A converted New England farmstead where a timber barn, a federal-period house and modern additions sit on the same ground.
A country inn on a hillside with one direction that matters. Which way the camera points decides whether the picture is a landscape or a portrait.
A ski resort out of season: cleared slopes, no shade, and infrastructure built for function rather than for pictures.
A house on the shore of a deep glacial lake in the New Hampshire Lakes Region, where the water does more to the light than the sky does.
A grand hotel on an open hilltop north of the White Mountains, with nothing between it and the horizon in any direction.
A venue on a tidal estuary where a large volume of water leaves and comes back twice a day. Which state it is in when you photograph decides everything.
A ski mountain whose whole value is what it faces: Mount Washington and Tuckerman Ravine, straight across the notch.
A base camp at the bottom of a deep glacial notch, where the ridges take the first hours of the day and the last.
A grand hotel on an island off Portsmouth, built when people came to the coast to be cooler — which is why it is full of porches.
A grand hotel from 1902 with a very long veranda pointed at the Presidential Range. Everything about the building follows from that.