Part of the Royal Battery and rowhouses along the St. Lawrence River. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Our stay in Quebec City was much too short. Shortly after we checked into our hotel just outside the wall around Old Quebec, it began to rain. Still, our guide gave us a brief walk around a few blocks before guiding us back to the hotel.
We opted to have dinner at the hotel due to the combination of the rain and our long bus trip. We were tired.
Fortunately, we arrived via a narrow road that took us by the Citadel of Quebec, and an old neighborhood of lovely houses and quaint restaurants. To our right was the St. Lawrence River, where we would cruise for two days before reaching the Canadian Maritime provinces.
The most impressive building we saw was the famous Chateau Frontenac, now a Fairmont Hotel, which looms over the old city and must look rather impressive from the river. We weren’t fortunate enough to stay there.
So, we enjoyed a dinner with fellow travelers and got to know some of them better. We were all ready to board our cruise ship in the morning.
Victoria Square, Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I had never been to Montreal, Canada, before. I was pleasantly surprised.
Montreal is a beautiful, clean, vibrant, progressive city. Montreal is proud of its heritage, which it works hard to preserve. It also embraces the arts, with brightly colored murals, statues, sculptures, and well-preserved historic buildings.
The photo above represents all of those qualities and more. The artistic ring set in Victoria Square has a significant purpose for the people of Montreal. Amid the gleaming buildings, the ring points to the distant hill in the background.
To residents of Montreal, it’s not a hill. The island city worships its Mount Royal as a mountain, though it is only 764 feet high. It provides excellent views of the city, including the sports venue for Expo 67. Mount Royal is part park, part cemetery. It’s a green paradise surrounded by a bustling city.
To get there, we passed city parks with modern art and sculptures adorning towering, modern buildings, a respected university, bohemian rowhouses, and an impressive, giant portrait of native Leonard Cohen covering the entire side of a building.
We also saw Montreal’s apartment icon, Habitat 67, built for Expo 67. The complex looks like cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another. We visited Old Montreal, where we saw the Notre Dame Basilica and the Bank of Montreal’s legal headquarters opposite the church. It’s an architectural beauty, built to disguise it from looking like a bank.
Anchoring the Place d’Armes square is the Maisonneuve Monument erected for the founder of Montreal, Paul de Chomedey. The base of the impressive monument honors other significant contributors to Montreal’s history, including the Iroquois Native Americans.
We had lunch in the Old Montreal section, which could have been a setting in any European city. People filled the streets, restaurants, and cafes.
We said goodbye to Montreal and headed to Quebec City.
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 Swift River along the Kancamagus Highway. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
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.
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?
My wife and I enjoyed a walk around the Genesee Country Village and Museum on Mother’s Day with our son, his wife, and their three-year-old grandson. Jess’s family also joined us on the lovely Sunday.
With wide open spaces and many attractions to investigate, several of us scattered to do our own thing. That’s when I spotted this gentleman, dressed in 19th-century attire, basking in the late-morning sunshine. His obedient dog did the same. Along with the setting and their positioning, they made the perfect composition that fit the setting.
For the last 38 years, churches in Harrisonburg, Virginia, have joined together on Good Friday at noon to walk the Stations of the Cross. This is an ecumenical service of public prayer and witness on Christianity’s most solemn day.
It was the perfect afternoon to walk in downtown Harrisonburg. With a bright blue sky overhead and the temperatures in the 70s, more than 150 people chose to walk the 10 stations.
I was most impressed by the cross-generational gathering. Toddlers in strollers, teenagers in shorts, parents, and grandparents walked narrow sidewalks and across city streets to the various stations representing the final hours of Jesus’s life.
Luke 22:39-46. Jesus prays on the Mount of Olives.
Retired pastor Phil Kniss gave safety instructions to the crowd before the service began on the steps of Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church. Members of the Shenandoah Valley Biblical Storytellers dramatically shared appropriate scriptures at each stop. A prayer by local clergy was recited before proceeding to the next station.
Luke 22:47-53. Jesus is betrayed and arrested.
We didn’t have to go far for the second stop. The U.S. Federal Courthouse was just steps away. Note the court official peering out of the window on the right.
Luke 22:54-62. Peter denies Jesus.
The third stop was just a short distance away at the local television station. Besides places of worship, the walk included stops representing the media and local, state, and federal agencies.
Luke 22:63-71. Jesus is mocked and questioned.
The following two stops brought us to the First Presbyterian Church on Court Square. It is literally the city center. We bathed in the warm sunshine of the early afternoon, listening to the scripture presentation and the prayer.
Luke 23:1-5. Jesus stands before Pilate.
The procession moved across the street to the west side of the Rockingham County Courthouse. Doing so allowed the group to gather without blocking any doorways, as the only public entrance is located on the east side.
Luke 23:6-12. Jesus stands before Herod.
We moved from the courthouse to the jail and administrative building across the street. A few onlookers joined the troupe of walkers.
Luke 23:13-25. Jesus is sentenced to death.
From the jail, the group followed the cross to an open area near Blacks Run, a stream that meanders through the town’s center. While the scripture was shared and the prayer said, an American Goldfinch sang high from a nearby cottonwood tree, and a pair of Mallards swam upstream. The church steeple in the background was the next destination.
Luke 23:26-43. Jesus is nailed to the cross.
At the historic Asbury United Methodist Church, we heard the hard words of Jesus being nailed to the cross. The walk became more solemn than it had been when we had started a half hour earlier.
The path to the next station.
Following the prayer, the participants trekked along South Main St. to City Hall. Fortunately, the street is a one-way, northbound roadway, which allowed excellent visibility for oncoming traffic. The street is also U.S. 11, the old Valley Pike, where Confederate and Union soldiers marched and occasionally fought. The ancient history overshadowed that of the more recent.
The group crossed S. Main St. to the last stop, the lovely courtyard behind St. Stephen’s United Church of Christ.Luke 23:50-56. Jesus is buried.
The inviting backyard garden of St. Patrick’s United Church of Christ hosted the last scripture and prayer of the afternoon’s commemoration. By now, people were tired from the heat and the walk, which totaled a mile round trip. Still, all were attentive to the cherished story. With the final benediction, the people scattered quietly, individually, pondering all that we had seen and heard.
The pastoral landscape we enjoyed. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The weather was similar to the day we married 54 years ago, mostly sunny and warm. So, we decided to celebrate our anniversary by enjoying the scenic outdoors in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
We drove the country roads in two Virginia counties, where Old Order Mennonite farms dominate rolling landscapes at the foot of the Allegheny Mountains. Those families have kept the farms intact for the most part. Generations have raised crops and livestock, including poultry, without selling off their prized road frontage for homes or small businesses. They must enjoy the scenery and quiet, too.
Despite the lack of rainfall, succulent green grasses for beef cattle, dairy cows, and plump sheep brimmed beneath tree-dotted pastures. Cottony clouds sailed overhead in the cerulean sky.
We visited a local birding hotspot across from a plain but pristine Old Order Mennonite church, where the men and women sit in benches on opposite sides after filing through separate doorways. Killdeer, Pectoral Sandpipers, and Canada Geese called and preened in the morning’s warmth, while pairs of Tree Swallows divebombed me for being too close to their birdbox.
Pectoral Sandpipers. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We turned onto a narrow, notoriously bumpy road that led to a mountain reservoir. A stream rushed between the mountains’ steep, forested foothills, marking the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia. Mint-colored leaves had only sprouted, allowing views of rock-filled talus slopes.
At the reservoir, the azure sky commanded the scene. Far below on its shores, fishermen plied the still water that mirrored the blue canopy overhead.
Though in no hurry, we kept driving south to our lunchtime destination. We wound up, down, and around onto primary roads and entered a historic, small southern city where artists and restaurants have replaced millineries, general stores, and saloons. We spied the old railroad station two city blocks away, where Amtrak and excursion trains still stop.
We were delighted to find a restaurant serving fresh seafood and luscious desserts. However, my wife diligently discovered an old-fashioned drive-in a mile away serving the best hot fudge sundaes.
It had been decades since I had to push a button to order food. The speakers looked like those we had at drive-in movie theaters in the 1960s. Our sundaes arrived just as we ordered, with chocolate ice cream.
After the nostalgic pleasures, we headed west again toward the mountains before turning north. We passed ranches with lazy brooks snaking through green pastures occasionally speckled with grazing Black Angus cattle. Experienced farmers kept hilltop trees for cattle to gather on hot, humid Virginia days.
Drivers of the few vehicles that passed us waved the familiar index finger hello. If they know you, they point at you as a sign of recognition. We were fine with being admiring strangers.
Abandoned farmsteads stood on steep hillsides surrounded by trees planted ages ago. The houses were weathered and had broken windows, while many old outbuildings and barns had collapsed.
The long farm lanes that ended at white two-story houses and red bank barns reminded me of the happy, innocent Ohio days I drove down to pick up my fiancée. Like her lane, a small ridge of stubble grass divided the tire tracks.
The weather nearly matched the day we married all those years ago. Sunny skies and unseasonably warm temperatures dominated that precious day, too. However, the pungent smell of manure that the farmer had sprayed on the fields across from the country church was missing.
We made our way home happy, contented, and glad we had chosen to renew our vows so quietly, personally, amid welcome familiarity.
Steers graze on greening grass. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
If there was one day I dreaded each school year for the three decades I spent in education, it was April 1, better known as April Fool’s Day.
The students and even a few teachers were merciless with their inane April Fools jokes. I only celebrated the day when April 1 fell on a weekend.
But five times out of seven, it did not. As a teacher and then principal, I endured the school-wide silliness. I gave a little more slack to the younger children who dared approach the principal to trick him. I did my best to play along.
I fondly remember their coy smiles and giddy calls of “your shoe’s untied.” I always took the bait, looked down, waited for the giggles, and continued down the hall until the next juvenile ambush.
It was harder for me to tolerate the older students who tried unsuccessfully to be more sophisticated with their trickery. I didn’t have much patience with students who released the distracted teacher’s pet garter snake in the room or those who put tacks on teachers’ seats.
I wondered who invented such a silly day, so I put my curiosity to work and investigated. My due diligence involved a thorough, if not speedy, Google search.
The results didn’t lead to any definite conclusions. However, multiple resources surmised that the antics of the crazy day likely began with the introduction of the Gregorian calendar. This significant change from the Julian calendar, which had to make immigration reform seem simple, revamped the annual timetable of the entire civilized world.
On February 24, 1582, Pope Gregory instituted the switch by issuing a bull, which I found humorously appropriate. A bull is an edict from the Pope. This proclamation created January 1, not April 1, as the beginning of a new year. Of course, there were problems. In the 16th century, communications were not what they are today. Of course, given the state of the current TikTok world, that may have been a good thing.
Another contributing factor was that Protestant countries like England and Scotland didn’t recognize the Pope’s authority and initially refused to make the calendar conversion, religious reference intentional.
Word of the calendar change took several months, even years, to spread throughout Europe and beyond. Not surprisingly, some resisted the change and preferred to maintain the status quo, which included celebrating a new year beginning on March 25 and culminating on April 1. Just imagine New Year’s Eve lasting eight days. It sounds a lot like Mardi Gras to me.
Those who refused to honor January 1 as the beginning of the New Year and continued to use the April 1 demarcation became known as April Fools for their obstinacy and resistance to change. As the lore goes, April 1 was dubbed April Fool’s Day for those who clung to their old ways.
Those poor fools, excuse the pun, who refused to accept the new calendar were sent off on ridiculous errands and were made the butt of practical jokes, like sticking signs on their backs that said: “Kick me.” My former students kept alive such tricks.
Perhaps because the new calendar took so long to be accepted, the practice of nonsense on April 1 became an annual event. The silliness gradually spread to the British and French colonies in America.
Since then, students have pestered teachers, principals, and parents on April’s first day. With that in mind, come April 1, check your seat before you sit down.
Found along the Dry River, which wasn’t dry. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Roadkill Crossing 
You must be logged in to post a comment.