The Comfort of Familiar Places

I love traveling to new cities—experiencing different cultures, wandering unfamiliar streets, and of course capturing it all with my camera. But let’s be honest: most of us are lucky if we can do that once, maybe twice, a year. So, what about the other 50 weeks? Where do you go to make photographs when you’ve already “been there, done that”?

Good question. 😊

For me, the answer is familiar places—the ones I return to again and again. Not because I’m out of ideas, but because those places are never the same twice. The buildings may stay put, but the light changes, the weather shifts, the seasons turn, and the people come and go. And just as importantly, I change. Depending on my mood or state of mind, I notice completely different things. Sometimes it’s a tiny detail I’ve walked past a hundred times that suddenly demands attention. Other times it’s a stranger, a reflection, or a shop I’ve somehow never stepped into before.

One such place for me is the village of Greenport, on the North Fork of Long Island, about ten miles west of the very tip of the island. I’ve been visiting Greenport for nearly twenty years. Over that time, stores have opened and closed, houses have been restored, and art galleries and restaurants have come and gone—but the essence of this town remains unchanged.

Salt, time, and stories stacked quietly.

Greenport is a harbor town at heart. In the summer months, the docks fill with multimillion-dollar yachts—gleaming, polished, and unmistakably out of place against the weathered wood and salt-stained pilings. It’s an interesting contrast, one that I never tire of photographing. Luxury comes and goes, but the bones of the place remain the same.

Locals refer to this part of Long Island simply as NOFO—short for North Fork.

Around here, this says everything

It’s not flashy, and it doesn’t try to be. NOFO has its own rhythm, slower and more grounded, shaped by water, weather, and generations of people who’ve worked the land and the sea. That quiet confidence is what keeps pulling me back.

Nothing fancy, just well-used and still doing its job.

Familiar places don’t ask much of you. They don’t need to impress or surprise. They simply wait, offering something different each time you show up—if you’re willing to look. For me, that’s the real fun. Not knowing exactly what I’ll find, but knowing I’ll always find something.

Standing exactly where it always has

And that’s the comfort of familiar places: they give you room to slow down, look deeper, and keep discovering something new, even when you think you already know them by heart.

Some things are still made the slow way

Greenport's version of Door Dash