The bald cypress is a mysterious tree. When rooted in muck, it often grows buttresses called knees. No one is certain if the knees primarily support the trunk or allow the roots to breathe. And then there are the fall colors.
There is both wildness and intimacy in a single frame, new life and old, sunlight and shadow. It’s not a place many people will ever see except in a photograph. Sometime soon it may be gone forever.
The Edenton light is of one of three screw-pile lighthouses once guarding navigation on Carolina sounds. The other two were lost at sea. A screw-pile lighthouse was mounted in pilings literally screwed into the soft substrate – sand or mud. On the rivers and sounds of coastal Carolina, firm ground was rarely found where a […]
Fog transforms the ordinary into something extraordinary, something unexpected.
The air was warm and humid. It enveloped me like a womb. There was no breeze except the one created by my own passage. Water striders dappled the smooth surface of Tranters Creek as I paddled up the North Branch. There were no sounds in the early morning except the jays and a raucous pair […]
Sidney Creek lies only ¾ mile from my house on the shore of Chocowinity Bay, but the short paddle is a transition between worlds.