Category: photography

One year later, all is well

Biking by Bruce Stambaugh
A year after prostate cancer surgery, I am enjoying regular activities like biking with my family.

By Bruce Stambaugh

A year following my prostate cancer surgery, all is well. It’s hasn’t been a totally uneventful recovery. It certainly could have been worse.

I am extremely glad to be able to say “cancer free.” And yet, I do so with humility, appreciation and the realization that too many people never get to utter those precious words.

Men tend to be pretty squeamish even just thinking about prostate issues, much less talking or writing about them. That’s mainly due to the two unspeakable potential side effects, incontinency and impotency. Because of those two potential consequences, some men unfortunately never return to their doctor once they have been diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Father and sons by Bruce Stambaugh
My older brother, Craig, my late father, Richard, and I all had prostate cancer.
I wasn’t surprised at all when I received the word that I likely had prostate cancer. My older brother had had robotic prostate cancer surgery 18 months before my own diagnosis. Our father had died of the consequences of prostate cancer after a 17-year battle.

It was this family history and the marked vigilance of my good doctors via annual, then semi-annual prostate-specific antigen (PSA) testing that kept the possibility of having prostate cancer at the forefront of my medical exams. I am forever grateful for that watchfulness.

In the months before and after the surgery to remove my cancerous prostate, I received invaluable advice from friends and strangers alike regarding their personal experiences. I also read and researched as much as I could.

Veggie pizza by Bruce Stambaugh
A healthy diet is essential to good health, especially if you have or had cancer. This homemade veggie pizza is both colorful and healthy to eat.
Months after my surgery, a government sponsored panel recommended that regular PSA tests be discontinued as a way to monitor for prostate cancer. That conclusion was based on what was determined to be an overuse of the test and subsequently a high rate of prostate biopsies.

Without either the PSA tests or the conclusive biopsy, I could only guess today whether I had prostate cancer or not. I exhibited no symptoms. When my PSA steadily rose over the course of nearly two years to beyond the danger threshold, I was given a relatively new medical test, called PCA3, that was 90 percent accurate whether it returned negative or positive.

I remember exactly when and where I was when I received the call that my test was positive. It’s the kind of news that one never forgets, like where you were on the morning of September 11, 2001 or December 7, 1941. This was my personal 9/11.

Yet here I am today, alive and well and steadily overcoming the after effects of the surgery. Last November, I had a non-prostate related second surgery that dramatically impeded my recovery. True, left untreated the prostate cancer would not have killed me by now, perhaps never.

Grandchildren by Bruce Stambaugh
This picture was taken just three months after my da Vinci surgery. My wife and I were already traveling with and enjoying the grandchildren.
The biopsy determined that my cancer was the same moderately aggressive type that my brother and father both had. I leaned heavily on my older brother for advice, especially once I decided to move ahead with the robotic surgery, called da Vinci. It’s a surgery that is less invasive, less painful, causes less blood loss, has a quicker recovery than regular radical surgery, and focuses on nerve sparing to lessen the manly issues of being impotent and incontinent. Implanted radioactive seeding or direct radiation were my other options, both with similar long-term side effects that I deemed undesirable.

Through marvelous treatment and care by my doctors, and proper diet and exercise, I have survived. At this point in time, I am ahead of the curve on the two “big” side effects. They are only occasional and manageable inconveniencies. With the cancer out of my body, I don’t ever have to worry about prostate cancer again. No medical test can measure that satisfaction.

I cherish the words “cancer free.” I only wish every cancer victim could say them. Until then, I’ll keep telling my story to whoever will listen. If doing so helps save just one life, it all will have been well worth it no matter what the experts say.

Dewy web by Bruce Stambaugh
Being cancer free, I try to cherish whatever each day brings, even the dew on a spider’s web.

© Bruce Stambaugh 2012

Lakeside daisies are in early bloom

Lakeside Daisy Nature Preserve by Bruce Stambaugh
Daisies in full bloom at the Lakeside Daisy Nature Preserve near Marblehead, OH.

By Bruce Stambaugh

Bee and daisy by Bruce StambaughThe Lakeside daisies are in full bloom. That may not sound like earth-shattering news. But apparently due to the unusually warm winter here in Ohio, the daisies, like most other flowers, plants and trees, are blooming early. Plus, if you are a lover of all things nature, and especially wildflowers, you don’t want to miss this yellowy exhibition.

The Lakeside daisies are particularly special. They only bloom in a limited number of locations on or near the Marblehead Peninsula in northwest Ohio. In addition, their buttery blooms only last a week before they begin to fade. If you want to see them in person, you had better make tracks to the Lakeside Daisy Nature Preserve near Marblehead. My wife and I were there Sunday, and the preserve was a splash of yellow against the dull limestone gray ground.

The daisies growing in a small patch inside Lakeside were beautiful, too. They’re located right along the Lake Erie shore at the east end of Lakeside near Perry Park.

Lakeside daisies by Bruce Stambaugh
A bee enjoys one of the daisies in a clump of Lakeside daisies in a small preserve in flower’s namesake, Lakeside, OH.

Unfortunately it looks like the blooms will be gone before Marblehead’s annual Daisy Days scheduled for Mother’s Day weekend. Naturalists will lead walks through the preserve, so you can still learn a lot about the lovely little flower even if they aren’t blooming.

The Lakeside daisy (Hymenoxys herbacea) has been listed as an endangered species by Ohio since 1980. If you can’t make it to see this beautiful flower in person, enjoy the photos I took Sunday. If you look closely, you’ll notice some of the petals on the flowers are already starting to wilt.
Nature Preserve sign by Bruce Stambaugh

Lakeside Nature Preserve blooms by Bruce Stambaugh

Clump at Lakeside by Bruce Stambaugh

Daisies at Lakeside by Bruce Stambaugh

Daisies at Lakeside, OH by Bruce Stambaugh
© Bruce Stambaugh 2012

Keep on the sunny side of life no matter what

Sunset rays by Bruce Stambaugh
By Bruce Stambaugh

In this dog eat dog world of ours, it’s easy to get down on others and yourself. I’m much too guilty of that. Just ask my wife.

An email from a friend reminded me of that the other day. My friend, a man 14 years my senior, three decades ago survived a serious illness and now is in a pitched battle against lymphoma.

If anyone had a reason to be down, he did. Yet, he wasn’t. He has had a very successful life, one filled with both professional and personal achievements, most in service to others.

My friend wrote this email in reference to celebrating spring, the newness of life that is bursting forth all around us here in the northern hemisphere. He gratefully reflected on the lovely spring day on which he arrived home after his near brush with death 27 years ago.
Dogwood blossoms by Bruce Stambaugh
He championed the simplest things, a blooming flower, the green grass, a whiff of a refreshing scent, a tender touch of a loved one, and how we all are interconnected to all that is around us. His concluding comment of gratitude was, “And I almost missed this.”

I immediately replied by thanking him for the reminder to celebrate life in the present. We can’t change the past, and we can’t control the future. We can be positive in each and every opportunity in which we find ourselves daily.

Cockeyed optimist or bully pulpit preaching? Perhaps. But consider the alternative, a life of grumpy complaining that dulls everyone’s spirits. What fun is there in that? My friend’s note was looking life right in the eye and saying I’m glad to be here. We were all glad he was, too, and still are for that matter.

When I read that brief message, the song, “Keep on the sunny side of life,” instantly came to mind. Now, I’m no singer, but I like that song for its lyrics and its meaning. Stay positive. Life can be a bummer at times. Hardly anyone could deny that.
Spring Beauties by Bruce Stambaugh
With the temperatures warming, the grass growing, the leaves unfurling, the flowers blooming, some birds already feeding their young, and the ability to be out and about without fear of frostbite, it’s simply great to be alive.

I know times are tough for many, especially financially. There is too much illness in the world, too much injustice, too many wars, too much hatred. Yet, we are alive, and we can do something about all that if we put our mind and energy to whatever productive cause we support to help counter those woes.

I need to take on the spirit of my friend. Live life fully, completely, honestly, purely, truly, compassionately, thankfully. To do otherwise is a simple waste of the precious time we have left on this earth.
Workhorses by Bruce Stambaugh
A long time ago a lady called a school superintendent’s office. It was a miserable, cold and rainy day, and the woman was notorious for complaining. The superintendent took the call anyhow. He answered cheerfully by saying, “Good morning. It’s a beautiful day to be alive, isn’t it?”

When the lady recoiled at the positive greeting and asked how the school official could be so upbeat, he simply replied, “It sure beats the alternative.”

Yes, it does. I hope you can keep on the sunny side of life today, even if you are in the midst of a personal storm.
Wildflowers by Bruce Stambaugh
© 2012 Bruce Stambaugh

Minding our Ps and Qs, 21st century style

Williamsburg VA by Bruce Stambaugh
By Bruce Stambaugh

I couldn’t help but sense the irony and wonder in it all. My wife and I were visiting my older brother and his wife near Williamsburg, Virginia.

We all were enjoying a pleasant spring evening on the back porch of their lovely home. My wife was using her iPhone. My sister-in-law toyed with her iPad. My brother and I each were surfing around on our MacBook Pro laptops.

The evening was dark and still, except for the occasional distant rumble of thunder. The only light on the porch was the glow from the screens of our electronic gizmos.

My brother and sister-in-law own a lovely home just minutes away from Colonial Williamsburg. Founded in 1654, Williamsburg played a significant role in the development of our country to say the least.
Williamsburg home by Bruce Stambaugh
We had spent the heart of the day walking the streets of the historic town. If you have never been there, it’s a bucket list kind of place, beautifully restored and maintained with lots to do for children and adults alike.

Williamsburg actor by Bruce StambaughEven though I had visited Williamsburg before, I again thrilled at just the thought of strolling the same streets that a young Thomas Jefferson once did. With so many guides and actors dressed in period attire, it was easy to imagine being back in time.

Plush carriages pulled along by noble teams of horses plied the once muddy streets, now paved for the comfort of the tourists and the convenience of the staff. The night before we had enjoyed a delicious meal in Shields Tavern, where we were careful to mind our Ps and Qs.

That old saying, still heard today, could very well have had Williamsburg roots. In those days, a tavern’s bartender simply kept a chalkboard ledger of what customers consumed. If they drank a pint, a P was lettered under their name. If a quart, then a Q was marked. At evening’s end, the bill was tabulated and the customers properly minded their Ps and Qs by paying their bill. Today it simply means to take care of your own business.
Williamsburg carriage by Bruce Stambaugh
As the four of us sat quietly on the darkened porch, we could have been minding our own Ps and Qs by paying our bills online. With the rumbling thunderstorms growing closer, it seemed a bit surreal using our 21st century technology to check in with the world while sitting in the shadow of a bygone era. The town crier was definitely no longer needed to announce the time.

I thought about other familiar sayings we utter without knowing their origin. We derisively chatter about big wigs without contemplating the phrase’s original meaning. For the record, “big wigs” came from the 17th century society custom of wealthy people wearing expensive wigs made of human hair. The taller the wig, the more aristocratic you were.
Williamsburg hats by Bruce Stambaugh
You could say we went the whole nine yards at Williamsburg. That reference was attributed to a bolt of fabric, which equaled nine yards. Clearly I enjoy linking the past with the present.

As the line of storms hit our area, it rained cats and dogs, but not long. Even well before colonial times, superstitious persons believed cats symbolized the rain and dogs the wind; thus, the saying.

Back on the porch, we powered down for the night, thankful for both the generous hospitality and the opportunity to reconnect with the origins of our democracy. I wondered if somewhere, someplace Thomas Jefferson and Steve Jobs were both smiling.Williamsburg wisteria by Bruce Stambaugh

Celebrate all of spring’s colors, trees included

Red roof barn by Bruce Stambaugh
By Bruce Stambaugh

I feel a touch sorry for the budding leaves of the many varieties of deciduous trees. My sympathetic compassion isn’t confined to the recent series of frosty morning temperatures either.

As my wife and I drove home from Virginia’s beautiful Shenandoah Valley after visiting our daughter and her family, we were in awe of the rainbow of colors that exploded before us at every turn. Traversing the old wrinkled mountains of Virginia and West Virginia, there are more turns and twists than in a pretzel factory. In the spring, the mountains are loaded with colors.
Redbuds by Bruce Stambaugh
The most obvious were the amazing redbud trees, which were in full bloom, a lavender testimony to spring’s arrival. Against the dull gray, brown and black trunks of towering oaks, maples, wild cherry and ash, the diminutive redbuds’ beautiful blooms radiated glory on the steep hillsides.

We drove for miles and occasionally only saw a loner blooming as robustly as it could, like a child demanding adult attention. Without warning we would round a corner or top another hill and a burst of redbuds greeted us on both sides of the highway, as if a purple curtain had been drawn for us to pass.

As much as I appreciated that kindness, I couldn’t help but notice streaks and blotches of background colors, more muted, but rich nonetheless. After months of dormancy, the leafy buds of stately hardwoods were just beginning to unfurl.

Though subdued and understated, they too added to nature’s ever-changing paint palette. Hints of lemon, lime, russet, auburn, scarlet, gold, orange and brown were bursting forth. At wood’s edge, the branches reached out from top to bottom. At the thick forest canopy, the trees stood as freshly dabbed artists’ bristles awaiting application to canvas.
Budding trees by Bruce Stambaugh
In the valleys, the dogwoods and wild apples were beginning to compete with the redbuds. They added a lacy texture to the purple hue where the species cohabitated. In towns and villages, ornamentals were well ahead of schedule in blooming their reds, whites and crimsons.

The further north we drove the trees and flowers were less showy, but still emerging. Buttery daffodils and jonquils were in various stages along our route, from dying in Virginia to perfect bloom in Ohio. Every now and then, congregations of coltsfoot and dwarf dandelions lined either side of the road brighter than the yellow centerline striping.
Dwarf dandelions by Bruce Stambaugh
The flowers of spring get photographed, picked, and adorn coffee tables, bringing the outside inside. The unfolding leaves, rich in their own hues, tend to take a back seat to the flora extravaganza. For me, that’s the injustice.

It’s the fall when people generally start to pay attention to the kaleidoscope of colorful leaves. It was intriguing that these emerging spring beauties mimicked the same colors exhibited in the fall.

Just like autumn, the spring’s natural art display will disappear all too quickly. Only instead of falling, the leaves magically transform to various shades of green.

I was fearful these picturesque landscapes would go unnoticed or even unappreciated. I need not have worried.

When friends of ours arrived for a visit shortly after we returned, they proclaimed, “Did you see the leaves coming out? It looks like fall.” Yes indeed it does.

Connecting the dots in unexpected ways

By Bruce Stambaugh

Life has a way of connecting dots in unexpected ways.

Nearly three weeks ago, our two-year-old granddaughter became ill. Her mother, our daughter, took her to the doctor on back-to-back days.

Maren by Bruce StambaughUnsure of the problem, the doctor thought it best if Maren were hospitalized for observation and tests. It was to be an overnight stay. When her fever didn’t subside, and the tests proved inconclusive, another night in the hospital was needed. Of course, we stayed in close contact with our daughter, albeit long distance via emails, text messages and occasional phone calls.

When Nana heard the news that Maren was to spend a second night in the hospital, her helper mode ratcheted into high gear. Nana hastily threw together her traveling items and headed to Harrisonburg, Virginia, where our daughter and her family reside.

I stayed behind. I had long-scheduled doctor appointments, meetings that convened only monthly, and other community commitments. Besides, I believe that too many adults in the same household at the same time can be, well, sometimes touchy, especially with youngsters.

The situation with Maren grew worse. She was transferred to a noted children’s hospital for further examination. Nana took care of our two grandsons while our daughter and her husband watched over sweet Maren.

Of course I was anxious to join them. We had previously planned on leaving for a weeklong visit with the grandkids anyhow. Maren’s illness just bumped up the trip’s urgency. But I didn’t necessarily want to have two vehicles 350 miles from home if we could help it.

Arriving home by Bruce Stambaugh
It was nice to have Maren arrive home, even though she was tired and peaked.
Being the workhorse that she is, Nana kept busy with household chores in Virginia. When the recycling piled up, she decided to take it to the recycling center. One other person was there, a middle-aged man who noticed Nana’s Ohio license plates.

The man said that he used to live in Ohio, Kidron to be exact, 12 miles from our house. The assertive person that she is, Nana asked this nice person if he happened to know of anyone coming down to Harrisonburg from Ohio on Sunday afternoon.

To her astonishment, and mine once she told me the story, the man replied that indeed he and his wife were visiting in Kidron, Ohio that very weekend and would be returning on Sunday afternoon, the exact time I had wanted to leave. He said he would be glad to have me ride along if I could find a way to Kidron.

As it turned out, my ride and I discovered we had mutual friends who lived near Kidron and who just happen to attend church with us. Our friends shuttled me to the rendezvous with this charitable couple. Like clockwork, we met up and transferred all my belongings I needed for the extended stay in Virginia from my friends’ car to my new friends’ car.

Given all the mental stress I was under, I was relieved to have someone else do the driving down the winding path to the

Feeling better by Bruce Stambaugh
Maren was glad to be home, playing and active as her strength would allow.
Shenandoah Valley. He proved an excellent driver, and delivered me right to my daughter’s door. It couldn’t have worked out better. The next day, Maren returned home, having been diagnosed with a perforated appendix, a difficult and unusual illness for a toddler.

Thanks to a common household errand and the interchange of two gregarious strangers, I got to welcome Maren and my daughter home. I am exceedingly glad those two divergent dots got connected.

This column appears weekly in the Holmes Bargain Hunter.

Rejuvenated in a familiar and changed place

Flowering shrubs by Bruce Stambaugh
By Bruce Stambaugh

I hadn’t been to Secrest Arboretum in Wooster, Ohio since a tornado literally blew it apart September 16, 2010. In the midst of our recent summer-like weather, I decided it was time to reconnect.

Woodlots by Bruce StambaughLike so many others, I always had found the arboretum to be a place of blissful escape and rejuvenation. Its lovely woodlots, pristine gardens and peaceful settings have long served as a place of inspiration and retreat for many.

I knew why it had taken me so long to return to this little paradise. I didn’t want to relive those ugly memories, so opposite of what Secrest was meant to be.

Just an hour after the tornado hit late that summer evening, I had maneuvered in and around the devastation of the Ohio Agriculture and Research Development Center campus, where the arboretum is located. As a volunteer severe weather spotter, the Cleveland office of the National Weather Service had sent me there to photograph the damage as best I could.

I only had about a half an hour before sunset. Rescue crews were still combing buildings for possible victims who may have stayed late for work or study. Sporadic jerky flashes from searchlights sent eerie light beams through holes of broken buildings.

Focusing on my duty, I snapped as many pictures in the dim light as I could. That purposeful concentration was the only thing that stilled my emotions.

OARDC tornado damage by Bruce Stambaugh
Tornado damage near the Barnhardt Rice House on the Ohio Agricultural and Research Development Center in Wooster, Ohio on the evening of Sept. 16, 2010.

Historic buildings were ripped apart. Vehicles had been smashed and tossed like toys. Giant, beloved trees were snapped, toppled and twisted. It was overwhelming to see this peaceful place resemble a war zone.

It was nearly dark by the time I had circled back to the famous and popular gardens. Trees that had stood as sentinels over the flora and fauna had been sheared off or completely twisted out of the ground.

I thought of the many good times past when we toured the gardens with family and friends, admiring the marvelous variety of plants, flowers and trees. Those memories made it all so heart wrenching.

Like thousands of others, researchers and visitors alike, I loved the place. The EF2 tornado stole that, too. I knew that restoration had begun almost immediately. But I wondered if Secrest would ever be the same.

Flowers and stump by Bruce StambaughBuoyed by the unusually warm weather, I laid aside my fears and drove in. As soon as I exited my vehicle, familiar sights and sounds were instantaneous. Young trees had been planted, some adjacent to the sawed-off stumps, testimonial tombstones to those once towering trees.

Exotic tulips by Bruce StambaughThe early onslaught of warm weather had coaxed the blossoming of many flowers and flowering trees. Crocuses, daffodils, hydrangea, forsythia, magnolia and even an exotic tulip were all blooming, some well ahead of schedule. Workers were busy trimming out last year’s dead growth while construction crews continued to repair, replace and expand the lovely gardens.

ricehousebybrucestambaugh
The Barnhardt Rice House is repaired and back in use.
It was a pleasure to walk the paved pathways to explore the remake. I wasn’t the only one to notice the fragrant flowers. Huge bumblebees and honeybees gorged on the nectar of the new blossoms. Mocking birds flushed from one bush to the next, staking out nesting preferences.

It was also nice to see some of the campus building restored, refurbished and back in use. Others, however, remained much as the tornado had left them.

Damaged silos by Bruce Stambaugh
Silos on the OARDC campus stand as they were after being hit by a tornado Sept. 16, 2010.

The restoration of Secrest Arboretum is a work in progress to be sure. In some sections, tornado twisted and toppled trees remain within eyeshot of the ongoing transformations.

The contrasts of nature’s stark fury and inspiring revival filled my soul. In the midst of this resurrection season, Secrest and I were both healing.

Restored and damaged by Bruce Stambaugh
While many areas of the arboretum have been restored, sections of large trees downed by the tornado remain.

The ins and outs of a sustained marriage

Puffy clouds by Bruce Stambaugh
The beauty around us helps create a lasting, loving relationship.

By Bruce Stambaugh

Soon my wife and I will have been married for 41 years. How have we made it this far? Well, this may sound funny, but the answer to that question in part is because we manage to avoid each other.

I think I better explain. My wife and I both believe in being community activists. That is a fancy way of saying we get involved in local activities, many of them on a volunteer basis.

Over those 41 years of marriage, Neva and I have recognized a familiar pattern. She goes out the drive just as I am coming in or vice versa. When we first noticed this routine, we laughed about the happenstance. The phenomenon has continued with amazing regularity.

When Neva comes in the drive as I am leaving, we just roll our eyes in common acceptance and acknowledgment of the many paths our busy lives have taken us. We recognize the importance of accepting and encouraging our individual interests and areas of service as important ingredients of any successful marriage.

Our house by Bruce Stambaugh
Where our driveway moments occur.

With us, this is pretty much how it goes. Neva has a 10 a.m. meeting scheduled in Millersburg with the thrift store where she volunteers. I have the morning free to tinker around the house or write. After lunch, Neva arrives home, and I need to leave for a rendezvous with a local resident regarding a township issue. I’m a township trustee.

We haven’t necessarily planned these driveway moments. It’s just the way it has panned out time and again over our 41-year marriage. I come in the drive, Neva goes out. It’s like clockwork.

If anything, it’s more about trusting each other and commitment to community than intentional evasion. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons our marriage has not only grown in years, it’s thrived.

We respect each other and each other’s interests. We also give each other the freedom and space to exercise those interests. The fact that those activities often coincide with a community event is possibly the glue that has helped hold our loving relationship together.

Bruce and Neva by Bruce StambaughNeither of us would begin to pretend to be perfect or that ours is a model marriage. That innate trust, however, allows us to do our own thing while actually reinforcing our husband and wife relationship.

I’m not bragging when I say that we feel blessed to have lasted this long as a couple. Marital bliss for our generation has turned out to be a 50/50 proposition. I feel for those who have tried to hold their marriage together, giving their all to no avail. I am ever so thankful that we have hung in there, even during difficult times.

With the varying schedules and comings and goings, having a supporting community around us has certainly enhanced our chances for success. We fully and humbly recognize that we have not been on this long journey alone. We have many people to thank for being there for us through thick and thin.

Friends, neighbors, church members, and especially family have all played important roles in the success and longevity of our marriage. Our son once asked me what the secret to our longevity of marriage was. I didn’t hesitate in answering, “There are no secrets between us.”

That includes where Neva is going again when I pull into the driveway.

Unwanted attention: Amish and the media

Wheat and corn by Bruce Stambaugh
Picturesque rural scenes like this one attract millions of people every year to Ohio's Amish country.

By Bruce Stambaugh

The Amish in the Holmes County, Ohio area have been in the news in recent months, and the news hasn’t always been good. The bizarre hair-cutting incidents, murders, financial fraud and accidental shootings all had the bright lights of media coverage shining on the normally peaceful and private Amish folks.

By faith and by lifestyle, the Amish wanted none of the attention. Yet, Amish are humans, and subject the same extremes and circumstances as any other individual, family or group of people. When something disturbing and uncanny happens among the world’s largest Amish population, the media swoop in to tell the world about it.

Certainly, the media has its right and responsibility to report stories it deems important. When it comes to radical events concerning the Amish, like the renegade group led by Sam Mullet of Bergholz, Ohio, it seems the world can’t get enough information.

Indeed, that desire to know is understandable, especially when it involves the normally reserved Amish. Violence in a usually peaceful and peace-loving community is an anomaly, and definitely incongruous with the Amish lifestyle.
Spring plowing by Bruce Stambaugh
The problem is, of course, that the Amish really want nothing to do with publicity, whether positive or negative. Humility is a main premise to their way of life. They believe that no member should be the center of attention, whether for doing good or doing ill. The Amish culture is centered on community, not individuality.

It is when the extraordinary in the community occurs, like the recent hostile beard cutting incidences, that that norm is broken. The unusual acts are extensively reported, and the world responds with questions and fascination. Again, the Amish prefer not to be featured as a general rule. But they also want the world to know that these extreme human behaviors are exceptions, not the rule, in the regular work-a-day-world.
Open buggy by Bruce Stambaugh
Just their choice of slower living lifestyles alone actually brings about media attention to Amish country. Many film and TV documentaries have been recorded and broadcast depicting the Amish and their less hectic lifestyle. Unfortunately, many of these productions often misinterpret or misrepresent the Amish and their values. When that unusual lifestyle is interrupted by extreme circumstances, the reporters from around the world flock in to get the scoop.

The Amish deplore any violence, whether it is done to them or others. In the case of the accidental killing of a 15-year old girl riding in a buggy, the shooter himself was Amish. Within days, the two families reconciled privately, saddened by the unfortunate and unexplainable one in a million chance that took a young life. The families forgave, and worked at getting on with life as best they could. That precious act of communing drew no media attention, which was just fine with all involved.

The Amish understand society’s need to know. They just don’t want to have their beliefs violated in gathering the sordid facts. If they do agree to a rare journalistic interview, Amish do not want their faces shown on television or in the newspaper.

Volleyball by Bruce Stambaugh
Amish youth meet regularly for hymn sings, bible study and good old-fashioned fun, like a volleyball tournament. No trophies are awarded, and there are no losers.

That bit of advice certainly should be followed by anyone visiting Amish country. Knowing that Amish prefer not to be photographed, it is best to take pictures of them from the back and from afar. In other words, take a picture of a field being plowed with the horses and farmer going away from the camera.
Serving by Bruce Stambaugh
Out of respect for their beliefs, facial pictures of Amish adults should be avoided.

When in a large crowd with mostly Amish folks like at one of the area’s numerous benefit auctions, be sensitive to the setting. Photographs of individuals would be discouraged.

The global media infrequently descends upon Amish country to report unusual stories. When they do, the Amish prefer to steer clear of any of the attention. They understand that the story needs to be told. They just don’t want to be a part of it.

This article appears in the current edition of Ohio’s Amish Country.

At winter’s end, it wasn’t much of one

Cold creek by Bruce Stambaugh
By Bruce Stambaugh

Here we are at winter’s end. Spring officially arrives March 20.

In reality, winter here in our area has hardly been winter at all, especially when compared to the past two. In case this mild winter has dulled your memory, the winters of 2009-2010 and 2010-2011 were bears, both fit more for polar bears than humans.

All of Ohio, and much of the Midwest for that matter, got dumped on. We measured snow by the foot instead of inches. Schools were closed, factories shut, roads declared impassable.
Patriotic snow by Bruce Stambaugh
Several snowfall records were set all across the Great Lakes region. They were winters of which children can only dream, and adults refer to, accurately or imaginatively, as snows like “when I was growing up.”

The snows were relentless. Once the snow from one big storm was cleaned up, another and sometimes bigger snow buried us again. Those winters never seemed to end. They began in November with below normal temperatures and above average precipitation and lasted into April.

Frozen crocus by Bruce StambaughEven the springs that followed were damp and cold. It really wasn’t until we had reached June in northeastern Ohio that spring’s fair weather had begun in earnest.

This winter, on the other hand, was indeed a different story. Old man winter never really showed his face. Yes, we had snow, but only a few times did it deposit enough to measure in inches, and even then, it was often a half an inch here and a quarter of an inch there.

Records were broken for precipitation this winter. The moisture was mostly rain, driven along by strong winds.

Those who cherish the winters of the previous two years had to hate this one. Snow skiing, ice skating, sled riding were all shelved for the most part. In Wisconsin, the vehicles of desperate ice fishermen sunk into a lake because the ice was so thin.
Birds galore by Bruce Stambaugh
The previous two winters brought birds galore to backyard feeders. This year, the birds were far and few between, preferring their natural foraging to human offerings. Sure the usual faithfuls appeared, but not in the numbers or frequency of harsher winters.

earlycrocusesbybrucestambaughThis winter was so mild that the first crocuses bloomed in February instead of March. The long slender stems of the weeping willow trees showed their pencil yellow early too. I even heard of one woman who planted sweet potatoes in February.

All the rain kept the dull, ugly brown of dormant yards at bay. Instead, lawns stayed some shade of vibrancy all winter long. From the looks of things, moles may have enjoyed the winter most of all. Their unsightly mounds dotted the prettiest of landscapes indiscriminately throughout the area.

Busy bee by Bruce StambaughAt my age, I was ready for an easygoing winter, although a weeklong cold snap would have been nice to help keep the insects in check. I’m fearful of the buggy consequences of not having a sustained cold spell. Perhaps the flycatchers, swifts and swallows will thrive if such an outbreak does occur.

I hear people saying that we may pay for the mild winter with a cold and snowy spring. That could happen, although the National Weather Service has forecast a warmer and wetter than normal March through May.

We’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, we can rejoice that winter’s end is near, and that spring, whatever she may bring, is at hand.