Nickerson Lake brings fond memories. In writing about the lake, I skipped over the island up at the end opposite the Country Club, which I have since considered a bonus. New York’s Finger Lakes, not far from where I now live, are highly touted, but each goes straight down, with nary an island anywhere, leaving me feeling cheated.
I remember that going up to the island was a fair trip from the cottage in the rowboat, but well worth the rowing; a sandwich and soda pop went with me. With no one else there, it was my island for the moment. I remember only once when three friends went along. We had no bathing suits, so when the wading-depth water tempted, underwear was the only choice. I had my camera with me and clicking seemed risque, as we pretended to be unfastening. The film had only eight exposures, so each one counted.
There obviously wasn’t a photographer amongst us, as the images were lightstruck, with light covering up a good part of each. I do have one light-struck snapshot of me in a “surprised” state for posterity. No one went into the water, probably because it would have meant waiting to dry off.
Ina would process the film, so there was no concern about the images, as there might have been had they been sent to Portland or Boston. Once printed, Ina would place each on a huge drum that was heated and moved slowly around till the dry photos fell off. Next she placed them on large ferrotype plates of black spring steel, which left them with a glossy coating when they dried.
The photographs were then stacked between 8-by-10-inch pieces of glass with a weight placed on top. This weight would be one of two big embossing stamps, which put “Porter” or “Porter Studios” on the corner of each enlargement. The only other photos that received this treatment were the 5-by-7-inch glossies that went to newspapers. Glossy had better contrast on the printed page.
Just writing this rather wears me out. Such a contrast to the simple steps taken after clicking a digital camera today.
However, the same confidentiality could be assumed then as now. When two married men brought in films taken outside a camp down in the Haynesville Woods, they could assume no notice would be taken of the two girls shown with them. Ina did mention the fact to me, knowing it would go no further.
Till now, anyhow.
Byrna Porter Weir was born and grew up in Houlton, where her parents were portrait photographers. She now lives in Rochester, N.Y.
