The title says it all.
“A Sparkling Stroll” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Category: travel
Drawn to the seashore
Why are people drawn to the edge of the sea? It’s not a frivolous question.
Spending the heart of the winter at a rented condo on the beach, I have observed the ocean lure people of all ages to her shore. There seems to be something magical, magnetic to where frothy waters lap at sandy beaches.
People young and old seek that seemingly sacred spot that wavers with every collapsing wave. Even the shorebirds covet that undulating, elusive line in the sand.
The tiny and swift sanderlings poke and prod the moist sand for nutritious crustaceans on the shore’s surface or just below. They always scurry ahead of the washing water as if they are afraid of getting their feet wet.
Willet.
Sanderling.
The larger willets saunter along probing for the same bounty with their sturdy black bills. They, too, avoid the ebb and flow as if their lives depended on it. Perhaps they do, instinctively knowing the consequences of being swept away.
Humans of all ages, however, take a wide variety of approaches while at the shore. Throwing caution to the sea breezes, children rush squealing to the water’s edge. Whether in street clothes or swimsuits, the youngsters wade right in, much to the horrors of their adult overseers.
I suspect all of that and more. Unlike most parents, the children have no fear of undertows or rip currents. The adults quickly catch up and take charge, even at the expense of getting their own feet wet, shoes, or no shoes.
Teens, of course, don’t care. They, too, wade or rush or plunge right in, regardless of attire, or the water’s temperature. In February, it may match the chilly air temperatures, made cooler still by the persistent winds.
The adults also are intrigued by the sea, each in their own way. Some jog while others walk along the water’s edge for exercise and fresh air.
Conversely, the snowbirds take their time. They have earned it, after all. They relish being away from the cold and snow up north. Retirees prefer to traverse the firm, moist sand closest to the water for its support.
Many walk with their heads bent forward, searching for colorful shells or sharks teeth. A few long for treasures of a different sort. They sweep the sand with metal detectors seeking what others have lost.
Some beachcombers spend many minutes inspecting one spot before they slowly move on. Others are content to stroll more for the exercise than the shells. All, however, are careful to mind the lapping sea, especially if the tide is coming in.
Other beach walkers have another purpose in mind. Their canine pets demand to be taken on their necessary jaunts. Dogs of all shapes, sizes, and breeds head to the shoreline.
A few folks are content to simply sit and enjoy all their senses in one spot. They watch, read, sleep, or chat with companions for hours.
Hardy souls ply their skills at fishing. I think the dolphins, ospreys, and terns are more successful.
Like all the others, I also answer the sea’s siren call. I join them in their multi-faceted love affair with the seaside.
At dawn, I let my camera document all the unfolding radiance. Nothing beats a dazzling sunrise, except sharing it with others.
Why are people drawn to the seashore? For all the right reasons.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Tropical Sunset
Though the sky wasn’t the most colorful as sunsets go, the setting certainly was. These palm trees stood on a bluff over the Amelia River in Old Town Fernandina Beach, Florida. They nicely provided that tropical look as the sun sank in the west.
“Tropical Sunset” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Orange on Yellow
Here’s some color to brighten any winter dullness that might be fogging your mind as January comes to an end. I spotted this Gulf Fritillary butterfly on Egans Creek Greenway in Fernandina Beach, Florida, where we spend our snowbirding days.
“Orange on Yellow” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
January dreaming
As a youngster, I remember those cold, blustery January days of sitting as close to the living room heat register as possible. I would grab the latest seed catalog that had arrived in the mail, and while myself away with luscious visions of warmer days ahead, corn on the cob, and fresh lima beans.
My brothers and sisters would sometimes join me in this communal dreaminess. We couldn’t wait to be harvesting our own fresh-picked pickles, ripe red tomatoes, and those buttery-colored ears of sweet corn. Of course, a lot of time, hard work, and patience would have to pass before all that deliciousness happened.
Besides, we would often get interrupted when one of the neighbor kids arrived at our doorstep to ask us to go sledding. Kids being kids, we usually traded future pleasantries for present ones.
With the advent of technology and electronic interconnection, emails seem to have replaced those slick, thick printed advertisements. The contents have changed, too.
Smart marketers know most baby boomers now prefer discovery to husbandry, although I have plenty of peers who still love to get their hands dirty. It’s usually on a much smaller scale than 30 years ago, however.
My wife and I gave up gardening for the most part when we moved to Virginia. For a woman who loved her flower gardens, Neva furrows her forehead at any mention of planting a patch of wildflowers on our little slice of America.
Maybe the marketers have seen that expression, too. That could explain why we don’t get those tempting seed publications anymore. Travel brochures, invitations, emails, booklets, and yes, catalogs have replaced their agrarian counterparts, promoting fun-filled cruises, exciting explorations, and exotic destinations.
There’s a good reason for that. Since most boomers are retired or semi-retired, a majority of us apparently like to travel. Besides the printed and electronic information, television and computer pop up ads besiege us with romantic places to go.
That’s all right with us. Neva and I both like to travel, and since we fit the retired category, we try to visit as many places as we can as time and money allow.
We also have to consider our age, our station in life, and our health, not necessarily in that order. We both know we are fortunate when it comes to our overall physical fitness. We also know that that may not last. So we must get in as much travel as possible while we still can.
Neva and I both enjoy learning about new places, cultures, languages, traditions, history, geography, and enticing locales. We also like familiarity, which is why we keep returning to our beloved Lakeside, Ohio, every summer.
Traveling allows us to enrich ourselves in all those subjects and much more. We know we aren’t alone because many of the offers we receive fill up quickly.
The land and ocean cruise we took to Alaska and the Yukon last summer was proof of that. Boomer-aged trekkers predominated at every stop and venue of the trip. In our group, only one young millennial couple dared to join our silver-haired entourage. Poor things, they were even on their honeymoon.
Because traveling is now so trendy and relatively easy, despite the security screening delays, cruises and group traveling are often planned a year or more in advance. You can dream in January, but if you don’t book right away, you may get shut out.
My touristy point comes full circle with personal disclosure. This January, I’m writing from Florida.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020.
Dappled Sunset
I had given up on this sunset. In fact, I was already heading back to my car from the dock when the sky suddenly changed. I hustled back onto the dock to get a few shots before the sky called it a night. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when an older man with a barking dog cruised into view in a dingy. Their presence added a human element to this painting-like scene.
Rather than wax poetic about all of the aspects and details of the photo, I’ll simply let you enjoy it from your own perspective.
“Dappled Sunset” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Basking in nature’s unexpected gifts
I stood on the shoreline alone in joyous disbelief. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, and yet, it was, it did.
“This” was no ordinary sunrise. Our snowbird rental on the Atlantic Ocean northeast of Jacksonville, Florida, affords us striking views, especially at dawn.
The sea mirrored the sky as the celestial kaleidoscope slowly revolved from violets to pinks to oranges to gold to grays. I willingly allowed those siblings of earth and atmosphere to kidnap me.
My initial urge was to shout for joy, but that seemed irreverent, uncouth, and even sacrilegious. For once in my life, I stayed silent, sedated by the aura that engulfed me.
A renegade cumulonimbus cloud hovered miles offshore. Sheets of rain cascaded into the sea.
My eyes drew heavenward. The risen sun, hidden by clouds over the Gulf Stream, illuminated the universe, at least the part that I could see. It was heavenly, indeed.
With each degree that the sun rose into the clouds, the refracted rays altered the colors. As if someone had flipped a light switch, the violet hue transformed into orange, bathing everything it touched.
The scene was surreal. I felt like I had been pulled above the beach, the foamy waves no longer lapping at my feet.
It was then that I more fully appreciated the ocean’s contribution to this original, living painting. The gently swelling sea reflected both the water’s depth and the sky’s variable palate.
Dabs of puffy clouds scalloped the sky. The ocean’s choppy undulating created a more linear composition. It was cottony above, corduroy below.
Though the consistencies remained the same, the colors continued to change. The wind scurried the dazzling clouds east while the ocean rolled west.
An instantaneous golden glow ensued when the sun finally peeked through the distant clouds hanging above the horizon. Overhead, the rain clouds just as suddenly converted the gold to gray unapologetically.
With the sky now spritzing droplets, I turned to retreat to the condo. And then I stopped to behold another divine marvel.
A brilliant double rainbow arched above our suntanned building complex. Once again, I was awestruck. I motioned for my wife to go look at the rainbow. She only waved back from the balcony. Desperate, I pointed to the sky, mimed a bow with my right hand, and pointed up.
This time Neva understood and rushed to the back of the condo. She returned before I could even begin to clean the sand from my shoes. Her radiance from seeing the double promise equaled that of the sky, which made me even happier.
By the time I made it back to the condo, the sky had darkened, and the rain pelted down. The morning’s free art exhibit was now washed out.
Other than the rain, none of this was expected. The official forecast had called for precipitation to overrun the northern Florida east coast overnight. But with the rain’s delayed arrival, we were treated to this transformative experience.
This ecclesiastical event seemed to last an eternity. However, the timestamp on the scores of photographs that I took showed only 10 minutes had elapsed.
The magical scene had changed so rapidly that I couldn’t take in all of the finite details as they occurred. A review of my photos revealed the dramatic, atmospheric sequence of changes in that short window of opportunity.
Appreciative is too small of a word to describe my gratitude for having viewed the wondrous display. But most grateful I am.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
A Tangled Web
Birding and photography go hand-in-hand. Binoculars and a camera are essential tools for me to hone my dual hobbies. I heard the Red-winged Blackbird singing before I spotted it in this dead tree with its tangle of branches. I have always considered the blackbird’s song a harbinger of springtime. To hear its melodious song in January was music to my ears. Of course, it was a warm afternoon in Florida, not Virginia or Ohio. A look through the bins confirmed the pair of Eastern Bluebirds that sat silently behind the blackbird.
I knew full well that the photo would produce only silhouettes since I was shooting into the southern sky with the sun an hour from setting. The crisscross of dead limbs immediately brought to mind the Walter Scott quote of “Oh what tangled web we weave when we first practice to deceive.”
Well, there is no deceit on my part with this photograph. “A Tangled Web” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Iridescent Cloud
An important characteristic for any photographer is to be observant. By that, I mean to be aware of what is going on around you while you are actually focused on a different task. Doing so allows a photographer to capture that certain event when it occurs.
That was the case for me recently. I was reading on the balcony of our rented condo on the Atlantic Ocean when something caught my eye. An unusual collection of high clouds drifted across the late morning sun’s path. Because this was the day the sun was closest to the earth, the sun’s glare was extra harsh. However, I could see defused color in the mixture of clouds streaming in front of the blazing sun. It certainly wasn’t a rainbow, but the colors were similar only distributed randomly. They also occurred close to the sun.
The weather geek in me said that this was an iridescent cloud. I researched cloud types to confirm my conclusion. Sure enough, it indeed was an iridescent cloud, something not often seen because their appearance is usually short-lived.
Of course, the next duty of a photographer is to share what was captured. So I have. “Iridescent Cloud” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Capturing 2020’s first sunset
I was fortunate to catch an amazing sunset the first evening of the New Year. Having a couple of boats motor by at its peak nicely improved the composition. The roosting brown pelicans provided character to the natural beauty.
The photo was taken at an old marina on the Amelia River, Fernandina Beach, Florida.
“Capturing 2020’s first sunset” is my Photo of the Week.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2020
Roadkill Crossing 
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