providence, where my brother and sister-in-law and niece live. Barrington is a lovely little Eastern community threaded around inlets of the sea. My brother is a psychologist and his wife a scientist, and my niece a fifth grader. Their neighborhood is very close to the city, but very private and quiet, and their house, which is the perfect size for three people, strikes a balance between simplicity and graciousness and welcoming comfort. I got to drop in on a typical day. We picked up my niece at school, went for ice cream, then watched her at karate class, where she did her routines with the fluid confidence of a dancer. Then home for a truly homemade dinner. Scott and Tetiana are among the few people I know who eat only real food.
I've mostly left the camera alone so far this trip, preferring to experience things without its mediation, and I haven't taken a good picture so far. Normally, my shooting is about split: half a striving for pictures that work as pictures, and half simple journaling, recording a few of the things that go by. So far, this trip, it's all been the latter type.
My 24mm lens failed miserably at karate class; I really needed that 12-35mm zoom I want.
In an hour I leave for Cambridge, Massachusetts, to visit my dear mother, who is now 80, and my stepfather, who is the same age but still works at Harvard. Later tonight I'll leave Cambridge headed for Vermont.
I've been blessed with a lovely drive so far, with amenable weather and relatively little traffic. Upstate New York is gorgeous, especially with the fall color nearing peak. With all the talk that this country generates around the world and here, one thing we frequently don't bother to mention is what a beautiful place it is. Even with the population increasing, there are still vast tracts of relatively open land between the ribbons of highways and the far-flung cities and towns. Especially where the hills grow steeper and wide you can appreciate this. America really is "the beautiful."
*In the old sense of "a going on, the action moving forward." In the 16th century, a "progress" was an entourage moving about the countryside. Of course I don't have an entourage; it's just me in my slick little ultrahonda with the smooth stick shift.
ADDENDUM: I failed to credit Kye Wood for the tip that resulted in yesterday's post. Sorry, Kye, and thanks. And see Stan Rogers' comment to that post; he explains my position well (note that I'm not featuring comments during my trip.)