Once again, our three-year-old grandson led the way. He loves Halloween, and while visiting him and his parents in Rochester, New York, we attended several trick-or-treat events in the greater Rochester area.
The one at the Tink Park in Henrietta, where this photo was taken, was a highlight. We had trouble keeping up with young Teddy, who was excited to see the trail of scores of candle-lit pumpkins that wound through the woods. Teddy wasn’t scared a bit.
As you can see, Teddy used his flashlight to beckon us onward. Based on his full Halloween bucket, Teddy hit several trick-or-treat stands before we walked the pumpkin gauntlet.
Little Teddy’s enthusiasm lit the way to Halloween before we had to return to Virginia.
With kudos to my three-year-old grandson, we spotted these cotton candy clouds hovering over Lake Ontario near Rochester, New York.
A local apple orchard held a trick-or-treat night. We arrived right before sunset and were surprised to see the sun finally break through at the end of a rainy, cloudy day.
The setting sun reflected cotton candy pink off the roiling atmospheric rain-makers as we entered the orchard. Thousands of Halloween revelers traipsed over the soggy grounds, collecting candy here and there among the rows of trees still laden with deliciousness.
An old barn stood down over the hill at the end of a recently harvested cornfield. The roof of this old barn peaked out from autumn’s warm palette that surrounded it. The lovely scene was near Friendsville, Maryland.
It’s been a dry, dull fall here in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The usual brilliant fall colors of trees and shrubs were only tinged with color, then mostly withered to brown and have fallen to the ground. Only patches of colors have shown brightly instead of entire neighborhoods or mountainsides.
In our recent coming and goings north and back south through the Appalachian Mountains in Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania, much is the same. Dry fields and forest, and mere spots of color could be seen.
This farmstead south of Friendsville, Maryland, was the exception. Autumn’s warm hues of the deciduous tree leaves surrounded all the buildings, with a splash of green thrown in by the evergreen.
I was grateful the morning sunshine highlighted this lovely scene.
You must stay alert while driving the winding, undulating secondary roads in Rockingham County, Virginia, situated at the geographic center of the Shenandoah Valley.
You wind around through forests, past agricultural fields, hilltop homes, abandoned buildings, in valleys with steep hillsides, and suddenly find yourself cruising along a straight stretch of roadway along a ridgeline. There’s always something to see.
On a recent outing with a friend, we emerged from a small valley onto a ridge with farm fields on either side that quickly sloped away from the road. I slowed when I spotted the orange of the pumpkins waiting to be harvested. Then I noticed the view.
The southern section of the town of Broadway peeked out above the treeline beyond the farmstead. In the distance, the Massenutten Mountain range stood steadfast against the cloud-studded cerulean sky.
Our three-year-old grandson, Teddy, invites you to welcome in the Fall season, or if you live in the Southern Hemisphere, Spring. The Autumnal Equinox occurs at 2:19 p.m. EDT on Monday.
Tolstoy had it right when he penned, “It is amazing how complete the delusion that beauty is goodness.”
After a day of driving and a lengthy doctor’s appointment, the evening was beautiful. My wife and I anticipated an enjoyable dinner at a sidewalk table of a recommended restaurant.
We didn’t stay seated long. Pesky but attractive Spotted Lanternflies chased us inside. Even then, lanternfly after lanternfly landed near the bottom of the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window and slowly climbed their way to the top. Several lay dead on the sidewalk below.
These lovely-looking, invasive insects have invaded Virginia’s agricultural breadbasket, the Shenandoah Valley, and are now moving into the Virginia Piedmont region. They likely hitched a ride on unsuspecting vehicles traveling south on I-81. According to hikers, entire sections of forest along the Appalachian Trail in Shenandoah National Park are stripped of leaves and likely dead due to these bugs, which resemble wolves in sheep’s clothing.
A recent email report from a hawk watcher’s group deployed in the same national park confirmed the mass invasion of the Spotted Lanternflies. The group had to move away from a building into a parking lot because these pesky insects swarmed around them so much that they couldn’t view the sky to count the migrating raptors.
Lanterflies don’t bite, but in swarms, they are a nuisance to humans.
Spotted Lanternflies are native to China and Vietnam. So, how did they get here? Human activity, of course. The Spotted Lanternflies first arrived in the U.S. in 2012, on a shipment of stone from Asia. The first infestation occurred two years later in eastern Pennsylvania.
Spotted Lanterflies feed on a wide range of plants, including flowers, grapevines, hops, stone fruit trees, and hardwood trees. Thus, the damage in Shenandoah National Park.
The Spotted Lanterflies excrete a sticky, sugary substance that promotes the growth of sooty mold, which can further damage the plants. The Tree of Heaven, also invasive to the U.S., is the lanterfly’s host plant.
So far, 14 states and the District of Columbia have officially verified reports of the Spotted Lanternfly’s existence. They hitchhike from state to state by laying their masses of eggs on hard surfaces, such as rocks, pallets, vehicles, trailers, and even children’s toys left outside. The lanternfly nymphs, small, black, spider-like creatures with white spots, are just as destructive as the adults.
Fortunately, North America has natural predators of these unwanted insects. They include other insects, such as praying mantises, wheel bugs, and spiders. Some bug-eating birds will also take care of them. However, the Spotted Lanternflies are so prolific that natural predators won’t eliminate them.
Consequently, humans must compensate for their collective error by spraying for them or hiring an exterminator. Homemade concoctions work against the lanternflies. A list of formulas is here.
Below is a map of the states where Spotted Lanternflies have been verified. However, if you encounter these beautiful but harmful bugs in a state with no official report, please notify the state’s wildlife or natural resources division as soon as possible.
In the case of the Spotted Lanterfly, Leo Tolstoy nailed it.
Map of the Spotted Lanterfly spread provided by Maps.com.
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.
Roadkill Crossing 
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