sunrise – Roadkill Crossing

A Birthday Party Without the Candles

A birthday sunrise. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

At my age, I’m always grateful for another day. December 4th dawned with a lovely sunrise. It was a delightful way to start my birthday, and it set the tone for what was to come.

Food, fun, and fellowship were on the day’s menu. Knowing we had reservations for dinner, I ate on the light side for breakfast and lunch.

We met friends for breakfast and enjoyed the warm food and lively conversation with the couple. We went from that restaurant to another in a retirement community, where we met three other couples who comprise one of the three small groups in which we participate monthly.

One couple had just moved into the complex and was still unpacking boxes. Yet, they took time to meet with us. Another member of our group had recently fractured a kneecap in a fall, but she and her husband joined the fellowship despite her injury. I was most grateful for their willingness to commune with us over our lunch.

However, we had to bring that party to a halt and hustle home to start a Zoom meeting with my wife’s cousin, some of their spouses, and one toddler granddaughter. Since we are all within a dozen years in age of one another, not counting the granddaughter, there’s always a lot of reminiscing and sharing of aches and pains of aging. Still, we always manage to laugh and embrace one another, even if it is virtually. We live in four different states.

I hoped for an equally pretty sunset, but it wasn’t to be. A bank of clouds ahead of an approaching snowstorm eliminated that possibility. However, in the northeast sky, December’s Super Full Cold Moon defied the odds and peeked through the high, wispy, cirrus clouds.

December’s Super Full Cold Moon shone through the thin clouds. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Our son and daughter’s families made arrangements for us to eat in a new Mediterranean restaurant in the city’s old, refurbished daily newspaper building. The remodeled interior and the staff combined to make our already pleasant day even more so.

We dined in style with an excellent waiter attending to all our needs. After our main courses, my wife and I shared a creme brulee for dessert. When we arrived home, the full moon struggled to shine through the thickening clouds.

Nevertheless, it had been a fulfilling, enjoyable day through and through. The sunrise, fellowship, and full moon were all the birthday candles I needed.

Sunrises, Sunsets!

These recent Shenandoah Valley sunrises and sunsets were too beautiful not to share with you, especially on gray, chilly December days.

This glowing sunset on December 2 included a sun pillar. The setting sun’s rays backlit the virga that appeared around the sun pillar.

I rose early enough on my birthday to capture the tale end of a lovely sunrise from the backyard. Red in the morning, sailors take warning proved true. Low rain clouds moved in and blessed us with some much-needed precipitation.

We didn’t get much, but every little bit helps.

The soft pastel sunset on December 4 added to my happy birthday.

In contrast, the December 7 sunset was explosive. As sunsets want to do, the colors transformed minute-by-minute as I changed locations to photograph the gorgeous scenes. This photo was taken from a roadside near my home.

Only six minutes later, the sky had transitioned to bright orange and scalloped grays over a local landmark: Mole Hill, a long-dormant volcanic core.

As I drove farther west, the sun sank behind the old, folded Appalachian Mountains. Still, earth and sky combined to provide photographic offerings.

Finally, it was time to head home, basking in the satisfaction of a marvelous sunset.

The following day, I woke in time to catch the last of a glorious dawn. A high hill blocked our view to the east, so I had to rely on peeking out a window to see what the sky had to offer. A friend who lives on a hill facing east posted the full sunrise on social media, replicating the previous night’s sunset beauty. So, I had to be happy with my backyard shot.

That’s how we live each day. We embrace whatever we discover, capture its essence, and share the blessing with all we meet.

A Photo Essay: Following the Path of Apostle Paul – Days 4 & 5

We were up early to catch a short flight to the island of Samos. In fact, the trip to the airport took longer than the flight.

Morning traffic on the way to the Athens airport.

We went to Samos because it was one of the ports where a ship carrying the Apostle Paul stopped. From Acts 20, verse 15, it appears it was simply an overnight stay. The island was the birthplace of two influential men, Pythagoras and Epicurus.

The town where Paul stayed is called Pythagoreio in honor of the famous mathematician. A statue honoring Pythagoras is situated midway on one of the town’s harbor piers.

It wasn’t just his math abilities that garnered great respect for Pythagoras. A giant underground aqueduct was dug through the mountainside in the 6th century B.C. to gain a regular fresh water supply. The Eupalinian Tunnel ran nearly 3,400 feet through Mount Kastro to bring potable water from the island’s west side.

Conditions for digging the tunnel were horrible, and workers argued about the fairness of their wages, paid in wine and bread. Workers claimed they had slaved harder than others. To solve this dilemma, Pythagoras invented the Cup of Justice, also called the Pythagorean Cup, so that all workers received their fair share.

The cup has a protrusion in its middle and a line around the inside to show how much wine should be poured into it. Should a worker fill the cup beyond the line, the cup would rapidly drain its contents via a siphon system. That ingenious device halted the arguing and greed of some of the workers. Artisans produce the cups and decorate them to be sold to tourists. Of course, we bought one.

Our time in Samos was joyous and relaxing. We had lots of free time to explore the town with its cobblestone streets and sidewalks, find our own restaurants, and enjoy the quiet and beauty.

As we explored Pythagereio, we discovered many wonderful alleys and buildings. An old castle and the adjacent church were still closed due to damage from an earthquake a few years ago.

Just down the hill was Blue Street, not much more than a sidewalk with most everything painted blue by the local retired artists who lived there. We found their creations fun and attractive. They painted everything from manhole covers to doorways.

Most of all, though, my wife and I simply enjoyed sitting on a bench near the customs station on the harbor. We viewed the quaint town from our seats and enjoyed watching a few boats come and go.

On the second day, we rode a bus to the western part of the island and toured a wine museum. Samos is famous for its sweet Muscot wine. The island’s western side is much more lush than the leeward side since it rains more.

Once we started downhill toward the town of Vathy, the greenery of trees, shrubs, and grasses stood in stark contrast to the arid brushy topography on the eastern side. We also visited a monastery above Pythagereio containing a cave and a chapel. It wasn’t far from the aqueduct tunnel.

Samos is separated from Turkey by the mile-wide Mycale Strait in the eastern Aegean Sea. The Greek navy maintains a station on Samos with several boats moored in the harbor. We enjoyed the sunrises over the mountains in Turkey.

Tomorrow: The island of Patmos

By Dawn’s Early Light

I found this when I checked the potential for a lovely sunrise at 6:30 this morning. With sunrise still 45 minutes away, these clouds should have been turning all shades of pink, orange, and red at this stage.

Instead, the low clouds set a foreboding mood, as if denying the sun its daily duty. Then I noticed the crescent moon in the photo’s upper right-hand corner. And the phrase, “By dawn’s early light,” came to mind.

For citizens of the United States, those words should mean something. They are in the opening line of our national anthem, “The Star Spangled Banner.” The lyrics come from a poem, “In Defence of Fort McHenry,” written on September 14, 1814, by Francis Scott Key during the War of 1812.

I wondered how this sky compared to the one that inspired Key’s patriotic poem. Unlike the scene Key painted, thankfully, no bombs were bursting in the air here in Fernandina Beach, Florida, this morning.

But the mood of this photo, with the splinter of a waning January moon peeking between the clouds, also inspired me. I hope it does the same for you.

The Morning’s First Ferry

*Please click on the photo to enlarge it.*

I was hoping for a decent sunrise when I walked onto the dock at Lakeside, Ohio recently. Turns out, my timing and the sunrise couldn’t have been better.

Just as the sun broke the horizon on Lake Erie, the first ferry of the morning slid into view. Sailing north from Marblehead, Ohio, to popular Kelleys Island, the ferry provided an additional center of focus for this shot.

You can see passengers on the upper deck enjoying the gorgeous show. The sunrise alone probably made the price of their tickets more than worthwhile.

Pure Gold

This was our view every fall when we lived in Ohio’s Amish country. I took this shot from our backyard. The sun had just risen above the hills to our east, bathing everything, including the already colorful leaves, in pure gold.

“Pure Gold” is my Photo of the Week.

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.

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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

Down on the Farm

The early morning sunlight is glinting off of the coffin red barn’s windows. The soft rays temporarily paint the white house pink. The laundry is hanging on the washline to dry. The cows are heading back to the pasture. The buggy horse is grazing among the Queen Anne’s Lace. Altogether, it is another August morning down on an Amish farmstead in Holmes County, Ohio.

“Down on the Farm” is my Photo of the Week.

Willet at Dawn

Writing, birding and photography are a few of my many interests. When I can combine a couple of them into one fabulous moment, I am more than contented.

In the process of photographing a gorgeous sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean in northern Florida, a willet wandered into the frame. I love when those unexpected opportunities arise. The shorebird was merely out on its morning breakfast stroll, probing the wetted sand for any tasty morsels along the seashore. For me, however, having the bird enter the scene right as the sun dawned provided a spot of perspective for the colorful seascape. I couldn’t have been happier.

“Willet at Dawn” is my Photo of the Week.

A sunrise that made my day

Ohio's Amish Country, Holmes Co. OH — The sunrise at its summit.

By Bruce Stambaugh

I sat in awe at the beauty unfolding before me. What I had seen compelled me out into the dawn of the day.

I had slept restlessly despite having been emotionally and physically drained by the previous days’ activities. I had returned to Ohio to assist our son in preparing to move before the professional movers would shuffle him off beyond Buffalo to upstate New York for his new job.

For two long, hard days, we sorted and packed his items, and cleaned the house he was leaving for a smaller apartment. I would also stuff our van with family heirlooms and thrift store pieces to take back to Virginia. It was hard to see him off, he and I both in tears.

With those emotions still stirring internally, I surrendered to what lured me outdoors. The day was dawning with a broken cluster of wispy gray clouds hanging in the eastern sky. A spot of pink hue peeked at the horizon, giving me hope of a lovely sunrise.

I sat in the morning’s coolness on the patio waiting breathlessly for the show to begin. Would those clouds enhance or hinder a brilliant sunrise? The answer found itself in patience, not my best quality.

Nevertheless, I remained nearly alone overlooking Millersburg, Ohio from our friends’ place high on a hill. A light, feathery mist lingered over the hardwoods, farm fields, and commercial properties that filled the Killbuck Valley.

As the sky brightened ever so slightly, a menacing caw, caw, caw punctuated the morning air. I strained in the dim light to find the source of the harshness. Suddenly, a pair of inky figures, their black wings flapping furiously, repeated their raucous call.

The two American crows were on a beeline southwest in hot pursuit of another crow far ahead of them. It was like two undercover cop cars chasing a crook.

The only other sounds were human-induced, the distant hum of a few vehicles, and a dump truck on an early run from the gravel pit down the road. Neither crickets nor katydids had awakened yet.

Then it happened. A silent burst of radiance raised me out of my chair and freed me from my stupor. I danced barefoot into the dewy lawn. I soon found myself at the southeast corner of the yard where I had a better angle to view the sunrise and could ignore the obnoxiousness of an ill-placed cell tower, its red lights annoyingly blinking.

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Ironically, the only camera in hand was the one on my cell phone. So I hypocritically began snapping photo after photo of the stunning, flowing scene changing second by second.

Those once gray clouds now glowed gold, yellow, orange, red, pink, mauve, and crimson. In the foreground, security lights and streetlights twinkled below the incredible show. One would think I was observing my first ever sunrise the way I clicked away.

Still, I continued to capture the incredible drama before me, not for myself so much as for others. In such a setting, my joy comes as much in the sharing as experiencing the splendor. When the sun finally poked above the horizon, I walked back towards the house.

This sunrise had awakened me as no other had. I felt renewed and refreshed from the emotions and exertions of the previous days. I was ready to begin my journey home.

For most folks, if they saw it, this was just another sunrise. To me, it was a blessed miracle.