Tag: Maine

Photo by Joe WilcoxMar 13, 202610:09 pm

One School to Rule Them All

I debated with myself about whether or not to share the Featured Image. The photographic slide, from my father’s selection of hundreds—maybe thousands—is among the grittiest. There is even a hair there. But something about the dirt and vintage (circa 1973) adds an air of authenticity at a time when people use Artificial Intelligence to create unauthentically authentic art. (You get the point, yes?)

My father, uncle, and aunts would have attended this schoolhouse in Woodland, Maine. My grandmother was a teacher’s aide there, unless I am mistaken. I know she worked at a school somewhere. Washburn, if not?

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 26, 20269:27 pm

A Brook Runs Through It

We return to my father’s big stash of slides; the Featured Image is from January 1973, according to the date stamp. He used a Kowa, likely the seT R2, to take photos of family, nature, and wildlife. I don’t know all his reasons for choosing the camera but one was the leaf shutter—in each lens rather the camera body. The design was characteristically unique then, and now. In the modern era, leaf shutters are more commonly found in fixed-lens models, like the several series from Fujifilm, Leica, and Sony.

Regarding the photographic subject, this might be the brook that cuts through part of the family farm, which my father gave away, not sold, to the co-pastors of his church about three weeks before his death in April 2024. They sold the property in May of last year, ending the Wilcox legacy started in 1895 by my great-grandfather.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 18, 20267:56 pm

How Not to Photograph Kids

What a sorry lot of siblings we were. Eldest daughter Annette (right) looks the best. The youngest, Laurette, is placid but not exactly enthusiastic. And me—yes, me—looks like I want to be anywhere else but there.

The portrait comes from my father’s collection of photographic slides. My sister Nanette (missing from the photo) and I visited the Old Man at his home in Maine two years ago today. The following month he went into hospice, and he died 40 days later—April 16, 2024. We later learned that via quick-claim deed he gave away the family farm to the copastors of his church. They sold the property 13 months later.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 16, 20268:39 pm

Best Ride in the Maine North Woods

For anyone applying various vintage or classic film filters to their modern photos, the Featured Image is what you’re trying to achieve. This shot is absolutely authentic. It’s the real deal. You’re looking at my uncle’s dune buggy, as captured by my father in summer 1974, or thereabouts. The vehicle, built around a Volkswagen Beetle chassis, never touched sand, by the way, just the rocky ground of the Allagash wilderness.

My cousin Dan and I used to ride on the back of the buggy, on the (yellow) fiberglass body, holding onto the bar for support. Given how rough were the makeshift roads that lumberjacks had made decades earlier, it’s amazing neither of us fell off.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 14, 20269:09 pm

My Parents, for Valentine’s Day

I resumed looking through my father’s stash of photo slides, today. The number of bad shots is astonishing, and the Featured Image is one of them. I share it nevertheless, for what it captures of the 1970s and because the couple are my parents.

Photographer is unknown, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there is none. My father easily could have used a self-timer and tripod to capture a self-portrait. There is no date on the slide, but I would guess winter of ’72 or ’73. My father’s father died in June of Seventy-two. My mother pushed for divorce not long later. They look happy enough here, so I assume this is before the marriage disintegrated. If true, each would be 30 years old.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 7, 20269:21 pm

Mystery Pup

The process of reviewing the vast quantity of slides left behind by father continues. My guess is that the majority are from the 1970s, when my father was an amateur photographic fiend. He shot with a Kowa—likely the seT R2—preferring slides to film for their shareability and presumed better longevity.

The Kowa appealed to him for interchangeable lenses with leaf shutters—an innovative design that made the camera nearly silent, which made scaring off wildlife less likely. An avid hunter, later in the decade he put aside the rifle and only shot animals with the camera.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 5, 20269:30 pm

A Fresh Pot of Bean-hole Beans Unearthed

This is what absolutely authentic photography looks like. To digital content, I can apply film or vintage filters using any of several editing apps to make a photo look like the Featured Image. But this is the real deal, as captured by someone using my father’s film camera—likely in June or July 1972 or ’73. That’s a pure guesstimate.

Likely location: The lumberjack camp the Wilcox brothers called “Dodge City“. During the early 1970s, a group of hunters would spend as much as three weeks in the Allagash Wilderness, which is along the St. John Valley in an area also called the Maine North Woods. My Uncle Glenn had jacket patches made identifying the group as the Falls Brook Rangers, Yankeetuladi.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 3, 20269:38 pm

Across the Snow

Two years ago, my sister Nanette and I discussed traveling to Maine to visit our father, whose health appeared to be declining. We made the trip, and visited with him February 17-18. He died on April 16, 2024.

As I explained yesterday, the Old Man left to me a treasure-trove of photographic slides, most of which he presumably had shot. They’re all mixed up, which makes sorting through them kind of a memorial journey—no, an adventure! The current batch is so far from 1973 and ’74, and I have seen so few.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 2, 20269:10 pm

She Feels Poorly

The process of sorting through my father’s stash of photographic slides continues, sputtering along. I cannot dedicate the time necessary to sort through them quickly, nor to clean them up (if such process is possible). They are filthy.

The Featured Image has a processing date of January 1973. The young girl beneath the blanket appears to be one of my sisters, two of whom looked more alike. Nanette says “pretty sure it’s me. The eyes would be a bit crossed if it were” our youngest sister. “That’s exactly how I lay on the couch when I’m sick today. My guess is I was sick”.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJan 31, 20269:22 pm

Hello, Baby Bird

The lasting legacy left by my father is a significant number—hundreds at least—of photographic slides that remain from those he said had been damaged by water. I don’t know the specifics of the incident that destroyed perhaps half of them. That’s what he inherited to me, and I got more than did most family members.

The co-pastor couple of his church got the family farm to hold in trust intact. They did, for a whole 13 months, until May 2025, when a sale closed and they profited from it. Fortunately, the young farmer buying the property is son of the man who had leased the land for decades; I am sincerely glad for that.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJan 14, 202610:24 pm

We Three Cousins

If you wondered what native, rustic Aroostook County, Maine men looked like in 1978 (or thereabouts), I present the Featured Image taken by my Uncle Glenn. Cousin Dan (left) used an HP film scanner to digitize the photo from an original slide. He emailed the portrait, and two other photos, this afternoon. The scary dude in the middle is me; my arm listlessly hangs over my younger cousin’s shoulder—and holds what looks like a rock; why would that be?

Since I haven’t spoken to the cousin on the right for more than two years, and I know he is a somewhat private, I withhold his name out of respect. Dan, on the other hand, is easier going— as am I—and his identity was revealed in other posts.

Photo by Joe WilcoxMar 7, 20257:32 pm

Oh, Bearded Me

After my father died nearly a year ago, my sister sent some of his memorabilia—thousands of slides (mostly) from the 1970s; journals from the same era (not yet read by me); and a handful of photos.

About six months passed before I opened the boxes containing the stuff. Nearly three weeks before dying, he gave away the family farm to strangers, which poisoned my interest in my father’s personal things. I am still quite unresolved about the situation.