travel – Roadkill Crossing

Enjoying Nature’s Many Benefits

You never know what you’ll happen upon in nature. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We live in a stress-filled world with lots of artificial noise, annoying distractions, societal expectations, and short deadlines. There are ways to escape the madness, even if only temporarily.

In my almost 79 years of living, I have made a habit of escaping much of life’s static by getting away. Even in retirement, I feel life’s stresses.

Hiking and bird watching are two excellent ways to forget all of the activities that clutter our lives, especially with 21st-century technology constantly hounding us. Combining exercise with enjoyment helps strengthen my body, foster mindfulness, and recharge my spirit for living.

I add in a third complementary hobby: photography. Snapshots of my outings document where I have been and what I have seen. Then I can share the treasures I have found with others, which only enhances the joy of the experience.

Poet Mary Oliver taught us to “pay attention, be astonished, tell about it.” During my treks, I put this poetic advice into practice. I marvel at a pair of Swallow-tailed Kites foraging for insects over a recently mown field. Walking through a tunnel of blooming Mountain Laurel along the Appalachian Trail stops me in my tracks.

A Swallowtail Kite. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A blogger friend of mine who frequents Georgia’s Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge does so for solitude and renewal by kayaking among alligators. Finding renewal in nature is a personal preference. Making the effort to enjoy the outdoors is what counts.

Recent studies have proven what author Wendell Berry has always known: “For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.” One study “found evidence for associations between nature exposure and improved cognitive function, brain activity, blood pressure, mental health, physical activity, and sleep.” Another research paper focused on the health benefits of nature in urban areas.

These studies show that everyone, everywhere, should commune with nature. It can be a morning walk in your neighborhood or a long-distance bicycle ride. I walk frequently in our suburban neighborhood in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The melodious bird calls and the fragrance from well-attended flower gardens combine to energize my steps.

I find Berry’s grace under the shady canopy of towering trees, among stands of colorful wildflowers, while viewing wildlife big and small, and in forever mountaintop vistas. So, whether with friends or solo, I enjoy nature in her many forms. Being retired allows me to do so as time allows.

I keep a steady pace until I spot something pretty or intriguing. I pull out my smartphone and photograph it. That documents the time and place to reinforce my memory. It might be another opportunity to share it as well.

I belong to a local bird club, so I can follow up on any rare bird alerts as I can. I don’t always find the bird in question, but I’m not disappointed. I often encounter other birders in search of the same species. We commiserate and share other birding adventures we’ve had. New friends are made in the process.

I’ll occasionally join a scheduled bird hike in a city park or even in Shenandoah National Park 40 miles away. Having multiple pairs of eyes scanning the sky and peering through thickets and woodlots enhances all our chances of seeing a special bird.

I have the privilege of mentoring a high school junior from our church. He also happens to enjoy bird watching, so we occasionally venture out with small groups or another mentor-mentee pair to enjoy the hiking, camaraderie, and all we encounter along the way.

Impatient with our septuagenarian pace, the trustworthy teens forge ahead, exploring on their own. Once, they encountered an unfamiliar rock scramble and rushed back to us, realizing they had missed the turn.

I am most free to enjoy the flora and fauna when I go alone. I travel at my own leisure, stopping to photograph bees and butterflies on flowers, unusual rock formations, and birds if I can spot them in the dense foliage.

After hiking to a majestic overlook in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I rest a spell, partly to regain my energy and catch my breath, but mostly to inhale the view. The quiet has its rewards: a doe grazing with her fawn, Red-tailed Hawks and Turkey Vultures soaring on thermals with puffy white clouds sailing high overhead in the cerulean sky, a Timber Rattlesnake soaking in the sun on a limestone outcropping.

Hydration and nourishment with water and snacks are essential, especially when hiking at higher altitudes. With binoculars hanging from my neck and a camera slung on my shoulder, a pair of walking sticks keeps me steady even on the rockiest of terrain.

Spending time in nature provides many benefits, especially for seniors as we age. It helps improve cardiovascular health and sleep, and reduce inflammation in the body, according to this study by the Elder Care Alliance. My family physician tells me “to keep moving,” so I do.

The essence of being in nature with the wild things gives me all the peace I need. With no signal in remote areas, the cellphone never interrupts.

Going to the Mall

I grew up in the 1950s and 60s, when a lot was happening in the U.S. and global society. Much of the action mirrored today’s unfortunate interactions.

The one burgeoning element in my adolescent years was the development of shopping malls. “Build it, and they will come” was certainly true in those turbulent years of Vietnam and the civil rights movement.

People flocked to the malls. If they wanted to, shoppers could park in one spot in the massive parking lots that surrounded the indoor malls and shop to their heart’s content. They could even have lunch in the food court.

Of course, those massive malls proved to be the doom of city downtowns all across the country. Mom-and-pop stores that provided goods and services for generations eventually closed. Storefronts shuttered, and city centers decayed.

But look at many of those malls today. Like the urban stores, the malls have also closed one by one. Big box stores and Amazon have been their demise.

The efficiency of technology, which we all use, has been the death knell of in-person shopping for the most part. It’s also stifled human interactions, if only in casual passing. If the malls remain open, they often have been converted to government service centers with a few scattered retail stores.

Imagine my surprise when our friend and host where we stayed on the Maine Coast announced that we were going to “the mall.” We loaded the SUV with the garbage and recycling, and drove to the Georgetown Island, Maine, recycling center.

So, how can a recycling center be a mall? Leave it to Mainers. “The mall” stands in the far corner of the property. Residents bring items that are still usable and place them among the other items on the shelves that already hold tea sets, paintings, toys, and decorations.

Used clothing is hung on racks just like a thrift store. Bigger items like furniture, suitcases, and fans sat on the concrete. There was even a used composting toilet. So, if it’s still usable, Mainers pass it on for others who might want it.

The best part of this mall: Everything is free. If you like it and can use it, it’s yours, no questions asked. After all, it is a recycling center.

It’s the kind of mall anyone would enjoy.

Feeling the Heat

Though we were in Maine, we felt the oppressive summer heat like the rest of the U.S. and even globally. We even had a day of smoky skies from the wildfires. The only reprieve was our host’s cabin, where the ocean breezes kept the temperatures tolerable.

Nevertheless, we wanted to see other attractions, so we headed out despite the heat. Unfortunately, we chose the warmest day of our stay to venture to the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden in Boothbay, Maine.

We toured the many lovely gardens, but not all of them. Elder folks that we are, we wilted under the heat and humidity. We sought shelter at lunchtime in the air conditioning of the garden’s cafe.

We continued our walking tour until we found a shuttle cart that drove us into the far reaches of the popular destination. I would have loved to walk those shaded paths down to the ocean, but I wasn’t sure I would make it back. So, our brief riding tour completed our time there.

A short drive south brought us to the tourist-popular Boothbay Harbor. Given the crowd, I was fortunate to find a parking spot. We walked along the harbor’s edges where we could until we found an ice cream shop. It was the pause we all needed.

I had spied a large white church across the bay, so we drove around the bay so I could photograph the church and the bay from that location. An engaging dock worker permitted me to enter the private dock to take my photos, but only at my own risk. With a smile, he said he would rescue me if I fell in. I didn’t.

In the evening, my wife and I drove back to Five Islands for another lobster roll before we had to leave in the morning. With the sun’s angle just right, I was more interested in capturing photos of the boats moored in the harbor and near the surrounding islands.

When I ordered our food, I noticed a live lobster, with its claws taped shut, resting in a box on the counter. Perhaps it had been ordered for a cook-it-yourself take-out.

When I returned to our table, two other couples had just sat down with their seafood dinners. They kindly allowed me to photograph a boiled lobster. Clearly, the cooked lobster was much more appetizing than the live one.

We greatly enjoyed our vacation with family and friends, meeting new people, and exploring new places. The bird outings were fun, too. The next morning’s sunrise served as a nice send-off.

The sunrise served as a lovely send-off for us. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Visiting a Neighbor: Reid State Park

One of the beaches at Reid State Park, Georgetown, Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Reid State Park lies a mile across the bay from the cottage where we stayed. To get there by car, we drove seven miles.

The park serves as an access to the ocean for the general public. It also stands as a stark reminder of Mainers’ desire to preserve and protect their precious and lovely coastline from too much commercial development.

Diana, our host, wanted us to experience the park the way other visitors do. It was also an opportunity for a wider perspective of the Atlantic Ocean than what we could see from her cottage in the woods across the way.

Young girls braved the waves. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

With the tide high, the waves rolled in to the joy of the water lovers of all ages. Young girls braved the strong waves, trying to stay erect against the crashing force. Their mother stood on alert where the waves turned to foam.

Wanting to try to ride the larger waves ashore, teenagers snagged a driftwood log and walked it bravely into the breakers. I was afraid to watch further.

Ducks also rode the waves close to shore and out of the wind. Gulls perched on rocks or pestered picnickers for any discarded scraps. Song Sparrows darted from scrubs to sea oats in search of proper food. I stood on the giant metamorphic rocks for an elevated view of all the action.

People searched the tide pools in the rocks for any trapped fish and starfish. The park featured no water slides or swimming pools. The purpose was to enjoy all that nature offered, from water-worn boulders, sandy beaches, and birds and butterflies.

When we returned to the cottage, low tide revealed the tidal flats of sweep sand for all to enjoy in the park and beyond.

Low tide expands the park’s “beach” exponentially. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Arriving on the Maine Coast

Our first look at the ocean from the cottage where we stayed in Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Without realizing it, my wife and I drove through rural Maine toward our destination on the road we needed to take to our friend’s cottage. We had the road’s name but not the state route number.

We needed to stop at a grocery store to pick up butter and eggs. Since the country highway went through no towns, there were no stores to be found.

I was shocked when we came to US 1, the highway that runs southwest to northeast, essentially paralleling the Maine coast. We headed into Bath to buy the needed foodstuffs. It’s a 30-minute drive from the cottage to the closest grocery store in Bath. So, our stop was required.

Heightened anticipation propelled the drive south to the island. The ubiquitous birches, maples, and evergreens line the gently winding road to the cottage, only interrupted by bridges across inlets and streams, and marshes and ponds where Great Egrets and Snowy Egrets probed among the reeds and rushes.

When we turned onto the narrow road to the cottage, fiddlehead ferns, balsams, and birches welcomed us. So did our host when we finally arrived.

The refreshing ocean breezes, the roar of the waves, the scent of the pines, and the familiar birdsongs offered a welcoming chorus, too. Never had settling in been so easy.

An hour later, we stood on the dock at Five Islands, Maine, for the annual blessing of the boats. The name comes from the five islands in the harbor. A local pastor said a patriotic prayer for safety and a successful lobster season, and the lobstermen and their friends and families gathered on their boats. Other moored boats provided picturesque opportunities.

As soon as a memorial wreath had been tossed into the water in remembrance of those hardy fishermen who had passed on, we found a picnic table that sheltered us from the stiff wind and enjoyed our sack lunches.

Most lobstermen powered up their boats and headed out to ply their well-hewn skills. Others, on bigger boats, stayed to party the afternoon away.

Teenagers separated the luscious lobster meat from its hard gray shell. They provided the crucial step between the marine crustacean and the delicious $30 lobster rolls. I hoped they were paid well.

Soon, a box truck backed onto the dock, and a 450-pound Bluefin Tuna was hauled up, prepared for market, and trucked off. It was fascinating to watch the efficiency and cooperation of people who knew what they were doing and were doing it well.

As we walked back to the car, I couldn’t help but notice the orange lichens painting the rock retaining walls by the steep embankments. The wood-shingled cottages sat askew overlooking the harbor.

By the time we returned to the cottage, the low tide had revealed the sandy beach hidden by the ocean at high tide. The sand expanded wider and wider as it approached the receding Atlantic.

It drew me down like a moth to a porch light. I was mesmerized by the giant granite boulders that line the embankment in front of the cottage. I stepped lightly, making sure this septuagenarian didn’t allow his curiosity to override his common sense.

I explored the broadness of the sand and photographed other cottages hanging high above the temporary beach. Three hours later, the sea once again filled the bay, and the sound of the waves crashing and the cool onshore breeze ensured a night of restful, undisturbed sleep.

The high tide rolled in. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

On to Maine With a Stop in Norway

A cornfield with a view in rural Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Somehow, we left New Hampshire for next-door Maine and ended up in Norway.

We left North Conway, New Hampshire, and the GPS took us on an unexpected route. We drove all country roads on the way to Maine’s capital, Augusta. We passed through one small town after another. Winding roads lined by deciduous and evergreen trees and occasional farm fields connected all the towns to one another.

We drove through Fryeburg, Lovell, Sweden, and Waterford. But we had to stop in Norway. Unlike the other burgs, welcoming storefronts lined Norway’s Main Street. It was lunchtime, so we decided to stop.

The quirky creativity of Norway, Maine.

When we exited our vehicle, music drew us eastward along Main Street. We looked for a restaurant as we went. We found the source of the music in no time. A lone musician played at the town’s weekly farmer’s market across the street.

We checked it out and kept walking. The entrance to the local food coop stopped me in my tracks. Its eclectic entrance earned a photo. A few paces later, I stopped again to take a photo of the Weary Club of Norway Maine.

I had no idea what that was, and they weren’t meeting, so I looked it up. The “wearies” formed their social club 100 years ago. They were “the Shakers and Dealers in cedar shavings, social gossip, political wisdom, and Yankee philosophy.”

The Kennebec Cabin Company. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Not finding a place to eat, we kept moving over the rolling, tree-studded landscape and stopped in Manchester, Maine, at the Maine Cabin Masters gift shop and restaurant. Its official name is the Kennebec Cabin Company.

We ate outdoors in the shade to avoid the extreme heat. The house is the gift shop with the typical tourist offerings and prices.

After lunch, we checked out the striking state capital building and drove to an adjacent town set on the bank of the Kennebec River for some ice cream. It was a refreshing way to end an intriguing day.

The Maine State Capitol Building. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Along New Hampshire Route 16

The Ellis River at Jackson, New Hampshire. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

There’s a lot to like about driving on Pinkham Notch Road, which is New Hampshire Route 16. We wanted to revisit some of the places we had seen seven years ago, when we initially visited the area.

After leaving the Mt. Washington area, we took the long way around to our hotel in Gorham, New Hampshire. We headed southeast to Pinkham Notch Road.

Our first stop was Jackson, a sleepy resort town on the Ellis River. The historic Honeymoon Covered Bridge, built in 1876, spans the river and is the village’s icon. Jackson also houses cute cottages, tourist businesses, and country inns.

The road basically follows the flow of the Ellis River, whose headwaters begin on Mt. Washington. The Glen Ellis Falls crash down 64 feet in a rock-filled narrow gorge a few miles north of Jackson.

To access the falls, you have to cross through a pedestrian tunnel under Route 16 and wind your way along the river, down rocky steps, and on a trail that’s occasionally muddy in spots. The trek is well worth it, however. Amid a forest of birch trees and evergreens, the rushing waters crash against giant, jagged boulders before falling and continuing down the mountainside.

Just up the road is the AMC Pinkham Notch visitor center. It’s the place for serious hikers to check in, rest, and shower. The Appalachian Trail that descends from Mt. Washington slides behind the center and crosses the road at Pinkham Notch.

The Pinkham Notch visitor center. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A little farther up the highway is the entrance to the Wildcat Mountain ski area. If you’re up for it, the auto road to Mt. Washington is right across the road.

If you enjoy the outdoors in any season, the Pinkham Notch area in New Hampshire offers activities for everyone.

Glen Ellis Falls, Gorham, New Hampshire. Video by Bruce Stambaugh

On Top of Mt. Washington

This is how the famous mountain looked after we completed our round-trip excursion. From the left, the Mt. Washington Hotel, the cog railway, and the peak itself. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We left our friends’ home in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom for an hour’s drive to the Cog Railway in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire. We arrived in plenty of time and discovered that we could take the 11 o’clock train instead of the noon one.

The other options for getting to the revered mountaintop are to drive up the private road, pay to ride up in a van, or walk up and back via the Appalachian Trail. My wife ruled out the first two, and our age and physical shape ruled out the other.

After receiving the rules for riding the railway, we boarded our car with the biodiesel engine at the rear to push us up the mountain. We followed two other such “trains” up the tracks.

The seats were slanting forward rather than at a 45-degree angle, which was uncomfortable at first. That soon changed as we chugged forward, and our seats felt comfortable as they adjusted to the mountain’s steep incline.

The fastest we clackety-clacked up the cog rails was five miles per hour. So, it took nearly an hour to get to the top.

When we left the station, we could see the mountain’s top with passing clouds. When we arrived atop Mt. Washington, we were in the clouds with only occasional views and a few hints of sunshine.

We had 50 minutes to eat lunch, which we took along, and to explore the historic mountaintop. Sudden bursts of sunshine interrupted my snack lunch. I rushed outside to capture whatever I could see. The view west was a wall of gray.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

I could see east and north, however. I saw the Appalachian Trail, which winds up and down the mountain. Cairns marked its path instead of white blazes on trees. A few hikers trekked amid the cloudy mist.

Having been to that area seven years ago, I could identify the Wildcat Ski area and the scenic New Hampshire Route 16 that runs from Gorham south through Pinkham Notch and down the valley to Conway.

So, the $100-a-piece ride wasn’t a complete bust. However, in the hour it took to return to the base station, the sky had cleared. Mt. Washington stood as handsome as ever above all the other presidential peaks.

Proof we made it to the top. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Vermont Scenes

The iconic view of Stowe, VT, without the fall colors. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Before visiting friends in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, my wife and I enjoyed the eye-pleasing scenery of the Green Mountain State.

After a stop at Cabot’s Cheese, we visited Stowe, Vermont’s tourist magnet. Despite the excessive heat, we weren’t disappointed. The young lady at the visitor center helped us make the most of our limited time there.

The Little River flows behind the Stowe Community Church. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We walked through part of the town to photograph the iconic church with its towering steeple and to find the recommended restaurant for a refreshing salad and hydration. We found both.

After lunch, we took the Stowe Hollow self-guiding tour and found some incredible scenes even in summer. I can only imagine these vistas decked out in fall’s brilliant, warm colors.

Even with fifty shades of green all around, we found the countryside surrounding Stowe stunning. From unique barns and homes with views to covered bridges and the Green Mountains as the backdrop, we left Stowe amazed but ready to fellowship with our friends.

An Oddity on the Way to New England

The world’s tallest filing cabinet, Burlington, Vermont. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

When friends in Ohio learned we would be staying overnight in Burlington, Vermont, they suggested we check out an oddity.

After a smooth drive from the Pocomos to Burlington, my wife and I went looking for a good place for dinner. Our Ohio friends said we should check out the world’s tallest file cabinet. So we did.

I’m not sure how they knew about this unusual landmark, because no signs mark the way to it like other touristy places. There’s not even a sign explaining why, how, or when this “monument” was installed.

Thanks to Google Maps, we found it with ease. This amazing structure stands like an unmarked grave in the corner of the parking lot of a nondescript local business.

Best of all, the restaurant we chose was right next door. I enjoyed my monster smash burger and Vermont maple lemonade to wash it down.