Old Factory Doors and Windows – Newport, New Hampshire
I’ve experienced very little “opposition” to my photography pursuits. I think most people consider me rather harmless as I travel around the state with my camera.
I did have one occasion during a time of heightened awareness due to some national or international terrorist activity or another when I discovered I had made the police log books.
Photographing an old barn just down the street from my house, some must have thought I looked suspicious with my tripod and all. They called the police and a squad car rolled around the neighborhood. I was back home having a cup tea by the time they showed up but read about a report of “suspicious activity” on my street.
Good to know my neighbors were on high alert. Perhaps there was one of those stories of a kidnapper in a white van floating around which happens every other year or so.
Mostly the only dangers I face pursuing my photography come from rusty, barbed wire, slippery slopes, cow pies, trip hazards, “friendly dogs” and ticks.
If I even see any humans on the backroads of Vermont and New Hampshire, they usually only nod or wave. Sometimes they even contact me through email if they find a photograph of their old barn or building.
“When we walk by the same thing every day, it tends to become invisible. We forget it is beautiful”
– Edward Fielding
The old factory in Newport was a different story. Photographing an old train trestle nearby this old building with it’s unusual brick facade caught my eye. So I went over to the parking lot in front of the building and set up my tripod.
Had I stumbled upon some kind of illegal activity? Was the mob beating up someone tied to a chair in the backroom? I’m always wary of stumbling upon some clandestine pot plot in the woods (more on the West Coast than East Coast), some tweaker’s meth labs in the middle of nowhere, or even some deer poacher mistaking me for Fish and Game.
But before I could even set up my shot this voice calls out to me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just taking a photograph of this neat building,” I said figuring that would calm any fears that I was some kind of dreaded state inspector.
“If my dad were here he’d run your off.”
What? I kind of froze. What is going on here? Instinctively, a shiver ran up my spine. I played the charm card. Put out my hand and introduced myself as a photographer just looking for neat things to photograph and how much I admired this old building.
Jeez, there were a few cars around but frankly, I thought the thing was abandoned.
Slowly the guy’s suspicions faded and I even convinced him to let me take the shot shown at the top. Like a smooth operator at a single’s bar, I started asking about his business and what they do in these cool old buildings. Crossing my fingers it wasn’t some illegal chop shop, moonshiners, Jimmy Hoffa’s final resting place or worse. Too many Martin Scorsese films.
I got my shots and even got a little tour of the metal stamping operation they run. It was geeky cool being able to see what kind of parts they were making in this old factory.
