October 16, 2017
While we were visiting at the farm, our friends took us to nearby Ohiopyle State Park, through which flows the Youghiogheny River. The Youghiogheny is very different from “my” Vermilion River, as you can see from these photographs. No slow-moving edges here! The first photograph is taken from one side of the river, the other two from the opposite side. Tomorrow and the next few days you’ll see some rock surfaces I found along the river, which, by the way, is pronounced like yolk-eh-gainy, if I interpret the Wikipedia linguistic notation properly (/jɒkəˈɡeɪni/). The word comes from the Algonquin word meaning “a stream flowing in a contrary direction.” And, says Wikipedia elsewhere, “Ohiopyle” is derived from the Native American Lenape phrase ahi opihəle, which means “it turns very white,” referring to the frothy waterfalls. This knowledge makes me wonder about the origin of my state’s name, but I think I’ll save that rabbit hole for later.
September 29, 2017
The Back Pond at Schoepfle Garden has fascinated me for years. It’s where I have captured reflections of the surrounding woods in all seasons. This summer, however, the park people installed one of those terrible aerator rings, which shoots up water in a constant disruption of natural surface variations. When I visited last month, I was lucky enough to be there when the thing was turned off.
September 5, 2017
I may be confusing people. This is not my car, nor are the cars in any post with the title “A Car for Linda?” It is a photograph of a car (and a reflection) like photographs of cars that I take. Earlier photographs of cars that I posted—the ones, called “A Car for Ken”—were like photographs of cars that a fellow blogger named Ken takes. (Keep scrolling on his site; you’ll find some.) Ken avoids reflections in cars; I seek them.
September 4, 2017
September 3, 2017
(Ken doesn’t do reflections in cars, usually.)
April 22, 2017
The quarries fill not just with water but dead trees. And visiting Canada geese. . . . What a difference a polarizing filter on my camera lens makes.
April 21, 2017
There is a road that I cross when driving between Schoepfle Garden and Oberlin called Quarry Road. If I drive far enough north on Quarry Road, I reach two sandstone quarries that have ceased operations and are now filled with water. On a recent typical overcast day in early spring northern Ohio (April 2, to be exact), I did some exploring there.
March 29, 2017
On another part of Island Pond there was much more ice. . . . If you’ve wondered how ice becomes suspended above the water, as depicted in earlier posts, please see yesterday’s post.
March 28, 2017
Walking over Wildflower Hill from Rock Pond, I saw similar ice patterns on Island Pond.
UPDATE: If you’ve wondered how ice becomes suspended above the water, read below the photograph.
When I couldn’t figure out how ice becomes suspended above the water level, except for the obvious reason, I reached out to two physicists for enlightenment. One wrote back. Below is my question, and an answer from Dr. Chris Baird, who runs a website called Science Questions with Surprising Answers (sciencequestionswithsurprisinganswers.org). Turns out I should not have rejected the obvious reason (story of my life).
Hello, Chris Baird,
Last week I took several photographs around the edges of a nearby pond where ice had formed on twigs and trailing branches a few inches above the water. At first I thought that the ice had formed while the water level was higher, but somehow I don’t think that explains it. Then I wondered if light snow flakes fell on these sticks and branches and didn’t make it all the way to the water. Then they somehow transformed themselves from snow to ice. (Probably also a wrong answer.) Do you know how this happens?
While it’s hard to know for sure from 2D photos, I believe that your first notion is correct. The ice formed on the surface of the water while the water was at a higher level. The ice froze around the stems and became anchored to the stems. As the water level gradually dropped, ice patches away from the stems lowered with the water, staying in contact with the water, and thus melted away when the water warmed up. In contrast, the ice anchored to the stems stayed put when the water level lowered. They therefore lost contact with the water and did not melt when the water warmed up. This explanation is suggested by the disc shapes of the ice and the fact that these discs sit at levels that are good anchor points (i.e. the tips of stems, the junction points of stems, and the points in stems that have a crooked shape). These shapes are complex enough that there may have a been a complex series of events involving partial melting, refreezing, and repeated rising and lowering of the water level.
Snowfall is crystalline in nature and does not form solid chunks of transparent ice on stems. Freezing rain can form ice masses on stems, but it does not form disc shapes at only a few locations. Rather, freezing rains forms a thin layer of ice that coats the entire stem.
– Dr. Baird
March 27, 2017