My wife and I enjoy visiting her cousin and spouse in the Piedmont of North Carolina. They return the favor by visiting us in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
We all enjoy many of the same types of retirement excursions, including the local history of areas we visit. We like antiques and thrift stores. And we all enjoy watching birds.
We ventured out to a state park a few miles from their home. While looking for early songbird migrants, we walked a short loop through a woods with moslty second growth trees.
Sprinkled in among the woods were remnants of former residences and farm buildings. Near them, this clump of daffodils had sprouted up, a spontaneous memorial to the people who planted them.
After all the snow we had, it was a pleasure to find a single blossom in full bloom.
Shenandoah Mountain as seen from the rolling valley. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
On Shenandoah Mountain, a miles’ long ridge that marks the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia, the snow glistened in the bright sunshine of a recent morning.
Far below, a majority of the snow cover in Rockingham County in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley had melted into the moisture-starved landscape. A few days later, it snowed again.
In the eight and a half years my wife and I have lived here, the serene winter scenery has drawn my admiration. Too often, though, snow still clung to the winding, switchback road to Shenandoah’s summit. So, I admired from a distance.
However, I took advantage of the glorious day and ventured out, hoping that days after the heavy snow fell, US 33 would be bone dry all the way to the West Virginia line. That’s just the way I found it.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
Shenandoah Mountain is a much-revered landmark to locals on either side of the famed mountain. The mountain is actually an entire range that runs southwest to northeast for 73 miles. The undulating ridge ranges from 3,500 to 4,397 feet in altitude at Elliott Knob.
Not to be confused with Shenandoah National Park at the eastern end of Rockingham County, Shenandoah Mountain serves as the eastern front of the Appalachian Mountains. It is a substantial part of the George Washington National Forest in both Virginia and West Virginia. Its extensive biodiversity includes alpine vegetation, flowers, and wildlife, which attract hikers and birders from afar.
In the wintertime, I marvel at the contrast between the snow and the charcoal-colored stands of forest, dotted occasionally by the dark green of tall, twisted pines. The storied mountain draws me like a magnet.
As I drove up the curvy highway, the snow depth increased as I climbed higher and higher. I noted safe places to pull off for photos on the way back down. Though the sun shone brightly, the wind blew steadily. It was 29 degrees when I started the climb, and 19 at the peak. I was surprised that the wind rustling through the bare trees made the only sound I heard.
Switzer Lake viewed from US 33. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I expected more snow as I looked at the multiple mountain ranges of the Appalachians in the Mountain State’s interior. But apparently, this latest storm dumped an upslope snow, meaning most of the snow fell on the western slopes of the mountains as the winds blew eastward.
On the way back down to the valley, I stopped a few times where the state had made short breaks in the guardrails. At those spots, I pulled my vehicle completely off the road to capture a few photos. One man even slowed, lowered his window, and asked if I needed help. I thanked him and assured him I was fine.
Surrounded by all this beauty and quietude, how could I be otherwise?
The Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia, viewed from Shenandoah Mountain. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Only a skiff of snow dusted the central Shenandoah Valley in Virginia, while the coastal cities and communities got hammered with blizzard-blown feet of snow.
The mountains surrounding the valley, however, received their fair share of snow. The snow highlighted the forest-covered slopes.
The Massanutten Range, which splits the valley from Front Royal at the north to Harrisonburg at the south terminus, especially stood out with its fresh snowpack.
By the next afternoon, the dusting of snow in the valley had melted. Massanutten Mountain, however, showed its snow. The difference between the valley and the forest-studded mountain was not only obvious but also stunning.
This photo was taken near Weyers Cave, Virginia, looking north to Massanutten.
The daytime temperatures in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley have been above freezing for the last few days. Consequently, the melting of several inches of snow that fell three weeks ago has begun.
I ventured out in the late morning recently to do some birding. However, I ended up taking more landscape photos because the birds weren’t as active as I’d expected.
I found the topography southwest of Staunton especially captivating, with its rolling landscape, country estates along winding, narrow roads, and the snow-covered North Mountain range as a backdrop to the west. Beauty surrounded me in every direction.
In one location, a Red-tailed Hawk perched on a limb, posture focused downward in hopes of spotting an unsuspecting rabbit, squirrel, or field mouse. In another, a light-phase Red-tailed Hawk soared in the afternoon sunshine, sailing on thermals rising from the warming farm fields below.
White-throated Sparrows and Song Sparrows fed along the exposed roadside grasses and road grit, but scurried for fencerow brambles as my SUV rolled by at pedestrian speed. In the rural areas, traffic was scarce, allowing me to take my time and enjoy the scenery all around me. I stopped several times in the space of a quarter mile to inhale the fresh air, absorb the warm sunshine, and scout for any birds.
I marveled at the patterns in the diminishing snow. Polka dots of grasses surrounded by inches of snowy white speckled south-facing hillsides. Tractor tracks among corn stubble created abstract paintings. Farmsteads stood silent, as if in awe of the February thaw, painting their own Currier and Ives.
A Northern Mockingbird played hide and seek with me, playing hard to get. Darting in and out of roadside thickets, I managed a few photos of the tricky bird. American Robins launched from treelines to forage in the high grasses of pastures still dotted with snow.
Canada Geese gleaned for food in a wide-open pasture as the ice on a bordering creek gave way to the welcome warmth. I spooked a pair of Mallards enjoying pockets of open water when I stepped out of my vehicle. The geese ignored their quacking.
On the way home, I stopped at a city park along the North River where Long-tailed ducks had been reported. Instead, I found a few humans less interested in patterns in snow or waterfowl than me.
I walked across a footbridge to approach the riverside. At the other end, three seniors my age laughed and shrieked with one another, ignorant of the flock of Common Merganzers floating nearby. The birds quickly took flight.
On the way to my SUV, a trio of young boys threw sticks and pinecones at a small flock of Mallards foraging in the river’s shallows. I advised the youngsters that it’s wrong to disturb wildlife. They hung their heads until I passed by, and then continued their barrage. However, they fled when I turned around and stared at them.
Ironically, the best birds were the closest to home. The thaw substantially diminished the ice on Silver Lake, and the waterfowl basked in the afternoon sunshine. Redheads, Canvasbacks, Buffleheads, and Pied-billed Grebes swam and dove for food.
Best of all, six Tundra Swans stood on the thinning ice, preening in the sun’s warmth. It was a glorious six hours spent in communion with Nature and all her blessings.
This is an adult Tundra Swan. Tundra Swans can easily be confused with the larger Trumpeter Swans, especially since they often overlap in the winter migration locations.
Unless the two species appear together, it is hard to tell them apart. Adult birds are both white and have black bills. However, the bills of Trumpeter Swans are much larger, as are their bodies. Trumpeter Swans are the heaviest native North American bird.
There is one distinctive way to tell the difference between the two impressive birds. Tundra Swans sometimes have a small yellow spot at the base of the bill below the eye.
Note the small yellow spot just below the swan’s eye.
The problem is that not all Tundra Swans have this identifying mark. So, relying on expert birders to help make a defining identification is recommended. Using a reliable birding field guide should also help.
I hope you get to see both Tundra and Trumpeter Swans. If you do, I also hope they are together so you can tell them apart more easily.
The lingering snow revealed the path of ancient tracks of a farm truck as it climbed through last fall’s corn stubble. The scene reminded me of an abstract painting.
The trio of graceful Tundra Swans on Silver Lake. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We were about ready for dinner when a text from a birding group reported three Tundra Swans at Silver Lake. My wife turned off the stove burner, we dressed for the super cold weather, and out the door we went.
Located on the north edge of the small town of Dayton, Virginia, Silver Lake is a few minutes’ drive from our home. I approached the drive from the north, which afforded a full view of the lake.
A flock of dark colored ducks floated near the lake’s shallow north end. Fortunately, no vehicles approached from either direction. I slowed and soon spotted the large white swans in the middle of the lake.
Because it has been so cold for so long after the six inches of snow and sleet, there was little room to pull over for photos. However, I managed to pull on the ridge of plowed snow along the road so I wasn’t blocking the southbound lane.
The Tundra Swans were about 30 yards away. The two adults and one juvenile swam gracefully on the placid water. The young one kept feeding by tipping its head into the water and foraging on the underwater vegetation.
Their closeness let me capture a few decent photos with both my camera and my iPhone before the light faded further. Given the precarious position of my SUV, I didn’t want to linger long.
Satisfied with the photos, we headed home, turned on the stove’s burner, and enjoyed a steaming bowl of soup. It completed a satisfying evening.
The juvenile Tundra Swan dipped into the water to feed several times. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Sundogs, or parhelia, are among the many marvels of the sky. They are caused by the refraction of sunlight through millions of ice crystals high in the atmosphere.
The plate-like crystals are suspended in cold cirrus or cirrostratus clouds. The crystals align horizontally as they drift down and bend the sun’s light at 22-degree angles.
That is what creates the bright spots, often in rainbow colors on either side of the sun, and sometimes on both sides. On rare occasions, the crystals create a full arch over the sun. The spots can also be simply bright white.
Sundogs are most frequently observed in the winter, when the atmosphere is cold. They most often appear at sunrise or near sunset, as in this recently taken photo.
Parhelia is the Greek word for “beside the sun.” Sundogs are members of the halo family that occasionally form around the sun and moon.
A rural road cuts through the snow. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
It took a rare bird sighting to get me out of our warm home and into the frigid weather after a snowstorm dumped six inches of snow and sleet onto Rockingham County, Virginia.
A lone Snow Bunting had been spotted along with small flocks of Horned Larks in an area noted for rarities. A Snowy Owl was spotted there in November 2024.
I was familiar with the birds’ location, but I still took the long way around to get there. I wanted to drive the main roads to ensure my safety.
Like most areas hit by the recent storm, the temperatures dropped to record or near-record marks as the system slowly moved away. Consequently, the snowpack froze as the nighttime temperatures dropped to single digits.
That made snow removal difficult, and salting highways inefficient. Still, the roads were clear, but the plowed snow piled up like concrete construction barriers on both sides of the road, blocking roads and sidewalks.
Before I ever turned onto Lumber Mill Road, a flock of Lapland Longspurs flew in front of my stopped vehicle. A passing car spooked them, ruining my photo opportunity.
As I approached the area where the Snow Bunting had been seen, small flocks of Horned Larks flew in loops over the snow-covered farm fields on either side of the roadway, then landed close to where they had launched. The birds were feeding along the roads where the snowplow had exposed patches of weedy grass. The birds also used the grit and salt to help digest the seeds they ate.
Horned LarksA Horned LarkA Horned Lark in the road
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
Having photographed the Horned Larks, I proceeded a few yards down the road, and the Snow Bunting flitted farther ahead. I stopped my SUV and used my telephoto lens, not wanting to scare the bird again.
Given the harsh weather conditions, schools and many businesses had closed. Sidewalks and parking lots in the more urban areas had yet to be plowed. The extreme cold weather compounded the problem.
With the sun bright during the day, the surface layer of the snow cover melted slightly, and the snow froze harder as nighttime temperatures fell. Those conditions kept most people at home, significantly reducing the traffic on roadways.
The lone Snow Bunting. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Alerted by an email, other birders soon arrived, and I was happy to point out where the Snow Bunting had appeared. I was excited to see it myself, since I had never seen Snow Buntings in Virginia. Plus, it was unusual to see only one. Snow Buntings commonly appear in small flocks, and the only other time I had seen them was 50 years ago in my backyard during a rare blizzard in Ohio.
With the birds photographed, I turned my attention to capturing the winter wonderland all around me. The farmsteads glowed in the afternoon sunshine, and the snow and cold, clear air made everything bright and clean.
Fencerows and trees contrasted with the white blanket below them. The Allegheny Mountains hovered over the scenic countryside like anxious mothers.
I scared up other flocks of Horned Larks as I continued meandering along narrow limestone roads that connected one Old Order Mennonite farm to the other. Holsteins crowded into feeding troughs, devouring hay the farmers had recently pitch-forked into the stanchions for them.
Knowing that the roads were at least passable, I felt more comfortable driving as I made a loop around Mole Hill toward home. In the southwest, the afternoon’s slanting sun radiated a glistening sheen across the hard-packed snowy landscape.
On the east side of the local landmark, Massanutten Mountain stood tall above the undulating lands of the Shenandoah Valley. I crunched my way a few yards from the road to capture black Angus cattle exiting a barn into the snowy pasture.
The dark macadam and the tree branches reaching for the sky sharply contrasted with the snow-white countryside. It was a sight almost as inspiring as seeing the lone Snow Bunting.
Black Angus cattle and Massanutten Mountain. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Our landscaper saved the day. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
There was a time when I enjoyed shoveling snow from our driveway and sidewalk. That was when we lived in Ohio, and I was much, much younger.
We had plenty of notice from the National Weather Service and the media about the most recent major winter storm that chugged eastward from Texas into New England.
Snow is the hardest precipitation for the NWS to predict. This storm was exceptionally so. The storm surged farther north than anticipated, and it had a “warm nose” that changed our precipitation from snow to sleet.
Despite the cold surface temperatures, the Shenandoah Valley had sleet all day. Since it is finer than snow, the sleet added two inches to our four inches of overnight snow.
Knowing the storm was going to deliver a nasty punch no matter what kind of frozen precipitation fell, we knew we would need help with the driveway and sidewalk.
By the next morning, the storm had cleared. When I went out to spread birdseed on the ground shortly after sunrise, the cold overnight temperatures had frozen the top layer of snow, so I could walk on it for a few steps before it gave way.
The Virginia Department of Transportation contracts with local farmers to plow our suburban streets. They often do it at night, and that was the case this time. The street was clear of snow, but a two-foot-high pile of large snow chunks blocked the driveway. I was glad we had a snowplow coming.
Our landscaper arrived mid-morning and immediately went to work cleaning the drive with a small tractor and plow. Its size and design allowed it to make sharp turns and push the snow out of the way while his helper shoveled our walk.
Of course, the neighbors heard the tractor’s engine, and soon two of them approached the plow operator to ask about clearing their drives as well. It wasn’t long until yet a third neighbor added to the workload.
When the first neighbor approached. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
All of us were retirees, and we all knew it was much better to have a machine do what we used to do in our younger years. We were all more than glad to pay for this service rather than risk overdoing it or, even worse, hurting ourselves.
It’s nice to be in a position where we can afford to do that. As senior citizens, it was the right decision, regardless of the cost.
Roadkill Crossing 
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