July 2025 – Roadkill Crossing

Passage Through Vermont

The Vermont State House, Montpelier, Vermont. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The third day, we traveled from our ski lodge in New Hampshire to the Vermont state capital in Montpelier. We passed Mt. Washington on the west side and then into the Green Mountain State. In French, “les monts vert” means Green Mountains.

Our first stop was at a sugar maple syrup farm, where we viewed the process of making syrup. We also got to sample “sugar snow.” Crushed ice was used in place of snow since we were there in late June.

We poured hot maple syrup over crushed ice in a hot dog container, then twirled a fork around the cooling syrup so we could taste this treat. It was absolutely amazing. To me, it tasted better than candy.

The proprietors provided a glass of water, a dinner roll, and a dill pickle to help with digestion after eating all that sweetness. I had a sip of water and then ate the pickle just to see the resulting consequences. I liked it. The pickle indeed neutralized the intense sweetness of the cooled syrup. I couldn’t eat the roll since I am gluten-free.

From there, it was on to the Vermont state capital in Montpelier. We had time to tour the unique capital building and find lunch. Since it was drizzling, we decided to eat in the building’s small cafe.

I was impressed with the building’s modesty, compared to other, more gaudy state capitals. We entered through a side door that a police guard had opened, and we were also free to roam around. There were no metal detectors.

A giant painting of a Civil War scene caught my attention. Benjamin Franklin Mason painted the Battle of Cedar Creek, which happened only 40 miles north of where we live in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. A Vermont military leader led a Union charge against a formidable Confederate defense. Col. Newton Stone was later killed in the Civil War Battle of the Wilderness.

We found a small office that had photos of all 50 U.S. state capital buildings. It covered an entire end wall.

High school students from around Vermont were holding a mock session of the state legislature. So, we had to be quiet as we peeked into the modestly appointed meeting room with a dangling chandelier in the center.

Too soon, we boarded the bus and headed to Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Crossing the border in a remote rural area like northeast Vermont went so smoothly that I don’t even remember it.

The Kancamagus Highway

Our little tour group headed north out of Boston on the first full day of our land/cruise trip through parts of New England and into eastern Canada.

Looking at the itinerary, my wife and I realized that we would be seeing much of the same scenery that we had when we visited New Hampshire and Vermont six years ago. That didn’t deter our anticipation, however. We loved visiting both states and looked forward to new adventures.

We briefly visited Franconia State Park, and then drove eastward along the Kancamagus Highway that runs from Lincoln to Conway, New Hampshire. My wife and I drove it westbound in 2019.

It was much easier driving a personal vehicle than being a passenger in a large bus. I wanted to shout “stop” multiple times as we passed scenic overlooks and lovely White Mountain vistas. Of course, I didn’t do that.

The bus made two stops, both near the terminus of the famous scenic highway. Our first stop was at the Lower Falls on the Swift River that winds its way east toward Conway.

Because of the hot and humid weather, we weren’t alone at the falls. Families and couples, young and old, cooled off in the rushing waters of the aptly named river.

A boardwalk parallel to the river made it easy to observe the fun in the water. As a photographer, I sought a better angle near the refreshing waters, though I had no intention of joining the swimmers.

The above photo shows the majesty of Swift River and its gorgeous surroundings of lush evergreens and deciduous trees that climb the mountainsides. We were fortunate to have pleasant though warm weather.

I waited until the splashing went farther downstream before snapping this photo. The wavy boulders show the eons of wear and erosion from constant, fast-running water rushing down the valley.

Closer to Conway, where the terrain flattens out, the waters slow their pace and broaden their banks. Where the rapids and falls are is where the real action is. I was glad to see it again.

My Latest Trip, One Photo Per Stop

The Tea Party Museum, Boston, Massachusetts. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

My wife and I recently did a land/sea tour of part of New England and eastern Canada. Our small group covered a lot of ground in two weeks.

Instead of inundating you with multiple photographs and detailed descriptions of the places we visited, I challenged myself to choose one photo from each day. That’s not an easy task when you see so many historical spots and scenic landscapes.

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this attempt at super-summarizing our two-week trip.

Boston, Massachusetts, was our first stop. Neither my wife nor I had ever been to this historic city that played such an essential part in the development of the United States of America. So, we flew in a day early to get settled.

Like much of the rest of the country, Boston was unusually hot for the end of June. Consequently, we opted for a trolley tour of the bustling, unfamiliar city to avoid excessive walking. That limited my usual way of photographing our trip’s highlights. Still, I was able to capture the combination of the deep history and fast pace of this 21st-century city.

I chose the photo of the replica sailing ships moored at the docks of the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum because it best represented both the history and the current vibe of Boston.

The Sons of Liberty set in motion the American Revolution by dumping 342 chests of East India Company tea into the harbor. The War of Independence began two years later near Boston.

But look beyond the vessels to the green space along the waterfront to the modern office buildings. See the bridges that connect the many commercial and business areas on and near the waterfront. This scene is but a microcosm of the thriving port city of Boston as it was in the early colonial days and is today.

In our all too brief stay in Boston, we saw historic spots and locations, city parks, monuments, lovely rowhouses, government buildings like the state capitol, and modern skyscrapers. We also found the good people of Boston to be friendly, helpful, and hospitable.

Boston proved the perfect place to begin our trip into New England and on to eastern Canada.

Early Summer Colors

Summer 2025 colors have not disappointed so far. We are only a month into the summer season in the Northern Hemisphere, and there have been plenty of opportunities to photograph her vibrant palette of hues and tones.

Here are two sets of my favorite representations of this brilliant calidoscope.

Landscapes

Please click on the photos to view them in full size.

Flowers

Zinnias.
Zinnias.
Rose of Sharon
A Holly Blossom.
Summer’s Beauty for worship.
Honey Bee on Swamp Milkweed.
Summer flowergarden.
Bee Balm.

While the Neighbors Were Away…

A fairy ring or circle in our neighbor’s backyard. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Each year, a fairy ring or circle appears in our next-door neighbor’s backyard. They often don’t get to see it since they go camping as often as they can.

After several rounds of heavy recent rains, this circle of False Parosal fungi popped up. In the morning, only a couple of fungi appeared. By late afternoon, the fairy circle was nearly complete.

The circles are also known as an elf circle, an elf ring, or a pixie ring. They are naturally occurring rings or arcs of non-edible mushrooms. Some cultures consider these mushroom circles a bad omen, while others think they bring good luck.

This particular ring has occurred nearly every summer in the eight years we have lived in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Shortly after taking these photos, the circle disappeared, not by some fairy’s magic trick, but by a lawnmower.

Have you ever seen circles like these where you live?

Please Don’t Hug Me Right Now

Departing Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I love giving and receiving hugs, especially as I age. The fact that my four siblings and I received little physical affection growing up might play a significant role in my desire to be a hugger in my senior years.

There’s nothing better than giving my grandchildren a hearty hug after an athletic event or concert in which they have participated. And too, I melt when they hug me for simply being their grandfather. That momentary embrace says more than any card or note of appreciation.

The same is true for close friends, especially as we endure the aging process with all its expected and unexpected ailments. When we gather in small groups, whether at church or in our homes, the first question often asked is, “How are you?”

My wife and I are in two different small groups of peers, most of whom have Ohio roots like us. We now live in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, close to three of our four grandchildren.

When with other seniors, we chat around a meal or a table of snacks and drinks about our health. Sharing and listening become equivalent hugs, emotional squeezes, if you will. As septuagenarians and octogenarians, we all need those affirmations as we deal with our latest ailments.

Our ship, the Zuiderdam, docked at Portland, Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

However, since we returned from a recent cruise, I’ve had to learn to be happy accepting verbal greetings instead. I cracked three ribs in a freak fall near the end of our trip.

All was going well until our ship approached Halifax, Nova Scotia. Before we left, friends cautioned us not to fall. I had every intention of complying.

As I stepped into the shower, and please don’t try to imagine that, my left foot hit the shower mat just as the ship pitched in the opposite direction. I flew through the air like Superman, only not as gracefully.

My arm stopped my flight by hitting the sink, and I crashed to the floor with a loud thud. Excruciating pain shot through my right side. My wife said I made noises she had never heard before from any creature.

After the initial shock, I composed myself and finished getting ready for the day. However, after breakfast, my ribs pained me greatly. We headed to guest services, and I was immediately wheeled to the ship’s medical center.

The friendly and competent medical staff quizzed me, took my vitals, and gave me medication to ease the pain. X-rays showed a cracked rib, but the doctor wanted me to go ashore to the hospital. Doing so would effectively end our vacation, and I didn’t want that to happen.

Painful as it was, a cracked rib wasn’t a life-or-death situation. We enjoyed Halifax as best we could from our veranda. I checked in the next two mornings for additional shots of pain medication, and we were able to fly home on schedule.

But because I had also hit my head in the crazy fall, we went to our local hospital’s emergency room after we arrived home. CT scans showed not issues with my head, though my wife questioned those results. I did, however, have three cracked ribs, not one.

We took it easy the next few days before I felt like venturing out. Friends who didn’t know about my accident greeted us with the usual hugs, but I politely waved them off and explained.

I have developed a new appreciation for the importance of the rib cage to the rest of the body. I measure my moves and watch my steps. I also recognize that three cracked ribs are insignificant when compared to more consequential diagnosis of cancer and other diseases of friends and family.

I’m still healing and greatly looking forward to when I can once again hug and be hugged without pain. Until then, a fist bump will do.

The Portland, Maine waterfront at dusk. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Do the Math…

Prices for small-eared sweet corn. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A produce farmer near where we live in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley has a small self-serve stand where he sells his homegrown sweet corn. My wife and I stopped to get a few ears and saw this confusing pricing.

We just chuckled at the skewed mathematics. When our neighbor, who also buys corn there, told us that he had informed the farmer of his pricing error, the man just shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

We bought four small ears of the “Incredible” sweet corn, placed our dollar bill in the box, and drove home. For the record, the corn was named correctly. It was incredible.

Riding into the Sunset

Sunset from Mole Hill, Dayton, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Being at the right place at the right time is an essential part of photography. That’s what happened recently when I went to photograph the sunset from my favorite location, Mole Hill, near Dayton, Virginia.

When I arrived on the west side of Mole Hill, a noted area landmark, I discovered I was not alone. Several cars were stopped ahead of me on the gradual downhill slope. But once the sun sank behind the Allegheny Mountains, the vehicles continued on.

On my way up the road, I noticed a horse-drawn cart with an Old Order Mennonite young woman and two girls sitting on the wooden bench. They were parked beneath a walnut tree, admiring the various colors of the quickly changing landscape.

Imagine my surprise when I heard the clip-clop of horse hooves on the road’s surface. I turned around and saw the cart coming my way. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

Out of respect to them, I waited until they were well past me before I took the photo. Like the Amish, Old Order Mennonites do not want their pictures taken for religious reasons.

Their little cart, with their yellow caution lights flashing, made this ho-hum sunset spectacular. I’m grateful I was there at the right time to capture the scene.

Kiss at Sunset

I went to the aft of our cruise ship to photograph the sunset over the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Of course, other passengers did the same.

As the evening quickly cooled, most people returned inside the ship after the sun set behind distant clouds. A few people lingered, including the couple pictured. I intended to use them as foreground silhouettes when the woman spontaneously stood on her tiptoes, leaned in, and kissed her partner.

It was the kind of photo I love to capture. I had planned to shoot one thing and ended up with something entirely different: a spontaneous, fleeting, loving moment. A picturesque sunset over the Gulf of St. Lawrence, sweetened by a sudden romantic gesture.