A walk in the local park this evening featured many sights and scents of the season. All were found by the side of the walking/biking trail in the natural profusion of a splendid springtime.
I’ve identified them by common name, but you may know them by others, since many have up to a dozen or more aliases. Some of the most noticeable fragrances came from some of the least flashy flowers, like common buckthorn. Some of the most intricate fruiting bodies were found on trees, like the delicate cones of the larch. Some were tiny and low to the ground, like gill-over-the-ground, while others were showy and full of themselves, like the Japanese snowball viburnum.
I also noticed many walkers, bikers, joggers, and happy doggos sharing the route through the park during this grand evening. We were even treated to an authentic garage band (in its garage!) playing 70s tunes for the appreciative listeners in lawn chairs across the street at the park’s perimeter.
There’s lots to appreciate outdoors. Now get out! It does a body (and mind) good!
The other day we took a short trip to the abandoned ruins of nearby Scotia Barrens, tucked away in the mixed hardwoods of central Pennsylvania. We’d heard about them, but didn’t know anything of their origins.
Our directions were to enter at the gate (which one?) and stay to the left at each branch of the trail. We apparently lucked out on our first pick, and found ruins within a few minutes of walking in the early spring woods.
Our first discovery was the concrete block outline of an old square foundation, that still had some duffy steps cut down into the ground in what may have been a cold cellar. But there were few clues to anything else of its history.
But soon, the brightly-glaring graffiti on a concrete structure caught our eyes through the green-tinted brown: an odd-shaped, rusting, reinforced concrete collection of columns and plates with an interior pit, leading to what appeared to be an old spillway.
On either side of this structure were two tall narrow berms that were higher than the top of the structure. Could it be a railway line that permitted an emptying of hopper cars? Yet if there had been a trestle, there was no trace of it. The berms sloped down on either side to the valley floor in 200 feet or so. Clearly they were manmade, and, judging from the size of the trees growing on them, was abandoned some 60-75 years ago.
Leading a hundred feet in the opposite direction from the incongruous concrete skeleton were parallel lines of squat, square posts, each bristling with a stubby, rusty rebar or two. At the other end of this dotted line was another superstructure, likewise decorated in lively graffiti and mystery.
As we headed back to the gate, we met an old man wearing a blaze orange sweatshirt and a white beard scraggling all the way down his neck, and his border collie named Duke. We asked him if he knew anything about the ruins, and he declared he sure did!
His is the only house on the nearby road, we learned. Duke thinks the whole property is his backyard, and the old man allowed that he lets him believe it.
He told us that the structures were from the 1940s when the place was open-mined for iron ore, and washed out of the ground. The berms were to retain mud from flooding away. But the earlier industry was logging to create charcoal the nearby Centre Furnace. In the 1880s, Andrew Carnegie purchased the land and was the first to employ steam shovels to dig an open pit for ore. (“Did you see the pit?” No? Well, follow me!”) Carnegie sold out to a local company in 1890, who eventually shut down operations in 1909. And within a few years, Scotia became a ghost town. Except for its brief respite in the 1940s to meet the World War 2 demand for iron, its days of being reclaimed by nature have continued ever since. The land is now preserved as Pennsylvania State Game Lands 176.
The monstrous blizzard came to be called the Storm of the Century.
At my eastern Pennsylvania home, it was a unique opportunity for my young kids to experience a real blizzard! And they still remember how I made them go out with me in the storm to feel the cold and the wind and the ice sting our faces. And to develop character! I wanted to teach them what my older sister had taught me when we were kids: how to dig a hidey-hole for your head in a large snow drift, so that when the wind blew and the ice stung your cheeks, you could shelter in place. My sons were up for the brutal wind and cold; my daughter, not so much!
By definition, a blizzard consists of three simultaneous conditions: significant snow accumulation of .31 inch or greater per hour; sustained winds of at least 35 mph; and temperatures of 20F or less. A severe blizzard is when winds mount to a steady 45 mph or greater, visibility drops to near zero, and the temperature hovers at just 10F or lower. The consequences of such a storm produces fatalities. They include wind chill temperatures of -30F and lower; wind damage; burying snow drifts; hardship for wildlife; disruption of commerce and traffic; accidents and collapsing structures; interruption of energy distribution, communications and basic utilities; structure fires from constant heating; and shortages of food, medicine, shelter, and other vital provisions.
Here’s how I described the Blizzard to Remember in my book Discover Nature in the Weather (2001, Stackpole Books):
The blizzard of March 12-15, 1993 produced snow at least one foot deep from the Appalachian Mountains east to the Atlantic Ocean, in a continuous swath from Alabama to Nova Scotia. In some locations, several feet of snow fell in its passage, marked with killer tornadoes, straight-line wind gusts over 100 mph, record-low sea level pressures, and record cold temperatures. This memorable blizzard resulted in 270 fatalities and property damage estimated at nearly $1.6 billion.
The Blizzard of the Century’s aftermath in my backyard: my sons and their extra tall snowman; my book Discover Nature in the Weather.
I have a standing personal rule: Always Bring a Book!
Whenever I break it, I’m inevitably sorry.
Books are important to me: in them I find distilled wisdom, practical instruction, and engrossing entertainment. They customize my intellectual, psychological, and spiritual development; they build my technical and relational capabilities; they expand my leadership and service; they refresh my mind and spirit.
In 2022, my wife, son and I wrote a book about the challenges, lessons and adventures in raising our youngest son with Asperger’s Syndrome, which will be published this coming year.
I try to read widely. Not all my choices pertain directly to my job, or my personal interests. Invisible Women opened my eyes and mind to systemic male-based data bias. Even fiction, when it represents a divergent point of view, can add to my useful stores of knowledge. Case in point for this year: The Personal Librarian, based on the true story of a black woman passing as a white woman in the employ of J.P. Morgan in the early 1900s.
The complete list follows, but here are my personal citations for those I’ve found most captivating, memorable, or practical in the following categories:
Work-related:CEO Excellence; Critical Thinking; Extreme Ownership Biography: Frederick Douglass; An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth History: The First Conspiracy: The Plot to Kill George Washington Iconic/Classic:Travels with Charley in Search of America Fiction:Where the Crawdads Sing; West With Giraffes; The Personal Librarian Science:Humble Pi; Brilliant Maps for Curious Minds Societal:Invisible Women; Untrustworthy Thriller:Boar Island Humor:The Definitive Biography of P.D.Q. Bach Spiritual: The Hole in Our Gospel by personal friends:Super Powers and Secrets; Crushed and Marred; Stand; People Connectors
Creativity, Inc: Overcoming the Unseen Forces that Stand in the Way of True Inspiration, Ed Catmull
Humble Pi: When Math Goes Wrong in the Real World, Matt Parker
Super Powers and Secrets: A Year of Holidays, H. Kaeppel
Crushed and Marred: A Year of Milestones, H. Kaepple
Stand: A Year of Firsts, H. Kaeppel
The Itty Bitty Book of Nonprofit Fundraising, Jayme Dingler
The Insanity of God: A True Story of Faith Resurrected, Nik Ripken
Golden Girl, Elin Hilderbrand
Flashback, Nevada Barr
Trees & Forests of America, Tim Palmer
Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom, David W. Blight
Sold on a Monday, Kristina McMorris
The Hole in Our Gospel, Richard Stearns
Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! Adventures of a Curious Character, Richard P. Feynman
The Gift of Asperger’s: One Family’s Persevering Adventure of Hope, Humor, Insight and Inspiration, Tim Herd, Carol Herd, and Philip Herd
A Time for Mercy, John Grisham
Historic Acadia National Park: The Stories Behind One of America’s Great Treasures, Catherine Schmidt
Brilliant Maps for Curious Minds: 100 New Ways to See the World, Ian Wright
Girl Behind the Red Rope, Ted Dekker and Rachelle Dekker
Tesla: Inventor of the Electrical Age, W. Bernard Carlson
The Escape Artist, Brad Melzner
People Connectors: Elevating Communication for Educators, Terry Sumerlin
The First Conspiracy: The Secret Plot to Kill George Washington, Brad Meltzner and Josh Mensch
We Seven, by the Astronauts Themselves, Carpenter, Cooper, Glenn, Grissom, Schirra, Shepard, Slayton
What Happened to the Bennetts, Lisa Scottoline
The Definitive Biography of P.D.Q. Bach, Professor Peter Schickele
Wait, What? And Life’s Other Essential Questions, James Ryan
High Country, Nevada Barr
Hard Truth, Nevada Barr
Eight Days in May: The Final Collapse of the Third Reich, Volker Ullrich
Endangered Species, Nevada Barr
An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth: What Going to Space Taught Me About Ingenuity, Determination, and Being Prepared for Everything, Col. Chris Hadfield
Blind Descent, Nevada Barr
Immanuel’s Veins, Ted Dekker
Thinking Like Your Editor: How to Write Great Serious Nonfiction – and Get it Published, Susan Rabiner and Alfred Fortunato
Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men, Caroline Criado Perez
The Lost Key, Catherine Coulter and J.T. Ellison
Burn, Ted Dekker and Erin Healy
The Whole Town’s Talking, Fannie Flagg
Acadia National Park, Bob Thayer
Where the Crawdads Sing, Delia Owens
CEO Excellence: The Six Mindsets That Distinguish the Best Leaders From the Rest, Carolyn Dewar, Scott Keller, and Vikram Malhotra
Burn, Nevada Barr
The Murder of King Tut, James Patterson and Martin Dugard
Thinking in Pictures: My Life With Autism, Temple Grandin
Calling All Minds: How to Think and Create Like and Inventor, Temple Grandin
The Life You’ve Always Wanted: Spiritual Disciplines for Ordinary People, John Ortberg
Boar Island, Nevada Barr
Critical Thinking: Tools for Taking Charge of Your Professional and Personal Life, Richard Paul and Linda Elder
The Rope, Nevada Barr
A Man Called Ova, Fredrik Backman
The Personal Librarian, Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray
Extreme Ownership: How U.S. Navy SEALS Lead and Win, Jocko Willink and Leif Babin
Untrustworthy: The Knowledge Crisis Breaking Our Brains, Polluting Our Politics, and Corrupting Christian Community, Bonnie Kristian
Send: Living a Life That Invites Others to Jesus, Heather Holleman and Ashley Holleman
West With Giraffes, Lynda Rutledge
Dr. Rick Will See You Now: A Guide to Unbecoming Your Parents, Dr. Rick
Travels With Charley in Search of America, John Steinbeck
another heartwarming episode of “Life as I Remember it Ought to Have Been”
Today is another day of cancelled school while the populace waits for its hopeful interrupting snowfall. In anticipation, the streets have already been sprayed with snow-melting solution, the public works guys are counting overtime hours, and it’s a great excuse for a surprise holiday.
Remote workers: you got nothing.
But back in MY day, an accumulating snow, much less a forecast of it, was no reason for changing the day’s plans.
(Disclaimer: my bachelor’s degree is in forecast meteorology; and this is no bash against my brother and sister prognosticators!)
But as I was saying, back in MY day, things were different.
I have a vivid memory from a particular wintry day back in the early 60s, when Good Ol’ Bus 4 ambled up our unnamed road to our farm in rural Moore Township, Pennsylvania. Cold. Windy. Snow covering the yard, feeding troughs, fields, road and everything. Me, bundled in my red coat with the hood up and tied tight round my face with a threaded shoestring, wearing tall, black rubber boots, each with a half-dozen railroad-track latches, and clutching my metal Donald Duck lunchbox with matching thermos inside, I stood dutifully next to our mailbox held aloft by a red, white and blue painted plank figure of Uncle Sam.
The bus arrived just as expected, I giant-stepped into the maw of the yellow beast, and it trundled its load of captive minors toward another day’s sentence in jail (which today might be called “The Learning Facility.”)
But in just another two hundred feet or so, the bus lodged itself in a blustering snowdrift that had dammed the roadway between our barns. “Schlegel,” the bus driver, gave it the old college try to plow his way through, but today the game appeared to be already decided with the low score of Stubborn Snowdrift: 1, Good Ol’ Bus 4: 0.
I quickly and opportunistically offered to hop off and go back to the house and tell my parents. But Schlegel wouldn’t have it. With an order to his charges to “Stay on the bus!” he abandoned us to trudge back to the house. Inside, my parents allowed him to use the party-line telephone to call the school (what were they thinking!?) and let them know we were stuck in the snowbank between a pair of barns isolated in the backcountry wintry wastes.
Eventually, Schlegel returned and resumed his seat at the front of the bus, and closed the bifold door. And there we all sat in the damp cold on the hard bench seats. And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And then, in the distance, appeared an growing yellow smudge amid the swirling snow: Rescue!
Another bus crawled toward us from the other side of the world, turned itself around, backed up to “Our Drift,” and invitingly opened its door to the frigid wilderness.
With Schlegel stomping a path through the monstrous frozen whitecap, each of us snow-hopped across to Mean Ol’ Bus 6, retook our seats, and resumed the long, cold trek to No Excuses Consolidated Elementary School.
I couldn’t possibly tell you what I learned that day in class, but the memory of that singular adventure is a permanent fixture of what happened back in MY day!
Note: I sure wish that my dad had hustled outside with his Argus and taken a Kodachrome of that stuck school bus, but he stayed inside while all us kiddos built character. Instead, I offer these photos from another winter’s day when the Township’s bulldozer eventually got us plowed out—after we had run out of food, and my dad had skied into town to fetch some groceries.
simple steps to introduce children with ASD to nature
Whether it’s simply walking in a park, gardening, biking, kayaking, wildlife watching or even just sitting with a view of greens pace, nature is good for what ails us.
Our physical, mental and emotional health is surprisingly co-dependent on interactions with our natural environment. Regular exposure delivers restorative benefits; a lack of it brings detrimental consequences.
interaction with a family pet can be an easy at-home therapy
In his book, Last Child in the Woods, author Richard Louv describes the effects of what he called “nature-deficit disorder”: a distressing bundle of physical and emotional afflictions from the lack of personal interaction with nature — like low self-esteem, social anxieties, obesity and cardiovascular diseases.
And he’s not a lone prophet crying in the wilderness: a growing body of worldwide research backs him up.
Such studies have shown that time spent in nature can raise our morale, sociability and mental clarity. It can reduce the effects of stress, anxiety, attention deficit disorder behaviors and more.
For children with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), research shows that engagement with nature provides sensory motor skill, emotional and social benefits. However, related issues — like sensory challenges, phobias, inappropriate behaviors and safety concerns — may make the adventure a bit harder than just your average walk in the park. Of course, each child’s strengths and needs vary, but psychologists say nature exposure can be an effective intervention strategy.
Beyond its calming attributes for children with ASD, nature also can be an exciting place to focus their exceptional powers of observation. The same single-mindedness that can master a narrow, arcane topic may also find fascination in the feel of a breeze, the ripples in a puddle, the rhythm of a katydid, the colors in a rainbow, the fragrance of a rose, or the textures and patterns in a pinecone.
Interacting with animals is another encouraging ASD-nature connection. Equine therapy uses horses and trained instructors to help the children calm, focus, think, talk, behave and learn. Family pets can be a ready-at-any-time, home-based therapy. Studies have shown that children with autism who had a pet from a young age tended to have greater social skills. Other research verifies how social behaviors in children with ASD temporarily improve after even a short play period with a live animal, such as a guinea pig (versus a toy).
My family experience with my youngest son, who has Asperger’s Syndrome, bears this all out. From the time he was 5 years old, we lived in the country, with nature literally out the door, and he often played and explored outside contentedly for long stretches. (We did have a neighbor through the woods who sometimes blasted his radio as far as our yard, which greatly upset our son in his quiet communing with nature. We had to go ask him to turn it down, which he graciously did.) For a time, we had a knuckleheaded dog, named Toby, which our young son loved and treated very well, as he did a series of multicolored cats. One year, he incubated bobwhite quail eggs and raised the chicks until they matured, and we released them into our back field. Another year, he raised chickens until the roosters crowed at 4 a.m. In all his animal interactions, he brought enthusiasm and a pleasant demeanor to his interest and grew in his responsibilities for caring for them.
The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry adds that caring for a pet can help children develop nonverbal communication, compassion, empathy and trusting relationships. Along with their connection to nature, pets also can bring comfort contact for unmet physical and emotional needs.
Here are some simple, starting steps to introduce children with ASD to nature:
Allow them to enjoy unstructured play in a natural area in their own way. Do not feel you must direct them; self-directed nature play builds creativity and problem solving. Let them stare at a leaf, if that’s what they like. Getting dirty is fine.
Your natural area need not be a park or preserve set aside for such purposes. It can be a flower bed, a backyard tree or even some sticks and leaves. Start from where you and your child are both comfortable, and plan for incremental steps.
Look for different kinds of wildlife or plants, even if it is through a window. Set up a birdfeeder or watch for squirrels. Let them count the number of butterflies, or how many different kinds of weeds they can find growing in the crack of the sidewalk. Nature is all around, even in urban areas, there to be noticed.
Add small excursions as comfort and interest grows. Go on a nature scavenger hunt. Plan a trip to pick apples, strawberries or pumpkins. Try to identify constellations in the nighttime sky. Go out in a rainstorm. Make bark rubbings of trees. Order a chrysalis and watch the butterfly emerge. Create a windowsill garden. Plant a tree. Build a snowman. Erect a small hut as a safe outdoor shelter as a play retreat, where they can simply sit and be silent if they want. Collect differently colored leaves, etc.
Simple interactions with nature can bring both immediate and long-range therapeutic benefits for children with ASD. All they need is someone to introduce them in ways they can appreciate; nature provides the rest.
Coronas are formed by an interference pattern of light diffracted through tiny water droplets in the atmosphere. At times, up to three coronas, each with its series of blue-green-red rings, may concentrically appear around the center reddish-brown ring, called the aureole.
When photographing them, it’s best to block the sun so it doesn’t overpower the exposure. I have purposely enhanced the vibrancy in these images to more easily see the rings. They were captured today at 11:53 am as a high bank of altostratus overspread my house. (Search Amazon for my book Kaleidoscope Sky for more on such spectacular optical phenomena.)
For our 44th wedding anniversary, I escorted my lovely date to a reception honoring another milestone celebration: the 50th Anniversary of Penn State’s Campus Weather Service, in which I served as Thursday night forecaster while a senior meteorology student.
Our 44th wedding anniversary portrait.
We visited the sixth floor of the Walker Building, which houses the meteorology department. The wall where dozens of newly-generated paper weather charts had been tacked up every hour, and the separate enclosed room that housed the noisy teletype and facsimile machines have vanished. (No surprise there!) As befits the world-renown university program, the Joel N. Myers Weather Center (named for its famous student and the founder of Accuweather) is now equipped with all the state-of-the-art-and-science tech. (I was fortunate in the 70s that Joel was still teaching for my first forecasting course—and to attend his self-professed “famous tornado lecture.”)
A historical pic of my Meteo Dept. Head, Professor Blackadar, demonstrating the cool tech of the facsimile machine; old weather geeks from the Class of ’78; and a hand-plotted weather map.
In the days before satellite imagery, 24-hour video feeds, and endless data streaming, we received the raw stats through a monstrous teletype machine, plotted each weather station’s data in a mix of symbols and numbers on a map, and then drew in isobars, areas of precipitation and frontal boundaries. Once plotted, analyzed, and interpreted, we’d hand-write a forecast for the subscribing radio stations, pick up the phone and call it in.
Here I am warning about the exploding fireball about to hit Beaver Stadium in the green screen studio. (Actually, it’s the fierceness of the stadium lighting!)
Today’s students have the opportunity to polish their forecasting skills along with live broadcasting techniques in a cooperative venture with Weather World on PCN cable TV.
We enjoyed Penn State Creamery ice cream, a tour of the studios, and running into two of my classmates from 1978. I donated an autographed copy of Kaleidoscope Sky, my 2007 book on atmospheric optical phenomena—the fascinating varieties of rainbows, halos, auroras, mirages, etc.
Accuweather’s operating floor where meteorologists generate consensus forecasts; one of its several broadcast studios; and the control room.
We were also treated to a tour of nearby Accuweather’s World Headquarters (just down the street from my office in State College). While I took a different career route from my initial plan of synoptic forecasting, it was exciting to see the incredible progress of the science and technologies from my undergraduate days.
And, after you’ve been married for 44 years to such a sweet and understanding wife, and she gamely accompanies you in a night dedicated to one of your other loves, let’s just say that it’s good that there were also cookies and ice cream!
America’s first fully mobile environmental education facility
On this date 35 years ago I founded The Roving Nature Center, America’s first fully mobile environmental education facility. It conducted environmental education programs at all kinds of indoor and outdoor sites from Boston to Erie to Virginia Beach. It won national recognition in the Take Pride in America Awards program for its “commitment and exceptional contribution to the stewardship of America’s natural and cultural resources.” It provided jobs to nearly 400 people and sustained my family for 18 years before I sold the company in 2005. I remain very grateful to for the unique opportunities and blessings it provided me.
Of sky, sea, rock and tree, the natural beauty of Acadia National Park is astounding!
My family recently completed a trip to Acadia National Park in Maine; our first together since the kids were little and lived at home. Some highlights:
Our first ascent of Cadillac Mountain elevated us into the enveloping mist. No views today! But we did find a waterfall gushing off its side.
While blue skies make clear vistas, there’s something to be said about the moody beauty created by seafog.
We mistook directions of an easy trail for a difficult one, and accidentally climbed Acadia Mountain over angular chunks of granite as large as our car, inadvertently verifying that, yes, it was indeed difficult! In both directions! While we’ll never do that again, we’re glad to say that we did!
The scenic rocky coast of Maine absolutely commands your attention. As one co-admirer said to me, “It’s so beautiful, it’s ridiculous!”
Two hours before the diurnal high tide peak, Thunder Hole displays nature’s relentless force in a spectacular show as the in-rushing surf explosively expels air from a cave under the rock ledge.
We lunched at Jordan Pond (savoring its signature pop-overs!), ambled along its waterfront boardwalk trail, and soaked in the fabulous view of the looming Bubble Mountains.
A cruise through Frenchman’s Bay brought us delightful observations of harbor seals, harbor porpoises, and crowds of cormorants hanging out on Egg Island and its lighthouse. We cruised past a house on a rocky promontory that could be rented for just $25,000 a week (!), and around uninhabited Ironbound Island—so named because it can’t be accessed from a boat due to its sheer rock cliffs surrounding its entire perimeter—topped with a virgin fir forest.
We attended a star gazing party on Sand Beach: our first with a completely obscured sky, save for Antares at the southern horizon. But the rangers nonetheless kept us entertained with interpretive tales of nighttime glories. (And in a Truly Small World case file, the one young ranger was from Stroudsburg, where I once worked, and another visitor was from Carol’s hometown of Perkasie, and had worked with her brother!)
We stopped by the much-photographed site of the Bass Harbor Head Light. And although the sky wasn’t clear again, we gained some appreciation of its importance on that rocky crag.
At low tide, Bar Island is connected by a land bridge to the town of Bar Harbor. We trekked over and back before being marooned for nine hours until the next low tide.
The sun did put in an appearance near the end of our week, and we took to the top of Cadillac Mountain once again for a panoramic view of the four Porcupine Islands (so named for their sloping backs prickled with firs) and the rest of Frenchman’s Bay out to the Gulf of Maine.
A Hadley Point visit capped on our last evening on Mount Desert Island with delightful west and east views of a down east Maine twilight on a late August evening.
And there was so much more we didn’t see. But of sky, sea, rock and tree, the beauty is both astounding and refreshing!
