Weekend pictures

These photos were taken along the ridge line between the Cedar Creek and Forked River watersheds travelling along the Wells Mill swamp, New Jersey. The result of ice age glacial activity, the Forked River mountains are large sand and gravel mounds deposited by ancient rivers during the retreat of the glaciers thousands of years ago. Subsequent rising and falling sea levels submerged the entire area leaving behind sand, silt and swampy lands.

Cloudspotting

Commute pictures

Weekend pictures

A brownish black tree frog, a baby lizard and four humans were the only forms of life we encountered while backpacking along the smallish trails adjoining New Jersey's highest peak, High Point. The sudden downpour that postponed our planned beginning by about an hour laid waste to the trails by scheming to make them as soggy and mushy as possible. The dead leaves helped the situation by camouflaging the beaten path. The water still dripping off the heavy undergrowth that spanned both sides of the narrow walkway decided to come off and settle on the inside of our shoes resulting in a wet squelching gait that announced our arrival to no one in particular. Sampling some of the wild berries that we found along the path made me think about survivors in remote jungles waiting for the airlift. In addition to the sojourn with nature, we took some time to explore the inside of a little known war memorial at High Point. The vertigo induced on climbing the spiral steps that go up the 200 foot monument was not the greatest feeling but the views from atop of the sprawling Poconos, Catskills and a range that I did not know compensated. We also found a location along the famed Appalachian Trail from whence we plan to trek the New Jersey length of the trail in the near future. All told, the time spent outdoors was worth every little bit.

Spring @ Home & Work

Home: 6am.
Work: 8am

Homefront

A bad sprain kept me away from work. After an x-ray proved that all was well with the foot, I decided to drive a couple of towns out of our little one and take some pictures. An abandoned snuff mill, a yellow house, a sign that said that we are proud to be Americans, Canadian geese waiting for the springtime, an old park that has fallen into disrepair and general suburbia in various states of repair and disrepair met my eyes. Every once in a while, I would stop, take a couple of pictures, listen to the rain a bit and drive on. It was good, something different from the familiar yet banal commute that some of us face on a daily basis. I drove by about three towns, twenty miles out and back – refreshed and feeling better. The architectural similarity of most of the towns, the formulaic planning, the colored signs, painted homes and paved sidewalks was distressful in its sameness yet vaguely comforting in its familiarity.