We all have those specific childhood memories; the ones that come pouring back with even the slightest reminder. For me, most of these memories take me to one place: Maine. To condense a deeply important part of my childhood, my grandfather purchased a seaside house on Mount Desert Island in Bernard, Maine before I was born where I spent most of my younger summers, entranced by the incredible Maine nature. My grandfather always loved lighthouses, so in proper form he had one built on the wharf opposite the house. Needless to say the place is unique. After many years away, I had a chance to spend a few days in this familiar territory this past week, confronted with reminders of another time.
Of times as a kid crouching in wonder by tide pools, exploring blue-purple shells, barnacle-covered rocks, the occasional starfish, and pieces of rounded glass (like little gems, smoothed by their journey). The early morning sounds of lobster boats and the local ferry the same as when I was enjoying a summer break between 4th and 5th grade (waking in the attic, where the kids slept). The creak of particular steps on the staircases, the feel of the engraved doorknob in my hand, the woody smell of the inside of the house, the sensation of grasping the ladder that leads from the wharf down to the pebble waterfront, the look of the buoys that line the wall of the shop and lighthouse, the weight of the remaining wood-type pieces from my grandfather's collection (at one time, one of the largest private collections in the world) – all of these things take me back to a time and state of mind that I can’t simply visit by myself. I need the help of these sensations; these unchanged details that help me feel my memories just a little bit deeper. And with that comes gratitude.
All of the images below were shot either at the family house, in the neighborhood, or within a few miles by car.