Talk about beautiful summer days and the next thing you know there’s heat and oppressive humidity and …. FOG.  I enjoy Carl Sandberg’s work (yep, a fellow Scandanavian), and particularly his short poem, Fog.

The fog creeps in on little cat feet.
It sits on silent haunches,
Looking over harbor and city,
And then moves on.

Well, that happened here last Wednesday night and into Thursday.  The fog crept in Wednesday at twilight.

It was wet and thick and ripply.

But there was a dedicated fisherman, shrouded against the extreme damp.  (Charon on vacation?)


The next morning wasn’t much of an improvement.  I don’t think we’re sailing this morning.


The beach was a little worse.  How’s this for a vacation day morning?  Is there a movie we can go to?


Want to take a beach walk?  Just don’t stray off the trail.


And just to finish off with some color here’s a white (alba) Rosa Rugosa or beach rose or Nantucket rose.

Click here for some more images from the evening and the morning.



“Summer afternoon – summer afternoon …. the two most beautiful words in the English language.” 

Henry James, 1843-1916

Of course it’s a wonderful time and  I know that; I’m on my seventy-ninth.  I began summers growing up on the beaches of Absecon Island.  As a bonus my parents rented our Margate home to Philadelphians and we moved to a boat house on pilings on the thorofare in Ventnor.  I spent hot and hazy summer days catching minnows to sell to fishermen for twenty-five cents a dozen.

Yes, warm breezes on hot sand; the sound of waves breaking, lulling one to sleep; the cries of the gulls; and maybe even a gin and tonic with sunset.  But for a photographer there is a paucity of pixel possibilities.  The soporific days make me reluctant to take up the camera and click a shutter.  Pearl’s got it right.

Please, I’m napping.

The scenes of a summer afternoon abound, enjoyable just watching others enjoy them.

The clouds in the above scene reminded me of  N.C. Wyeth’s beach giant, pictured below, a favorite of mine since my friends, Buz and Dave, gave us a print years ago.  For me it evokes memories of  childhood on the beach and fantasies in the clouds.  Wyeth painted the scene here in my summer hometown, Beach Haven, in 1923 and the original hangs at the Westtown School for whose class of 1910 Wyeth created the painting.  The five children on the right are N.C.’s children, including the blond headed Andrew.  The child on the left is thought to be William Engle, a close friend of Wyeth’s who tragically succumbed to tuberculosis as a young man.  Engle’s uncle, Robert, built the long-gone Engleside Hotel in Beach Haven in 1876, and young William worked there several summers.

I’m frequently struck by the gathering of flip-flops, left here as their owners walk on to the beach.  I’ve always felt sorry for the flip-flops never actually getting onto the beach.  The occurrence of single “flops” is also interesting.

Make sure you pick out your own pair.

If they did make it to the beach here’s what they’d get to enjoy.

A flag-snapping afternoon.


It came on quickly last evening.  It came from the west across the bay at about 7:30, this huge, fearsome, roiling mass of cloud, boiling over us and finally unleashing a drenching downpour.

Afterward, a calming, warming beauty.  Oh, it’s so good to be back on the water again.


A revisit of the Strasburg Railroad and the surrounding Lancaster County was overdue.  (The first visit was in 1965 but I have been back a few times since then.)   To see more images than the sample below click here

The forecasted clear day was delivered;  clear, but tough to photograph in the bright, bright sun.  Nevertheless, a colleague and I journeyed out there and it was worthwhile.  Just driving through the county towards the railroad we encountered several teams out working the land.

 My first thought was that he was dozing in the hot sun but we decided he was really trying to make sure he stayed on track.  You can see the haze we were up against photographically.

At the Strasburg Railroad facilities they were readying the old Norfolk & Western 4-8-0 Consolidation class engine, #475, for its daily work of hauling families out through the farmlands.  They keep a banked fire burning all night so as to minimize the thermal stress of running cold to hot.  Periodically they have to do a so-called blow-down which purges accumulations from the water being evaporated into steam.  It’s a dramatic sight and sound.

Then she can move out to pick up the passenger cars for their daily fan trips.

Later we drove out to a couple of the roads that cross the farmland and also cross the railroad’s main line.  We were rewarded by this sight of her returning home after picking up picnikers from Groff’s Grove along their right of way.  I wish I had taken some video to capture the pounding roar and blowing whistle as she labors past us.  What fun!

Finally, a contrast in cultures.   Steam horsepower vs. real horsepower, with a people power child on each side of the rig inserting seedlings into the soil.

There are several more images from the day at this gallery