Ashes to Ashes

In recent hometown news, a near-hundred-year-old barn on the UConn campus was claimed by a three alarm fire. Built in 1922 and elegantly framing the walk near the UConn Dairy Bar, a favourite spot for locals and students alike (well, locals only when the students are gone…), the barn, and the others like it, was a significant part of my childhood. Other structures on campus of similar age and historic value have stood in significant symbolism for as long as I can remember, others, iconic of the University itself, including the Farwell-Jacobsen Barn which sits atop Horsebarn Hill Road.

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Fall Foliage, Horsebarn Hill, Storrs, Connecticut 2014

As a child, my Father and I would walk the family dog among the fields which framed it. My Mother, Grandmother, and I would frequent the Diary Bar in the summer (again, when the students were mostly gone), walking in its shade and admiring its window boxes. A couple of meaningful dates. A few close encounters. A first meeting. Several breakdowns in its midst. And, of course, many more happy times, befriending local barn cats and admiring bunnies which scurried into fields alongside.

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Window Box, UConn Dairy Bar Ag. Maintenance Barn, Storrs, Connecticut, Summer 2016

I have come to understand that home will change, particularly when the place I call home geographically is itself the same town as a University seemingly keen to build new things every month, but I digress. It seems at times the Universe has ways of reminding us when to close one chapter and begin the next. Its demise is a timely contradiction to University expansion which reaches for the sky more each month.

It often feels that people in Great Britain imagine New England, and even more specifically, Connecticut, to be pastoral havens for eccentricity framed with colourful leaves and wisps of snow once in a while, often forgetting some of the persistent issues the region faces. Barn fires, in particular, have ravaged property in the region since its settlement. It is always a tragedy, and in this case, the only fortunate thing was a lack of damage to livestock, animal, and human life.

I photographed the barn (and other parts of my hometown) when I was visiting my parents this summer and choose to remember it in the state which I saw it in then, rather than the image of a ruinous pile of ashes, embers, and general decrepitude which is circulating the internet today.

I would ask anyone who hears of the fire or also has memories of the barn and location as it stood to remember it always as a peaceful and beautiful complement to the town, and most importantly, to actively consider the other iconic places in life which we all too often overlook. Connecticut stereotypes are true at least about one thing: our communities and neighbourhoods are often strong (especially in the Quiet Corner), and I know all of my neighbours are rallying around each other.

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Top of Horsebarn Hill, Storrs, Connecticut, 2010

 

Winter in Storrs

I was back in the Northeastern United States for the holiday interim, back in the [strange] Connecticut town I called ‘home’ for twenty odd years once again. Same quirky neighbourhood, same interesting townsfolk, same local paper, same solitarily inexpensive coffeeshop I used to avoid for fear of bumping into the past.

Anyone who has been generally rootless for any number of years can attest to the fact that, when the world barrages you with images you’ve never before processed, your analytical side is sharpened as finely as your subjectivity is tested.

I have found over the past few years that this test has awakened an excitement for the simple things I had, maybe, missed in the past. The town which (in the high school just a few moments walk from my front door) my peers and I would minimally complain about to foster within us a unifying hatred for a common enemy has suddenly become visible through a new lens by most of us who have returned to see the colours we couldn’t before.

I once found this scenery bleak in winter — devoid of colour and bereft of life’s motions (and then I met Glasgow [haha]). Coming back to town after months away in a new city, and after over a year on the other side of the country has changed that perspective: there’s colour exploding everywhere here almost as vibrantly if not more as in autumn.

It’s still not exciting here in a cosmopolitain sense which would excite a teenager or young adult. The biggest town scandals usually centre around the neighbouring Willimantic, Connecticut (still a hotbed for drug activity despite continued success with gentrification attempts) and the latest developments near and around the University of Connecticut. The people here love puns, bookstores, eclectically sensitive musicians posted on street corners, and eccentric characters. Things change year to year, but every year, most things remain the same. It is a community of people in a beautiful setting.

It’s still a sleepy town in the winter, and when it’s this cold outside (in the subzero celsius range), no one wants to part with the fireplace, but we like our spiced alcohol, our funny stories, our town anecdotes, and I am so grateful to have this community to come back to in a life which, by all other accounts, has stripped me of static roots… though I’m definitely not complaining about that.

This was always enough for me, and if nothing else, travel has validated the fact that there truly is beauty here unlike anywhere else in the world.