No bigger than a 25-cent piece, this moth caught my eye as I walked out to get the mail. Its contrasting black and yellow wings stood out from the marbled pattern of our decades-old, well-worn concrete driveway.
Yet, the deceased insect seemed to blend in with the drive’s mishmashed surface. Perhaps it was the moth’s yellowish stripes that complemented the beige of the hardened concrete. The famous hard, blue limestone of the Shenandoah Valley, coupled with the crushed browns and grays of the area’s river rock, formed a flat tombstone of sorts that honored the dead moth’s demise.
Then again, maybe I am romanticizing my good fortune in spotting the moth at all. According to Kenn Kaufman’s “Field Guide to Insects of North America,” Nais Tiger Moths are widespread east of the Rocky Mountains.
Therefore, I hope you can also see this ubiquitous little moth, and trust it will be alive.
Occasional rains and warm temperatures continue to be the norm in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. That combination has led to a continuation of summer’s bright colors.
From landscapes to sky to insects, to animals to flowers, wild and cultivated, a rainbow of colors has filled each day.
Variegated Fritillary butterfly on Zinnia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I was out taking photos of some flowers my energetic wife has cultivated around our home. This patch of Zinnias caught my attention.
Just as I was ready to take the photo, this pretty Variegated Fritillary butterfly landed on a fuchsia-colored Zinnia in the middle of the patch. The lovely photobomb was a welcome addition to these bright flowers and a new focus to the photo.
Portland, Maine, harbor at twilight. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We neared Portland, Maine, our last stop on the cruise itinerary, at mid-morning. Our landing in Boston the next day was simply to disembark.
I was able to take several shots of the shoreline and the many inlets as we approached docking in Portland. I spotted the Ram Island Ledge Light Station, and was able to capture some acceptable shots of it. However, I forgot that it was directly across the water from the Portland Head Lighthouse. I could easily have photographed both, but my head was a bit fuzzy from the strong pain medication I was given. I rationalized that I already had some decent shots of that iconic lighthouse from a previous visit years ago.
The day began just like yesterday, in the ship’s medical center for another pain shot. The good doctor wanted me to go ashore to a hospital for CT scans of my ribs and head, since I had hit my skull in the fall. If we did that, it would be the end of our trip.
Cracked ribs weren’t a life-threatening condition, and Neva had checked my eye responses every two hours during the night, and I showed no signs of a head injury. Besides, we had already paid for transportation from the dock to the airport to catch our flight home. So we kindly declined.
Upon docking, we had to disembark for customs in Portland anyway. For some reason, we docked on the starboard side, so we had a perfect view of the harbor and downtown Portland. I took several photos while we waited for our group to be called to pass through customs. I heard and then saw an Osprey sitting on its nest that was built on the tallest one of the old wooden dock pilings.
The weather was perfect, and I felt well enough to walk through security and head to Commercial Street along the waterfront. We found a cafe, bought our decaf mocha lattes, and enjoyed the sights and sounds of a busy port.
From our sidewalk seats, we watched people board a narrow-gauge railroad and enjoyed the sounds of the whistle and the little steam engine chugging the train along the shoreline. A few minutes later, it backed its way into its parking location and waited for the next group of passengers.
We returned to the ship and, after dinner, enjoyed the evening activity of this special day. It was the Fourth of July, and a flotilla of boats big and small had anchored in the preferred spots offshore to watch the fireworks show.
We had the perfect view as the fireworks exploded just after dark. The booming sound echoed, and sparkling colors reflected off the harbor’s quiet waters. It was the most fitting conclusion to our land and sea cruise.
The next day was a hurry-up-and-wait kind of day as we rode the bus to the airport, made our way through TSA, walked to our gate, and sat for six hours. Fortunately, one of Boston’s best seafood restaurants was near our gate, and we had a yummy seafood lunch for our flight back to Virginia.
Thanks for traveling along with us, bumps and all.
I was really looking forward to visiting the Halifax, Nova Scotia area. We had booked an excursion to the famous Peggy’s Cove. We never made it.
After another good night’s sleep on the Zuiderdam, I rose early to meet the bus for our tour. When I stepped with my left foot into the shower mat, the ship suddenly made a quick pitch in the opposite direction. Instantly, for a split second, I was Superman, until I wasn’t. I hit the sink, and then smacked the floor with a shocking thud.
At first, I lay there stunned, no pain, my only thoughts reserved for my chronic back issues. But the back felt fine. I tried unsuccessfully to get up, and that’s when the pain shot through the right side of my body.
My wife helped me to my feet, checked me over, and assured me I wasn’t bleeding anywhere. Now thinking about the lovely day ahead, I dismissed the pain and got ready for the day.
We headed to breakfast on the Lido deck. To be safe, I had an old man’s breakfast, hot oatmeal and four prunes on the side. As I stood up to leave, I could hardly walk. The rest of the boring details are in a separate, previous post here.
Our plans for the day were cancelled, and I received excellent treatment in the ship’s medical center. The staff was terrific. So, were the pain meds.
Fortunately, our comfortable cabin served as an excellent resting place. The only problem was that I couldn’t lie down. A month later, I still can’t. The ship’s X-ray machine showed one cracked rib. The CT scans at our local hospital, when we returned home three days later, revealed three.
I felt better standing, so I spent an inordinate amount of time on our veranda, which faced the harbor side. I watched the morning marine fog layer evaporate into a warm, sunny day.
Rest assured, I snapped too many photos of the same scene, only with different ships. A harbor lighthouse stood directly opposite us, and its bright while paint glowed in the afternoon sun. It made a perfect background. But how many times can you photograph ships with the same setting?
All categories of boats passed by. Fishing, ferries, sailboats, a Canadian Coast Guard cutter, trollers, a stately tall ship, and even tugboats escorting a huge freighter made time pass and filled my phone with hundreds of unnecessary photos.
The doctor told me to move around as much as I could without causing excessive pain. So, we went to lunch and dinner, sitting on padded chairs.
It wasn’t the way we had planned to see Halifax. But it was the best we could do.
Our intrepid guide, John Bourgeois. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We arrived at 7 a.m. at the Port of Sydney, Nova Scotia, located on the eastern end of Cape Breton Island. From our veranda, the old town still seemed to be asleep.
Before we left the ship, we couldn’t help but notice a giant fiddle on the dock, welcoming visitors to this intriguing town. At 60 feet tall, the largest fiddle in the world stands as a tribute to the island’s Celtic heritage and in reverence to its decades of fiddling.
We opted for a walking tour around the town over another long bus ride into the country. We were glad we did. We hardly lost sight of the Zuiderdam, which was fine with us.
Our morning stroll around Sydney was just that, very leisurely. Our guide was a character, dressed in period clothes, and unafraid to express his opinion. He was a hoot. With a name like John Bourgeois, did he have any other option? His surname gave away his personality.
John clearly loved his native town. His folklore stories of mysterious intrigue easily kept our attention. John knew the town’s history like the back of his hand. He should have. His family name went back generations, enabling him to interject personal ancestral history into his tantalizing tales. Perhaps some of them were true.
As we walked up hill from the dock, John took his time with his steps and his words. He knew himself and his town well.
John pointed out the Royal Bank Lion Monument, a symbol of power at the start of the prosperous steel mill days, now long defunct. He drew our attention to the now-abandoned church with an upside-down ship’s hull for a roof, the house where the ladies summoned the beleaguered sailors returning from a long voyage, and the community’s old firehouse, now a mustard-yellow painted two-story home with a bright blue door.
We enjoyed the flower gardens of lovely old two-story homes still occupied by long-term residents, and toured an old building that served as a residence and general store. It’s an impressive museum in its third life. We spied a Paul Bunyan-style mural of a hockey player that honored the beloved Canadian sport.
After giving John a generous tip for his honesty and folksy stories, I asked him for directions to a restaurant he recommended. He said it was just a little way straight ahead. A half-mile later, I found it, and the restaurant was closed. Apparently, I was as magnanimous as I thought.
We walked back to the Joan Harriss Cruise Pavilion, where we found a restaurant with lobster rolls. It was a relaxing way to end our walk around Sydney.
As our ship left the dock and headed out of the inlet, I realized that Sydney was much more than what we saw on our walking tour. The roofs of houses and church spires stretched far inland.
We passed the old coal tipple where ships loaded the once major export. Like the steel mills, the mines are now shuttered. Farther out along the peninsula, a forested backdrop highlighted impressive homes, rural stone churches, and a lighthouse where the harbor pilot boarded his boat for the ride home.
We enjoyed another musical performance after a nice dinner and called it a day. Halifax was our next highly anticipated destination.
The House of Green Gables. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Prince Edward Island. Consequently, what the island offered surprised me.
We rose as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon into a cloudless sky. That correctly portended a fair weather day for our afternoon excursion to the Green Gables House and Museum.
Based on the comments of others who had been to PEI, I expected Charlottetown to be dotted with quaint, lovely houses. If they were there, we didn’t see them.
Our bus trip to the Green Gables Heritage Place included a sightseeing tour of the island. However, because the house is located on the other side of the island from the port, it was basically an hour’s drive out and another one back on the same roads.
We saw the fertile red soil that produces a variety of crops grown in many other locations. Prince Edward Island is the potato capital of Canada. I thought that, impressive as big as Canada is, and given that PEI is Canada’s smallest province, with 2,185 square miles.
On the way to our destination, we passed Lucy Maud Montgomery’s gravesite, located not far from the beloved homestead that inspired her writing. Here, too, I wished the bus would have stopped for photo opportunities. But we were on a three-hour tour, and I wanted to make sure we arrived back at the ship before the 4:30 p.m. departure.
We enjoyed the self-guided trek through the old house, all decked out with appropriate period furniture. However, the only piece of furniture that was original to the home was the halltree.
Those familiar with “Anne of Green Gables” likely could imagine reading about Anne’s escapades as we ventured from room to room, upstairs and down. I was particularly impressed with the meticulously manicured grounds.
Lovely flowers were in full bloom. Not a weed could be found in the modest vegetable garden. A variety of songbirds sang among the trees and flower gardens around the sloping property.
I spied a path that led to the woods where Anne frolicked, and I took it more for birding purposes than curiosity. I crossed the footbridge over the creek and up into the woods, only to stop short.
The woods soon gave way to a different kind of green. The Green Gables Gold Course surrounded the historic homestead. I sucked the breath right out of me. I pondered what L. M. Montgery might think about that.
Returning to the museum to meet my wife, I asked our step-on guide about the irony of a golf course encapsulating this historic site. The kindly lady merely informed me that PEI was the golf capital of Canada.
I was taken aback by that, since we had only seen rolling agricultural fields with occasional crossroad towns since we left Charlottetown. My wife and I found a shady spot and enjoyed our snack lunch before boarding the bus for our next stop.
A short drive brought us to Prince Edward Island National Park. The park was a narrow but expansive area that included long stretches of red rock cliffs with white sand beaches below. The Gulf of St. Lawrence stretched out deep and wide before us.
Too soon, we were back on the bus retracing our tracks to Port Charlottetown. We made it back to the Zuiderdam with little time to spare.
The aft of the ship was moored to a cement platform in the harbor. A local longshoreman and his female crew piloted out to untie the giant rope that steadied the docked cruiseliner. On the way, two young females entertained us by pretending to be those human-like wind socks that many car dealerships use to get your attention. Their imitation was a fun send-off for us.
As our ship pulled out into the Hillsborough River, we could see more of Charlottetown. With its church spires, busy harbor, shoreline parks, and colorful cottages and homes, it was indeed a charming town.
Sailboats, pleasure boats, and fishing boats escorted us back to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. A pair of red-roofed, white lighthouses accented by lush evergreens and patches of PEI’s famous red soil bid us farewell.
The seas turned a deep, stunning blue as nighttime approached. That meant dinnertime and more cruise ship entertainment. The day of surprises had tired me out, and sleep came easily.
Evening entertainment on the Zuiderdam. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The foul weather followed us along the St. Lawrence Seaway. Fog settled in and thickened during the nighttime hours. The ship’s foghorn blew every two minutes all night. So, the first full day and night of sailing wasn’t the best for viewing off our cabin’s verhanda.
So we enjoyed the array of food offerings, explored the ship, and met the Zuiderdam’s captain and leading crew members at a toast to the captian. I enjoyed the champagne.
The second day of sailing was just the opposite. The air was clear, the sky blue, and the sailing smooth. It should have been since that section has a maximum speed limit of 10 knots. It was a wake-free cruise, not counting the annoying but necessary foghorn.
We found an inside lounge area overlooking the Zuiderdam’s bow. We spent quality time sipping our decaf mocha lattes, reading, nodding, and simply enjoying the easy pace of life while we had it.
After dinner, we took in the sunset as we sailed east before enjoying the musical and dance entertainment of the evening. Being septuganarians, we took in the first show, and called it a day.
We greatly anticipated the next day’s port, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.
The iconic sunset shot at sea, only we were in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
Roadkill Crossing 
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