Some time ago I listed several questions over a wide range of topics that I had accumulated. Most of my musings were unanswerable.
Well, since I’m an inquisitive fellow by nature, I’ve done it again. My inquiring mind wants to know, and I thought April Fools Day might be a good time to ask. Should we let the questions begin?
The North Coast of Ohio is really the south shore of Lake Erie.
Why is the south shore of Lake Erie called the North Coast in Ohio?
Why do people feel compelled to yell “In the hole!” after a pro golfer hits a shot?
Are there East of Chicago pizza places west of Chicago?
Why do fans in line with the TV camera at baseball games wave and wave and wave once they realize they are on TV?
Beside the letter “r,” what’s the difference between the word “wiggle” and “wriggle?”
If lights attract moths, why don’t these nocturnal winged insects come out in the daytime?
Do they serve Cuban sandwiches in Cuba?
What kind of wine goes with honey barbequed potato chips?
Why are the natives of the Philippine Islands called Filipinos and not Philipinos?
Why is it that when a teacher says the test will be simple, it will always be hard?
Some assembly required.Why is it that when directions say, “Some assembly required,” it usually is a lot?
Did you know there is a right way and a wrong way to hang a roll of toilet paper?
Do you know which is the right way to hang a roll of toilet paper?
Did you know that Easter always falls on the Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox?
Did you know the emergency number in Australia, the country down under, is 119?
If tornadoes in the northern hemisphere spin counter-clockwise, and tornadoes in the southern hemisphere spin clockwise, which direction would a tornado on the Equator spin?
Did you know that in Ohio it’s a law that motorized vehicles have to have their headlights on if their windshield wipers are operating?
How do bullfrogs know when the air is warm enough for insects to fly in early spring?
Did you know that the only direction you can travel from the North Pole is south?
When you sneeze, why do people say, “God bless you?”
You won’t find these hot dogs at McDonald’s or any other fast food restaurant for that matter.
Have you ever tried to order a hotdog at McDonalds?
Where did the idea of the Easter Bunny originate?
Is Allstate Insurance really available in all states?
Have you ever wondered who your doctor’s doctor is?
Why is baseball the only professional sport where the manager and coaches have to wear uniforms like the players?
Why is it when you are following a slow moving vehicle in a no passing zone, you don’t pass any oncoming cars, but as soon as it is all right to pass you can’t because there is oncoming traffic?
What is the difference between a day being “partly sunny” or “party cloudy?”
Partly sunny or partly cloudy?
Why do emergency vehicles proclaim “Dial 911” when we no longer have rotary phones?
Why do we still say we’ll carbon copy an email, for example, when we no longer use carbon paper?
Do they serve French toast in France?
In good weather or foul, American Robins still have orange breasts.Why do people refer to the red, red Robin when the American Robin’s breast is orange?
Why do donuts have holes in the first place?
Why does it seem colder at 27 degrees in April than it does when it’s 27 degrees in January?
March 27, 1971 was a beautiful Saturday. It was warm, the sun was shining, and spring was definitely in the air. The field next to the church had just been sprayed with liquid manure.
I remember it well, the wedding, not the smell. It was the day I married my best friend. Of course, I didn’t know she would become my best friend. My best friend was my best man. I married Neva to be my wife, or so I thought. It has turned out so much more than that naïve 23 year-old groom could have imagined.
We soon discovered that we had a lot in common besides amorous affection. We both liked travel, adventure, antiques, nature and Milky Way candy bars.
The summer after our wedding we lived on a mountain with no communications, no electricity or running water. As part of a church sponsored summer service project, we hosted hikers at a camp about halfway up Pikes Peak in Colorado. I chopped the firewood and Neva prepared our meals over either a woodstove or an open fire.
We never tire of the view behind our rural home in Ohio’s Amish country.
That experience helped set the stage for all that was to transpire in the next 42 years. Through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, we strived and thrived as individuals and as a couple. It hasn’t all been pretty or perfect, but we have endured, much the way we did on the mountain.
We each spent a career in public education, something we both dearly believe in for the good of our own children, our community and our country. It was an honor to serve in that capacity.
We built one new home and completed another. Both had excellent views and wonderful neighbors.
Our grandchildren snuggle under a blanket as Nana read a book to them on a cold winter’s night.We raised two beautiful children, who each have an amazing spouse of their own. It’s a joy to watch them all blaze their trails through life, positively affecting others. Of course, we adore our three grandchildren as precious gifts, too.
Our similarities and differences have balanced, renewed and enriched our lives, and have helped cement our marital friendship. Neva loves helping at the local thrift shop. I enjoy photographing sunsets. She quietly quilts or sews while I write.
The length and strength of our marriage can be attributed to our many common interests, and the recognition that we try to allow space for our own wants, wishes, talents and abilities. We complement one another, and we compliment one another.
Neva made this baby quilt for our granddaughter.After 42 years of marriage, Neva and I have reached a new phase in our relationship. We love being grandparents, and seize each opportunity to host, visit or vacation with the grandkids. Being mostly retired allows us to do that.
It also gives us pause to ponder how we have made it through the good and bad that life has thrown at us. All I can determine is that we have survived for two main reasons. We have many faithful friends and family members who have unwaveringly stood by us, and we have each other.
With a mesmerizing fire in the fireplace, a cup of coffee and some of Neva’s delicious homemade cookies, we spend many winter evenings together enjoying college basketball games on TV. It doesn’t take much to make us happy.
We are still close friends with our best man and his gregarious wife. But as I look back on our life together, it is obvious that Neva and I are more than wife and husband. We indeed are each other’s best friends.
Nana engaged our grandsons while our granddaughter entertained herself.
By Bruce Stambaugh
“Who knew it would be so much fun?” That was an email reply to me from a grandparent friend. Indeed, who knew?
Though we have always lived many miles apart, we have tried to be involved with our three grandchildren as much as time and distance allowed. First it was Texas, and now Virginia.
Our daughter, whose husband works for a university in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley, asked if we would care for her trio of children while they spent the school’s spring break in Florida. We didn’t hesitate. We rearranged our schedules and headed 350 miles southeast.
Like her mother, our daughter is extremely organized. She had the week’s agenda outlined day by day. Of course, life has a way of upsetting the best of plans.
Even little Maren wanted to help shovel snow.The upheaval began not long after our daughter and her husband headed south. During the night Davis, the six year old, got sick. Monday it was his big brother’s turn. At first we thought Evan just missed his parents. When the school called to say Evan was ill, we realized he wasn’t just being overly sensitive. The next night little sister, Maren, woke up sick, too.
With the weather cooler than norm for The Valley, we kept the woodstove stoked overnight. Once, though, the smoke detector suddenly screamed. The woodstove apparently was a little too stoked, its temperature needle reaching the danger zone.
Garbage trucks were converted into snowplows to help clear the roadways.Halfway through our weeklong mission a major winter storm stirred. Harrisonburg became the bull’s eye on the official snow accumulation chart. A total of 15 inches of heavy, wet snow piled up, cancelling school for two days, with a delay the third. Retrofitted garbage trucks morphed into snowplows to help clear the roads.
Fortunately, the sicknesses lessened as the snow depth increased. Sledding and snowman building became the focus of activity. Neighbors loaned slippery sleds that zoomed the bundled up kids down the steep hill behind their father’s office building. They were fearless in their swooshing, especially the youngest.
During down times between sledding excursions Maren kept us busy with her favorite activity, playing a memory card game. No matter how many pairs of cards we laid out, she skunked us all. To watch her consistently recall where the matching cards were, and hear her glee at winning was worth the licking Nana and I took.
We also made good use of the snowy elements. Nana whipped up a yummy batch of snow ice cream using nothing more than vanilla, heavy cream, sugar and snow.
Maren found “hiding” behind the sweeper.Maren kept us all entertained playing hide and seek her way. She would tell us where she was going to hide, and then insist we close our eyes and count to 10 before beginning the imaginative search.
Sweet Maren had to keep track of her folks, too. At least three times a day she followed the route her parents took from their home to Sarasota on a Google map I had created on my computer. After a while, I merely pointed the curser, and she recited the travel log.
The grandkids enjoyed seeing their parents a few times via Face Time using Nana’s computer on our end and a smartphone in the Sunshine state. Those opportunities seemed to allay any apprehensions the grandkids had about their extended separation from Technology helped soothe the distance between the grandkids and their parents.their loving parents.
For Nana and I, this was one more chance for quality time with our creative and energetic grandchildren. Who knew it would be so much fun?
An assortment of buggy styles were tied up at a local auction barn.
By Bruce Stambaugh
Amish buggies in Ohio’s Amish Country may be all black, but they definitely aren’t all the same. The nondescript, unobtrusive color merely keeps them uniform and modest.
Even if they all are black, a closer look reveals that there are many differences in buggies. These variances are especially true for buggies owned by younger Amish men. Particular attention is paid to the kind of accessories included on their buggies. After all, a buggy can last for 30 years if it is well maintained.
An Amish bench wagon stood outside an Amish buggy shop near Berlin, OH. The wagon is used to carry the church benches from one location to another. Since the Amish do not have church buildings, they take turns hosting church for the 100 or more members and their children. Shops like this one are cleared out and cleaned in preparation for church service.At least two-dozen buggy shops are sprinkled around the Greater Holmes County area. That way the Amish do not have to travel far to order a buggy or have one repaired. That concept is maintained in all aspects of the Amish lifestyle.
Demand for new buggies is high. Most buggy shops reported a year’s wait for a new buggy. Depending on the size of the shop and the kind of buggies being built, buggies are produced at the rate of no greater than one per week. Buggy repairs are worked in accordingly. Should a buggy be damaged in an accident or lose a wheel, for example, it would receive priority status.
Most buggy shops are family operations. A father and his son or sons may run the shop, assisted by an apprentice or even wives and daughters. This way the trade can be passed from generation to generation.
Amish buggies are built one at a time. The buggy in the foreground still needs to have its black vinyl coated cloth skin attached, and painting completed.
Because each buggy is custom-built one at a time, assembling a buggy is a prolonged process, taking as long as a year to complete. To build a sturdy, useful buggy, shop owners and workers need a variety of skills. They must be a carpenter, welder, upholsterer, painter and mechanic all in one.
According to Menno Schlabach, owner and operator of M & S Coach near Berlin, buggies start with a wooden base. Reinforced with metal braces, a wood framed structure is attached. The sides and tops are covered with a grained, vinyl coated black cloth.
“With 150 church districts in the area, customization of each buggy varies a great deal,” Schlabach said.
This wood inlaid dashboard is typical for young Amish men to have installed in their first buggy. The levers that operate lights and even a hand-powered windshield wiper fit through the cutout holes.
Indeed, it is the customization that allows the customer to put personal preferences into the new buggy to give it character. That process also slows the construction. With all the various options, Schlabach said it takes an average of 150 hours to build a new buggy.
A worker installed a window in the door of a new buggy.Some buggies have curtain doors that roll up, while others have sliding doors on the side and a hinged door in the back for easier access. Other buggy accessories include shelves for storage, switches, battery compartments, mirrors, window sizes and shapes including the choice of glass or Plexiglas or no glass at all, shapes and cushioning of seats, manually operated windshield wipers, brakes, upholstery and a variety of lighting options. Even the materials of the wheels and shafts vary.
Dashboards seem to be the telling tale of the owners’ preferences. Some are intricately made using inlaid or exotic wood. The dashboards are mounted on the inside of the front piece of the buggy. They generally house switches for exterior and interior lights and turn signals.
Buggies in the Greater Holmes County, Ohio area are usually well-lighted and marked with a slow moving vehicle reflector, reflective tape, and rear amber blinking light.Even the exterior lighting is customized. Just like cars, buggies have headlights and taillights. Most also have amber warning lights on the top rear of the buggy. Running lights along the sides of the buggies help drivers see at night. Marker lights positioned on the front and sides of buggies are other accessories that give the buggy its individual distinction. Only buggies owned by Swartzentruber Amish, the lowest Amish order, still use kerosene lanterns for visibility.
The style of buggy is determined by its purpose. A two-wheeled cart is the simplest of all buggy types and is used for quick, local trips. The hack is the Amish equivalent to a pick up truck. Sometimes called buckboards, a hack is a four-wheel buggy that is designed for hauling livestock and other bulk items. Some driver compartments of hacks are covered, while others are open.
The most common buggy type is the surrey. They are built with a bench seat and a storage area in the back that also has an option for two small flat seats along the insides. The side seats can be removed to increase storage. Usually children use those rear seats.
Most parts of buggies are made locally, including these shafts that connect the horse to the buggy. The shafts are made and bent at a specialty shop near Mt. Hope, OH.
Surreys come covered or open. Covered buggies are called top buggies. The family version of a surrey has two bench seats and four openings for access, plus some storage space in the rear with a door or curtain that rolls up.
The Amish like to keep things as local as possible. The wheel, spokes, axel and brakes were all made within 15 miles of this buggy’s owner’s home.The newest buggy version is the mini-surrey, which can actually hold more passengers than a regular top buggy. Affectionately called a minivan by some Amish, the mini-surrey serves the same purpose. The side seats behind the front bench comfortably hold two adults or several children on each side.
The cost of new buggies varies depending on the type and size of the buggy and the kind and amount of accessories included. A new cart could cost $1,500 while a new, well-equipped mini-surrey could run up to $7,000.
With a horse for an engine, the buggy’s driver steers with a set of reins instead of a steering wheel. Still, the purpose of a buggy is the same as a motorized vehicle. It transports its passengers from one place to the other, just at a much slower speed.
Buggies may be black. But they are an important element that helps keep the Amish culture moving in every way.
The newest style buggy seen is the Holmes County area is the Amish mini-buggy, affectionately called the Amish minivan.
Eastern Bluebirds frequented a backyard water feature during a cold spell in Ohio.
By Bruce Stambaugh
Marcella Hawkins of Glenmont, Ohio has a passion for Eastern Bluebirds. That passion became productively evident Feb. 23 at the Ohio Society of Bluebirds (OSB) annual conference in Wooster, Ohio. Hawkins is the executive director of OSB.
From the record number of people who attended the conference held Feb. 23, Hawkins is not alone. More than 300 bluebird enthusiasts participated in the all day event, held at the Shisler Conference Center on the campus of the Ohio Agricultural and Research Development Center.
Adrienne Hopson-Gaston of Mansfield, Ohio surveyed the door prizes available at the Ohio Bluebird Society conference.The day was filled with exhibits, vendors, speakers and presentations, with only a few breaks. Experts and amateurs alike shared their research and experiences regarding some aspect of bluebirds, their predators and habitats.
Darlene Sillick, a conservationist and birder from Powell, Ohio, related her years of experiences with the Ohio Wildlife Center with owls. She explained that owls could turn their head 270 degrees because they have 14 vertebrate, twice the number of humans.
Sillick said owls depend on their keen sense of hearing and large eyes to track prey. She shared that it is the force of the owl’s talons that kills its prey.
Sillick introduced Matthew Wiese of Dublin, Ohio. Wiese, 17, did a nest box project on Safari Golf Club for his Eagle Scout badge. Wiese said he put in a total of 319 volunteer hours in planning, mapping and checking the numerous bluebird boxes he installed. He also learned to band the hatchlings in several of the boxes.
Jason Martin, head of Cornell’s Nest Watch project, answered questions from participants.Roger Downer of Wooster, a retired entomologist from the OARDC, gave a presentation on moths. He said the important connection between moths and bluebirds are the caterpillars that serve as a food source for the bluebirds. Those that survive become moths, which other birds also use as food.
Chuck Jakubchak of Strongsville, Ohio gave a pep rally style presentation about how birds know when to migrate. In the case of Eastern Bluebirds, he proposed three scenarios. He said studies show that some bluebirds migrate to the southeastern states with habitat similar to what they have in Ohio. Others only partially migrate, going to warmer but closer states where they compete for food with non-migrating birds.
Volunteers at the Medina Raptor Center displayed several species of injured birds at the conference, including this leucistic Red-tailed Hawk.Jakubchak said the bluebirds seen in Ohio during the winter are non-migrating.
“They stay put, perhaps because they have had a successful breeding history,” he said. “But we really don’t know for sure, other than the fact that they choose to stay.”
Jason Martin of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Ithaca, N.Y., spoke on the importance of documenting Eastern Bluebirds by monitoring their nesting boxes. He invited participants to join his project, Nest Watch, by keeping track of what is happening inside the nesting boxes.
“Inside the boxes,” Martin said, “is where the action is.” The Nest Watch project began in 1960 and has progressed to online reporting of nesting activity from around the country.
Noted birder Greg Miller from Sugarcreek, Ohio gave an autograph to Trevor Zook of Mansfield, Ohio.
Greg Miller of Sugarcreek, Ohio closed out the session with a spellbinding account of his Big Year experience. He especially focused on the time he spent as the bird consultant on the set of the movie, The Big Year. He told personal accounts of meeting the movie producers and stars, including Jack Black, who played Miller in the movie.
Allen and Nina Bower of Britton, Mich., received OBS’s Blue Feather Award for their effort in spreading the importance of proper nest boxes for Eastern Bluebirds. The group’s Wildlife Conservation Award went to Charlie Zepp of Dublin. Zepp has built more than 6,000 bluebird boxes with wood he gathered from refuge bins at construction sites.
After announcing several winners of donated raffle prizes, Hawkins thanked the volunteers and sponsors of the conference, which was free of charge for those who had preregistered.
A young Amish boy gets a head start on spring plowing with his a team of draft horses during a winter thaw.
By Bruce Stambaugh
On my way to dinner with a friend, a simple yet pleasant notice brought a smile to my face. As my car turned the sharp corner, I saw the sign in front of the volunteer fire station. It read, “Baseball sign up Saturday.”
With yet another wintry storm on the way, that was welcome news to me. Just the thought of those youngsters already registering to play baseball got me through the next day’s ugly weather.
Daffodils peep through March’s melting snow.That’s what I like about March. It’s both winter’s last gasp and spring’s first breath. That posting was a clarion call for more than little leaguers. It was a sign of hope.
Once we reach March, I feel like a new person. I know winter’s icy grip is behind us, and that spring is peeping.
I’m also old enough to know not to get too giddy too soon. March often offers up some of winter’s heaviest snows. But with the days growing longer, not counting Daylight Savings Time, you know the snow will not last long.
March is notorious for delivering some heavy snowstorms in Ohio’s Amish country.
In fact, March often delivers us a four-star package deal on weather. Wait. You had better make that a four seasons package. March is famous for thawing out winter’s clutch, teasing us with summer-like days, then bringing us back to reality with a fall-like cold front. One day we could enjoy a welcomed spring rain, and the next be dodging tornadoes. March can be as fickle as it is friendly.
Easter Sunday is March 31 this year.This year March brings us a Trifecta of joy. St. Patrick’s Day, Palm Sunday and Easter consecutively complete March’s Sundays.
There’s much more, too. Early migratory birds begin to make an appearance. The male Red-wing Blackbirds begin to scout out their territories. American Robins come out of hiding and begin their bob, bob, bobbing along.
American Robins begin marking their territories in March.The Song Sparrows pick their fence post perches, tilt back their striped heads, and let it rip. American Goldfinches brighten as they begin their lemony spring molt.
If the ground is dry enough, farmers begin their plowing in earnest. Crocuses and daffodils poke their pointy green shoots through the crystalized snow remnants and await the sun’s command to bloom.
We humans follow their lead. We shake off our cabin fever, and find any excuse we can to go outside. If we do have an early warm spell, dedicated gardeners will be sure to be planting their peas.
We check our property for any winter damage. Without complaint we pick up sticks deposited by winter’s frequent, fierce winds. We’re just happy to be breathing in the freshness of life, and exhale without seeing our own breath freeze in midair.
Bicycles are common on the Holmes Co. Trail on a decent March day.
Bicycles, motorcycles and fishing gear are all dusted off, even if they won’t be used right away. Winter’s smudge is washed off the windows on the first reasonably warm day. Of course, the boys of summer spend March warming up for their April to October baseball games.
High school and college men and women create excitement and celebration with their basketball March madness. We dutifully follow along even if we haven’t attended a game all year.
Much to the delight of honey bees, crocuses are often the first flowers to poke through winter’s litter.
As you might be able to tell, I’m ready for some consistently warmer weather. The fact that we have already opened March’s door confidently tells me that winter is well on the wane.
As if we had any say in the matter, March always has her way with us. I for one am ready to be under her seductive spell, and bid a fond farewell to her bully winter cousins.
Last year our yard received its initial mowing on March 23.
The predawn light at 6:38 a.m. on Feb. 1, 2013 on Main Beach, Amelia Island, FL.
By Bruce Stambaugh
I stood on the beach bathed in the pale pre-dawn light. I had gone there to photograph the sunrise over the ocean.
The air was chilly, but unusually still for the seashore. The Atlantic shimmered, uncharacteristically placid. With the tide in, the waves rolled gracefully onto the shell-strewn shore.
I wasn’t the only human on the beach at 6:45 a.m. A few other brave souls were also out before sunup. A silhouette jogged in front of me. Another walked the water’s edge towards me in a hitched gate.
An early jogger zipped by me in the half-light along Main Beach, Amelia Island, FL.
All the while, I snapped away, capturing the thin orange line that divided the dark violet sea from the turquoise sky. I wanted to digitally document the gradual, subtle color changes of the new day’s sun.
We few humans weren’t alone as the sky slowly brightened along the beach.
Groups of first year shorebird chicks scurried at water’s edge, probing and pecking for food. Careful not to get their tiny feet wet, they darted at the ebb and flow of the frothy wavelets.
Young shorebirds feed at the ocean’s edge.
Not far off shore, Northern Gannets fished for breakfast in their dramatic style. They circled with their long pointy white wings marked black as ink at the tips, and then plunged into the seawater. Satisfied, they again ascended and started the process all over again.
A little further out a pod of dolphins arched in and out of the water. Their fins revealed their foraging path.
A gull and a Willet faced off on Main Beach in the early morning light.A lone Willet snagged a snail from beneath the sand. Seeing an opportunity for a freebie meal, a Ring-billed Gull unsuccessfully chased after the skinny-legged bird. The Willet swallowed the morsel before the gull could steal the bacon.
Flocks of Black Skimmers winged just above the ocean surface, their lower beaks breaking the water in their feeding. They were out of sight in seconds.
By now, the lady with the gimp caught up to where I had stood for 20 minutes. Seeing that I had a camera, she berated me for standing pat, and beckoned me to where the water lapped at the firm sand. It was there that the best color reflected in the receding water and against the few clouds in the northeast sky.
Clouds to the north beautifully reflected the rising sunlight.
As we admired the pastel radiance together, a whale broke the water. This unexpected find disappeared and our eyes searched until the first of many waterspouts blew high into the air.
Birds circled above the Humpback Whale, making it easier to follow with the naked eye.The blow spouts drew my attention to a congregation of gulls circling above the whale like an avian tornado. They simplified our whale watching. Just follow the birds, and glimpse the whale. I later learned that it was a Humpback Whale, my first ever whale sighting.
Amid all this activity, I continued to snap picture after picture of the ever-changing sunrise. Just as the sun finally peaked above the horizon, yet one last gem sparkled.
I would have missed it if it hadn’t been for the older lady from New York. She pointed out the sun’s low-angled rays glistening in the crest of the waves as they broke upon the shore. They were golden jewels in an aqua crown.
I remembered seeing the effect in paintings and thought the artists had overdone it. Now I knew they hadn’t. In precious minutes, the bejeweled waves disappeared, replaced by white-capped cousins. The sun was ablaze, bathing the seashore with its warming light.
I had gone to the beach to take pictures of the sunrise. I left enriched with so much more.
The jewels in the crown of the waves made the sunrise even more spectacular.
The Grand Canyon was just one of many places Paul Sauerbrey introduced me to on our trip “out west” in 1970.
By Bruce Stambaugh
My old friend, Paul Sauerbrey, introduced me to four of our most notable presidents. I met the much larger than life-size George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, and Abraham Lincoln at Mount Rushmore in South Dakota.
That was July 1970. I was 22 years old and still wet behind the ears. I went with Sauerbrey, which is what he preferred to be called, and three students on what he termed his annual trip “out west.”
Paul SauerbreyPrior to this, I hadn’t been west of Toledo, Ohio. Sauerbrey’s introductions on that journey certainly didn’t stop with presidential memorials. He opened my world to travel, whetted my appetite for geography, and showed me first hand just how big and marvelous this great country is.
I was one of the fortunate ones. For many years, Sauerbrey used to take summer excursions from Killbuck, Ohio to the West Coast. He would go with families, students, and other teachers like myself. Having already been to the same places, his main purpose was to teach us first hand about America’s extensive topography and the country’s many cultures.
Sauerbrey got as much pleasure out of observing our initial reactions to encountering the numerous noted locales as he did visiting the places himself. In the space of three weeks, we experienced a diversity of venues, from South Dakota’s Badlands to Southern California’s Disneyland, from Yellowstone National Park to the Grand Canyon.
The trip changed my life. It gave me a perspective on the vastness and beauty of our country that I may never have had if Sauerbrey hadn’t asked me to go along. I’ve been traveling ever since.
There was nothing pretentious or shallow about Paul Sauerbrey. He either liked you or he didn’t, and you definitely knew where he stood, too. Paul Sauerbrey got as much excitement out of watching his travel companions making new discoveries, like these Big Horn Sheep, as he did seeing the scenery and wildlife himself.
Sauerbrey was a dedicated and respected teacher. He taught elementary school for 43 years without ever missing a full day of school.
Sauerbrey was an exacting teacher. He was especially particular when it came to English and math, two of his favorite subjects to teach. He could diagram a sentence with the best of them, and expected his students to do the same.
Some thought him a bit too strict of a teacher. As a friend and peer, he simply and rightfully had high standards. Students who could not meet those lofty requirements sometimes found themselves in the doghouse with Sauerbrey.
Paul Sauerbrey with our son, Nathan, and daughter, Carrie, when they were youngsters.To be sure, Sauerbrey had his faults. Don’t we all? He loved to teach and lived to teach. That’s what really matters. In a way, he still is teaching.
Each year several high school graduates benefit from Sauerbrey’s generosity, foresight and commitment to education. He donated a majority of his estate to the Holmes County Education Foundation.
In the 20 years since his death on Feb. 13, 1993, scores of students have been awarded scholarships to assist in the cost of their college education. Sauerbrey saw the importance of having a college degree, especially for students from a rural area. Many students who have received a Sauerbrey Memorial Scholarship have been the first in their family to attend college. They have become doctors, directors, lawyers, educators and first-rate mechanics.
Knowing that fact alone would have made Paul Sauerbrey extremely happy. I can imagine the smile on his face. It’s just like the one he had while watching me recklessly scramble to the top of a rock formation to get a better view of four great stone-faced presidents.
Finding just the right spot to relax on Main Beach, Amelia Island, Florida in January is not a problem.
By Bruce Stambaugh
I used to question the wisdom and practicality of vacationing twice in the same location.
Perhaps my personal wanderlust interfered with my empathy for the travel preferences of others. With so many places to visit locally, regionally, nationally and globally, I reasoned why would anyone want to return to the same place year after year?
Surely the urge to explore and discover had to be greater than the certainty of returning to the same destination at about the same time each year. I’m rethinking that opinion.
I am in a transitional period of my life, intentionally between full time employment and true retirement. I’m enjoying the freedom that comes with a flexible schedule.
The harbor at Fernandina Beach, Florida offers many a scenic sunset.
I still like visiting new locales, seeing new topography, meeting new folks. I am also beginning to more fully appreciate the contentment of familiarity. I realized that fact recently while my wife and I bathed in the glow of another incredible sunset over the harbor at Fernandina Beach, Florida.
For someone who practically calls Lakeside, Ohio his summer home, it should have been obvious to me. I guess I considered our Lakeside stints more tradition than vacation. Silly me.
We had found Amelia Island almost by accident last year. It was an overnight stop on the way to our true vacation destination, Sarasota, Florida. We liked the island so well we spent two more days there on the way home. We were hooked.
Charming homes line the streets of Fernandina Beach, Florida.We loved the island’s charm, its beautiful beaches, its commitment to wildlife habitat preservation, its rich history, and the diversity of activities it offered. We had only skimmed the surface last year. We needed to return to further explore this intriguing community.
Last year the weather, like most places in the country, was exceptionally warm for northern Florida in January. We walked the nearly vacant beaches in t-shirts and shorts. I birded the island’s preserve. We dined on locally caught seafood. We were in paradise instead of Ohio in January. It felt marvelous.
This year we returned to this magical destination for two weeks in order to dig deeper into the island’s many treasures. The weather couldn’t match that of 2012, but we had fun nevertheless. Cooler mornings warmed into pleasant days. Shorts and sandals were only appropriate a couple of days this time around.
Egans Creek Greenway offers biking, hiking, fishing and birding on the north end of Amelia Island.
We toured the local history museum, lunched outside at most restaurants, and collected perfect seashells of all sizes and colors. I hiked the paths through Fort Clinch State Park and Egans Creek Greenway enjoying the flora, fauna and breath-taking vistas and spring’s emerging pastels.
My epiphany came while I hustled around the boardwalks at Fernandina Beach’s harbor photographing yet another sunset. A patron sitting at a table of a dockside restaurant hailed me, wanting to know if this was my first time on the island.
Amelia Island State Park, at the southern tip of the island, is a great place to relax, walk or fish.
When I innocently replied that it was not and then read the man’s surprised facial expression, it hit me. To him I must have looked like a child on Christmas morning as I dashed around trying to get different angles of the ever-changing colorful sky.
I had taken many, many sunset shots last year. Yet here I was plying for more. Lightning struck. I recognized why people did repeat vacations.
I was relaxed, happy, appreciative, satisfied, if not downright blissful. Amelia Island, Florida in January 2014? Why not? It could become our traditional winter vacation.
A Manhattan-like traffic jam occurred in the snow-covered mountains of Virginia on our way to Florida.
By Bruce Stambaugh
My wife and I love to travel. It’s a common interest that we’ve had since we met nearly 43 years ago.
We feel fortunate to be at the station in life that allows us to travel when the opportunities arise. Of course we enjoy the various places we visit. We also like the people we meet along the way. We encountered a cast of characters on our latest trip to Florida. Walking the dog along Main Beach is a common sight on Amelia Island, Fla.
We have learned that a tank of gasoline will take us to Wytheville, Va., where the gas conveniently happens to be cheaper than most locations. We make it a regular pit stop if you get my drift. This go-round there was only one problem. The previous day’s heavy snow had brought down rural power lines. With no electricity, the pumps weren’t working.
I asked the kind clerks behind the counter where the closest station was with power. They said we had passed it seven miles back. I asked about further south, the direction we were going. They said they knew that Hillsville had power, and indeed that’s where we refueled.
We learned from a brief visit last winter that our destination, Amelia Island, Fla., had equally friendly and helpful people. It didn’t take us long to prove that correct again this trip.
The food was delicious and the staff very helpful at Kelley’s Courtyard Cafe in Fernandina Beach, Fla.After settling into our rental lodging, we went to the Happy Tomato Café in Fernandina Beach, Fla. for a late lunch only to discover that the eatery had closed for the day. Not to fear. A staff member came out and steered us to a competitor just down the street. We weren’t disappointed.
The waiter at this café was kind enough to direct us to the local grocery store. His directions were perfect.
On my first long walk on Main Beach on the Atlantic coast, I was photographing a flock of wintering gulls and skimmers. A middle-aged couple and their teenage son apologized to me for disturbing the birds and making them fly. I told them they actually had helped create the picture I had wanted, some birds on the wing, others on the sand.
In further conversation, the couple and their son revealed that they were lettuce farmers near Jacksonville, and rattled off local restaurants that purchased their produce from the local farmers’ market. I indicated that we had sampled the fare of several of them. Bike riding and para-sailing are just two of the many outdoor recreational activities on Amelia Island, Fla.
Later an elderly man walking his dog on the beach struck up a conversation with me about surfers and para-surfers he had seen. In our protracted discussion, I learned much about the man’s long, productive life as a government contractor.
At the Amelia Island History Museum, it was volunteer guide Paula’s turn. A retired social studies teacher, she was ideal for the job. She rattled off more information than my brain could absorb. I’m glad she didn’t give us a pop quiz at the end of her lecture.
At the Maritime Museum on the waterfront, Don was equally congenial, though more laid back. Retired Navy officers are like that. We spoke as if we were long lost friends. Now we’re just new ones. In Savannah, Ga., Nate made roses from reeds.
On a day trip to Savannah, Ga., we met Nate, who made roses out of reeds for his living, which was modest by any standard.
“Just call me Peanut,” Nate said. And so I did.
My wife and I savor our travels together. We enjoy the outgoing people we meet even more. Sunsets are spectacular over the harbor at Fernandina Beach, Fla.
Beside the letter “r,” what’s the difference between the word “wiggle” and “wriggle?”
Roadkill Crossing 
You must be logged in to post a comment.