Passage, 2009

I have a two-person show with Camden-based landscape photographer Jim Nickelson opening at VoxPhotographs in Portland tonight. Click here to RSVP and get directions or e-mail me and I’ll tell you how to get there. It’s in a beautiful, modern loft space overlooking City Hall so come check out some great art, enjoy the views and have a drink or two! Hope to see you there.

First, in late April we ventured up to Fishbowl Farm in Bowdoinham where we got an inspiring tour and hands-on demo from farmer Chris Cavendish. We’ve bought beautiful produce from Chris at the farmers’ market for several years, but had never actually been to his farm. When the opportunity arose to help him plant a bed in one of his new greenhouses, we jumped at the chance to see where and how his lovingly cared for veggies and herbs grow.

A farmer's feat: happy spinach in one of Fishbowl Farm's snazzy new greenhouses.

I think pretty much everyone knows farming is not easy, but how many people have actually witnessed their local farmers at work? Seeing the steps involved in just planting a small bed of arugula in a greenhouse was so eye-opening. There’s a lot more to it than just digging up some dirt and randomly throwing in the seeds in case you were wondering (even though in our home garden, we don’t do a whole lot more than that!). Trained as an architect, Chris is nothing if not precise. From the systematic watering of seedlings to meticulously cleaning and evening out plots of fertile ground, everything is done a certain way. I had to chuckle a bit when Chris would diplomatically correct Scott’s way of doing something, such as leveling out the soil. The photos below are probably the best way for you to get a sense of some of the steps involved in planting a bed from seed.

Farmer Chris demonstrates how to aerate the soil.

After worm castings have been added as a soil supplement, farmer for the morning tills the soil (while being careful not to step on it) with a nifty contraption powered by a power drill.

The expert soil leveler shows us how it's done.

The magic shoe boards make for a compressed, even surface in which to sow seeds.

Don't forget to check the chart to see what's next in line for planting!

Seeds (in this case arugula) are calculated to evenly disperse in the soil using this pinpoint seeder.

Shopping at the farmers’ market is all well and good, but you will appreciate the produce even more if you witness the planning and hard work that goes into each pea you pop into your mouth. If you get the chance, visit one of your farmers on his/her turf and see exactly what goes into growing and cultivating those gorgeous veggies you are eating. I’m guessing they’d be happy to have you take a look around. We’re very grateful to Chris for generously spending his time educating us about a small piece of sustainable farming. (Our garden beds at home are much more even now as a result!) When we saw him at the farmers’ market on Saturday, he informed us “our” arugula was for sale, so I guess we didn’t mess up too badly!

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Wild Maine plant expert Tom Seymour with edible wintergreen berries.

As you may have guessed from the title of this post, our other field trip involved foraging wild plants. We attended a walk at Crystal Spring Farm with wild plant expert Tom Seymour that was sponsored by the Brunswick Topsham Land Trust. While I’m probably not going to regularly go out and harvest milkweed, cattails and violets—because of taste and texture, as well as the time involved in accumulating enough to make a meal—it was fascinating to learn that these plants, among other commonly found wild vegetation, are edible. Seymour does primarily live off the bounty of the Maine woods (and his garden), claiming to enjoy some of the wild plants so much that he freezes them so he can indulge in the winter. With child-like glee, Seymour described the multiple uses for all these plants in their various stages of development from culinary to medicinal. For instance, the young green shoots of cattails can be peeled to reveal a white inner core that tastes a bit like celery. Later in the season, when the seed buds are green, they can be cooked and eaten like corn on the cob. Finally, the male cattail flowers produce pollen that you can use as a flour substitute (gather it by shaking the flower head into a bag).

The green outer layers of young cattail shoots can be peeled to reveal a crisp, white, edible interior.

The plant with the best taste that we found, in my opinion, is one called Indian cucumber. Its small root has the pleasant taste of a sweet cucumber. Speaking of Indians, I assume it’s them we have to thank for being the guinea pigs with these wild plants. I wonder if it was all a process of trial and error figuring out what could and shouldn’t be eaten. Luckily, there are some good guides out there to help us modern-day foragers locate the right wild plants. Suffice it to say, if I ever find myself in an Into the Wild situation in Maine, I’ll be in good shape—as long as all I have to do all day long is gather food.

Seymour holds the lauded Indian cucumber.

Artist Corey Daniels at his gallery.

It never ceases to amaze me what incredible people reside in the state of Maine. I am privileged in my job that I come into contact with lots of them. One of the most recent I met is a compulsively creative man by the name of Corey Daniels. It’s hard to describe what he does in a few words so you’ll just have to read the perceptive article in The New York Times about him that appeared this week. Because I was assigned to take photos for the story, I got to peek into his enchanting world, and I came away from it charged up and inspired, awestruck and impressed, filled with a desire to start making something, anything!

Multiple layers of art cover some spaces in Daniels' house, including here where he has drawn on the wall and then covered it with another piece of his art work.

This is someone I’d never heard of before who is quietly going about his business of creating and recreating all day long and into the night. Doing it out of some irrepressible urge. Doing it out of love for shape and form. Making compelling scenes by combining disparate found objects. Painting and drawing on canvases, walls and floors. Taking stunning large format photographs. Regularly reinventing himself and his vision. At a time in his life when most people would be content to curl up on the couch and watch TV in their spare time, Daniels is constantly occupied with crafting things that please his eye. And one of the most wonderful things about it all is he’s doing it without an ego. He’s humble, approachable, full of all the doubts most of the rest of us have. But that doesn’t stop him from getting up everyday and doing his thing, and doing it like no one else.

The juxtaposition between the 19th-century house and the contemporary passageway that connects the two older buildings of Daniels' gallery is indicative of his vision—a desire to meld old and new. Large-scale paintings by Daniels hang on the walls and chairs by Cleveland metalworker Doug Meyer are aligned in neat rows.

Daniels is currently transforming his well-established antique-dealing business housed in two 19th-century buildings connected by a recently renovated modern passageway into more of a contemporary art gallery. But it’s not your every day art gallery. He has a unique and exceptional eye for furniture as art for one thing. And he isn’t necessarily concerned with carrying artists who have already made a name for themselves. He’ll go out on a local art walk, find a piece of sculpture he loves and display it in the gallery. These works of contemporary art, which make their home among the wonderfully worn objects he finds at flea markets and antique shows make for an unusual combination of new and old, a blurring of the line between art and antiques.

Even Daniels' closets at the gallery are packed with artfully arranged objects that have caught his eye at flea markets and antique shows.

If you’re in the state and care about art, you owe yourself a visit to Daniels’ magical kingdom at 2208 Post Road in Wells. And if you’re out of state, I’d venture to say it’s more than worth a special trip.

The converted 19th-century barn that makes up part of Daniels' gallery is adorned with a stone sculpture from the 1960s by Tony Conway.

In late November of 2009 I travelled to a sprawling suburb west of Toronto to photograph the subject of a Running Times feature in the March issue of the magazine, which is now on the newsstands. Runners profiled in the magazine all have something special about them, but this one just may take the cake. The subject was 78-year-old Ed Whitlock, a legend in the world of running whose many accomplishments include a 5:41 mile in the second half of his eighth decade and a 2:54 marathon at age 73, both age-group world records. Amazing, right? But there’s more. Whitlock trains ONLY on a short (no more than 5-minute) loop in a graveyard two blocks from his home. He runs round and round in circles day after day, not varying his speed, just plodding along for an allotted time, which can be anywhere from 20 minutes if his arthritis is bothering him to 3 hours when he is healthy and preparing for a marathon.

You should read the full story to get a really good sense of Whitlock’s attitude and approach. The writer, who happens to be my husband, does a marvelous job of capturing his spirit. Better yet, pick up a copy of the magazine to get the full effect of the photos, which ran large with lots of room to breathe. (Above is an image of the opening spread.) Moxie Sozo did a great job with the layout. It reflects what Whitlock is all about: austerity and simplicity. I think this story is an excellent example of writing, photography and design working in concert. Too often in publications one of those three elements is lacking and it takes away from the impact of a story. For a photographer, there are few things worse than taking photos that you are happy with and then seeing them severely cropped or run postage-stamp size or covered with too much type in the layout. On the occasions when everything works well together, I get all warm and tingly and feel so glad and proud to be able to call myself a photographer.

The image at left didn’t end up being the opening photo because a horizontal worked better, but it’s still my favorite shot of the trip. This was one of those wonderful times when I had a clear vision of what I wanted to do and it worked out exactly as I wanted. Driving around the vast open farmland where Boaz runs multiple miles every day by himself, it occurred to me a portrait of him amidst the corn could be powerful. We headed out to do a portrait session just before his second run of the day as the blue gray clouds of dusk were forming ribbons in the sky. There wasn’t much time before it would be too dark. I pulled over where there were ample dried cornstalks and tall honey-colored wheat, set up a flash unit on a lightstand, added a small umbrella, set it slightly off to the side and within the first few shots could tell my vision had been fulfilled. Boaz, by this point, was comfortable in front of the camera and seemed to know exactly what stance and expression to take without me saying a word. It could be that he is a natural, but I like to think that we’d spent enough time together at this point that he was comfortable with me. I never take photos upon first meeting my subject. I like to get to know them first without that barrier between us and believe it makes for better photos in the long run (no pun intended). Boaz is running the Houston Marathon on January 17th. I will be rooting for him. He has not only put in long, lonely hours on the road, but he’s also an awfully nice guy—one that this country will be honored to call their own.

Sunset, Dec. 31, 2009

The sun seemed to be wishing 2009 a fond farewell last Thursday. The snow that had been lightly falling throughout the day stopped just in time for the brilliant pinky orange orb in the sky to shine brightly as it descended below the powder-coated trees. In the hopes that the sky would be clear enough to capture the blue moon rising, I dashed from field to shore. A blanket of snow covered the rocky shoreline, but the sky was filled with milky blue clouds. Still, it was a breathtaking scene. By the following morning the blue moon’s high tide had washed much of the sugary topping away. It was a reminder to me to seize more opportunities to make images. Wait a few hours, vowing to capture it later, and the whole scene may be different. So get out there you (yes, I mean you!), and carpe that diem!

2009 | 2010

]]> http://blog.staceycramp.com/2010/01/04/a-new-year/feed/ 0 scramp maxwells 2009 | 2010 http://blog.staceycramp.com/2009/12/30/got-cheese/ http://blog.staceycramp.com/2009/12/30/got-cheese/#comments Wed, 30 Dec 2009 18:22:22 +0000 scramp http://blog.staceycramp.com/?p=846 ]]> ‘Tis the season! For what, I don’t know, but that’s what everyone is saying. In this country it seems like it’s the season of excess. Even in this recession, people are out of control with buying inane stuff. I’m all about getting and giving useful, particularly perishable, gifts. This year I made organic Maine blueberry jam and rosemary and cracked pepper goat cheese. It’s incredibly easy to make both of these things. You can find instructions for any type of jam in a box of pectin. My favorite is Pamona’s Universal Pectin because it is activated by calcium instead of sugar, which means you don’t end up with sickeningly sweet jam. Basically, you heat the fruit, add a sweetener of your choice (honey and maple syrup are good non-sugar alternatives) and pectin, cook for a short while, put it in a canning jar and then boil the jar until it’s sealed. Simple as can be. (Sorry, no photos!)

The cheese takes longer, but is just as easy. Ever since Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle came out—detailing the ease with which one can make cheese—DIY cheesemakers have sprung up all over the place. I got the few necessary items needed for soft cheese making (hard cheese is indeed more complex and time consuming and I haven’t ventured into that territory yet) for my birthday and have enjoyed several batches of fresh soft cheese since then. The supplies are easily obtained through New England Cheesemaking Supply. Essentially, you heat milk, add some rennet, let it sit overnight and then drain it during the next day in butter muslin (fine cheesecloth). It’s that easy! It’s a great feeling to be able to serve and eat cheese you made yourself.  And if you can find a local source of fresh milk, all the better. I am lucky enough to know some local goat farmers that can supply me with fresh goat’s milk on demand! (This time around 2 gallons of the milk made 7 of these approximately 3-inch-in-diameter rounds.)

Making soft cheese in Maine in the winter is a bit challenging because it’s supposed to be over 70° when you’re letting the curds form and drain. On the day I made my holiday chèvre it was 11°. So I rigged up these little draining devices and put them on a radiator in the bathroom with the door closed. It worked quite well. The curds seemed to be the right consistency after about 8 hours. I extracted them from the cloth, mixed in some fine Maine sea salt, shaped the cheese into rounds and patted in festively colored fresh rosemary and cracked multi-colored pepper. Voilà, a perfect holiday gift!

]]> http://blog.staceycramp.com/2009/12/30/got-cheese/feed/ 0 scramp goat cheese finished goat cheese draining http://blog.staceycramp.com/2009/11/12/favorite-fall-film-photos/ http://blog.staceycramp.com/2009/11/12/favorite-fall-film-photos/#comments Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:32:06 +0000 scramp http://blog.staceycramp.com/?p=791 ]]> Fall is my favorite season. I don’t think it was always that way. I wasn’t thrilled to go back to school or to rake the piles upon piles of leaves the maple trees strew across my family’s lawn when I was growing up. But as an adult, it’s ideal. The tourists are largely gone. It’s easy to find a place to be alone with nothing but the sound of rustling leaves underfoot. The light is golden yet subdued. The dark browns, deep reds and glowing yellows send me into color-driven creative frenzies. Something about spent vegetation is very appealing to me; it has more character, like a well-used pie tin. Here are some of my favorite shots from the past two months. Enjoy!

The crowd at the base of the Queensboro Bridge tries to catch a glimpse of the lead men's pack as it flies down First Avenue.

I shot the New York City Marathon last weekend for the combined Runner’s World/Running Times coverage of the race and the events surrounding it. Much like I did for the Boston Marathon, I shot and compiled several online slideshows. And much like Boston, it was a rewarding, but exhausting weekend. Okay, maybe a little more trying than Boston, given some ludicrous circumstances that I won’t bore you with, but that involve a certain hotel with a lousy Internet connection and lung-searing fresh paint fumes!

ANYWAY…back to the race. I started out at 58th Street and First Avenue where the runners first come off the Queensboro Bridge and enter Manhattan at mile 16 of the race. I’ve been at this spot in the past and even as a person who shies away from noise and crowds (such a natural choice I am for covering a 40,000-person race in the fourth-most-populated city in the world!), I never tire of the roar that erupts at this spot as runners come off that bridge. Almost makes me want to run the race. ALMOST, I said. How cool is it that all these strangers are cheering for you? You must feel like the biggest hero in the world when you hear that crowd.

The swarm of people that boisterously welcomed runners coming into Manhattan.

One of several Maasai runners in the race added even more color to an already dazzling foliage display.

Next I jumped on the subway and headed uptown to the east side of Central Park. It was actually much easier to get around than I thought it would be based on past experience. The crowds were thin between miles 24 and 25 of the course (a great place to watch if you don’t want to fight your way through mobs of people, but still want to be relatively close to the finish).

The two most important tools for friends and families of marathoners: a phone and a camera.

Then it was on to the finish, well, with a slight detour. I meant to head toward the finish but actually wound up near Columbus Circle, which is the half-mile-to-go point. (One of these years I’ll know where all those windy paths in Central Park go!) The crowds at Columbus Circle have been difficult to navigate in the past, but again, it was surprisingly sparse here so I took some shots before heading on to the finish area. This is where I met the inspirational “pan man” from Yankee stadium. Freddy, you rule.

Runners in the final half mile of the marathon cruise toward the finish in Central Park.

Eight or so blocks past the actual finish, where the runners file out of the park to meet their loved ones, I was meeting a fellow journalist who was going to help take down some information about the runners I was photographing for the Faces at the Finish slideshow. I calculated I had a half hour or so to take some shots in the immediate finish area before I was so late that he would hate me. It was a great spot to capture people in a range of post-marathon emotions…euphoria, exhaustion, misery and most frequently, relief.

The marathon can reduce even grown men into weeping babes, as demonstrated by Desmond Henderson of Ireland who sunk tearfully into a loved one's arms post-finish.

I’ve never seen so many spent looking people in one place, both physically and emotionally. It really drove home how hard running that far is (at least if you are doing it at a decently fast pace). Not that I would know.  A lot of people ask me when I am photographing events like this if I’m a runner. Many say “you look like a runner.” (And let me tell you, that is not a compliment. They might as well say “you have a flat chest, cavernous eye sockets, dangerously sharp cheekbones and a hard gaze.”) But I’m not a runner. Not really anyway. I often say “I used to be” because to me being a runner means competing in running events, which I did in high school and my first year of college and then sporadically afterwards until I took up cycling, which is now my sport of choice. My fragile frame has a hard time enduring the toll pounding the pavement takes. But I still know the euphoric feeling running can bring. And its pain and disappointments as well. Photographing this range of emotions is a way for me to live vicariously through people who are able to run 26.2 miles. And for that I am grateful.

LATE AUGUST: We visited my sister in Connecticut, where there were wildflowers, fog….

a bathtub in the woods…

farm-fresh fingerlings and a delectable stew…

LATE SEPTEMBER: I went to the Common Ground Fair (for the first time I’m ashamed to say). There were proud farmers….

and lovely food specimens…

I biked up to Bar Harbor from South Portland (yes, that IS 162 miles) with two wonderful friends over two lovely fall days. We spent the second night on Little Cranberry Island where my friend Kelly grew up. Her mother, Anna, whose picture should be next to the word hospitality in the dictionary, still lives there, as do some of her siblings, some of whom are lobstermen. They provided us with a dinner of the freshest, most succulent lobster ever…

The next day I had a couple hours to explore the island in all its golden fall glory….

EARLY OCTOBER: I traveled to Michigan for a Running Times shoot. There was a world-class runner, a crazy chapati-eating dog (photos of these curiosities to come in the Jan/Feb issue of the magazine) and corn, lots of it…

MID OCTOBER: Fall in Maine isn’t complete without a visit to an orchard. We chose Dole’s in Limington where there was a cat on a mission…

and a surfeit of the round red things….

Stay tuned for more adventures!