Roadkill Crossing

Nurturing Relationships as We Age

Birding with friends. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Nearly 80 years of living have taught me how valuable strong, wholesome relationships are. As a youngster, I learned that family comes first, followed by close friends.

Growing up in a neighborhood of baby boomers taught me the importance of having caring, trustworthy pals. The importance of proper socialization stuck with me.

I’ve tried to carry those lessons throughout my life and into retirement. Healthy bonding relationships create a twofold effect for me. I feel better physically and emotionally.

As we age, we need nurturing relationships that sometimes require a certain vulnerability. It’s important to be open to every opportunity to connect and reconnect. That can happen through planned meetings or a spontaneous encounter at a restaurant, or even on vacation.

For me, it means incorporating my gifts and abilities with those of others. I enjoy writing, so I facilitate a monthly Zoom writing group with creatives in their 70s, 80s, and 90s. We each read a piece, and the listeners offer supportive comments and share ideas for improvement, or even suggest taking the story in a different direction. We also laugh a lot, and sometimes cry.

Surrounding yourself with like-minded people, especially as you age, is critical for retirees. An occasional nature walk in a local arboretum with folks who share my interests keeps me refreshed and uplifted.

A Tiger Swallowtail butterfly along a hiking trail. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Even as older folks, using our five senses lets us keep learning and growing. I try to listen more than talk. I enjoy hearing others’ stories and how they handled situations similar to what I’ve experienced.

I belong to a local birding club that holds regular outings. I attend as often as I can, not only to find migrating birds, but also to learn techniques for properly identifying bird species. Fall warblers, dressed in their drab colors, are difficult for me to identify. My birding friends eagerly show me how to tell a fall Cape May Warbler from a Bay-breasted one.

My wife and I belong to three different small groups, two of which meet monthly and always with food. We take turns hosting, and everyone contributes to the modest feast. One group is intergenerational, with ages ranging from infants to grandparents.

Two of the three groups are both comprised of seniors. It’s easy to share our latest aches and pains as we age, but once the simple meal is finished, we get down to business by answering a pre-assigned prompt individually. We discuss current events, memories from our formative years, and issues we need advice on. Serious or playful, the conversations are rewarding.

At a church retreat. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Hearing others’ experiences and perspectives broadens my thinking. It helps me better understand a point of view different from my own. That enhances and nurtures my life.

During the COVID-19 restrictions, we Zoomed every other week with my wife’s sister and four cousins, who were like brothers and sisters growing up. We enjoyed the camaraderie so much that we’ve continued monthly Zooms, since we live in different states.

My wife also Zooms monthly with college friends, all of whom graduated in the early 1970s and are scattered across the country. Those strong connections have led to in-person gatherings and even vacations together.

My wife and I spent a few days in Maine last summer with one of those lifelong college friends. The sound of ocean waves crashing lulled us to sleep while the pastel light of the rising sun awakened us at 4:30 a.m. We walked along the shore at low tide and ate fresh lobster on the dock in a quaint cove.

Weeks later, we visited the same friend in Baltimore, Maryland. She was a perfect host. On the hottest day of September, we toured a massive second-hand store and then a railroad museum. In the evening, we attended a baseball game at Camden Yards. We enjoyed our time together despite my Cleveland Guardians’ loss.

My wife of 55 years has many useful and creative gifts, but the greatest is hospitality. She loves hosting friends, family, and new neighbors for meals and fellowship. A young couple moved next door from New Mexico. Of course, my wife invited them for dinner, and they stayed for four hours. The conversation freely flowed, and they soon returned the favor.

Friends occasionally visit us from other states, especially from our home state of Ohio. They are enchanted by Virginia’s bucolic Shenandoah Valley, where we moved nearly a decade ago to be close to our daughter and her family.

We enjoy escorting visitors around our small city and the surrounding agricultural countryside. Shenandoah National Park borders our county to the east, and each visitor finds the park as remarkable and awe-inspiring as I do.

On one recent visit by Ohio friends, we met another couple who helped us locate and identify tiny but beautiful flowers we would have missed. The pesky gnats and cloud-enshrouded mountains couldn’t diminish our pleasant adventures.

The same results occur when we visit our son, his wife, and their young son in upstate New York, or when we return to our beloved Holmes County, Ohio, where we lived among the Amish for nearly four decades.

We moved to Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to be close to our daughter and her family. Those 10 years have flown by as we watched our grandchildren grow and mature. We followed them from T-ball to college baseball, attended piano recitals, band concerts, high school musicals, and volleyball games.

Packing bags of food for children. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We find great comfort and connection with others as we not only worship, but also participate in activities that involve community members. My wife volunteers at a thrift store once a week, and we both help pack and distribute food for food-insecure families at a local elementary school.

Of course, life challenges us physically as we age, so we exercise regularly and are mindful about what we eat and how much we eat. We make regular checkups with doctors and appointments with physical therapists as needed.

At our age, hardships occur too often for friends and family. Empathy and compassion help soothe the emotional pain we encounter.

Traveling has been an eye-opener for us, and we wish we had done more when we were younger. But we can only move forward in life and enjoy and learn from the trips we do take, whether by car, plane, or cruise.

My wife and I feel most grateful for our families and the many friends we have. Their love and support shower us with kindness and appreciation, whether they live next door or in another state or country.

Relationships flourish when we nurture them with compassion and openness. Their unconditional inclusion keeps us engaged and going.

In all of this, if I have learned anything in life, it’s that we are all one human family. Even amid differences, accepting others doesn’t mean agreeing with them. Instead, heartfelt connections count.

At this age, that’s exactly how I desire my life experiences and human interactions to add up.

On the Fence

It was a perfect fall day for photos. Puffy, white clouds floated across a glorious blue sky. So, I went out and about in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

Agricultural lands surround all the small cities and towns in Rockingham County, the third-largest in the Commonwealth. Lovely landscape photos abound.

But so did this shot. This scene was at the entrance to a farm market. It would have caught any photographer’s eye.

With the clouds providing the background, the wave of fuchsia petunias strung on the weather-worn fence became the main focus of the composition.

I am most grateful to live in such a beautiful agricultural area that offers so many wonderful photographic settings.

A Surprise Nor’easter Sunset

A faint rainbow at sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The weather forecast didn’t call for it, but last night the westernmost edge of the significant nor’easter covered Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley just before sunset.

My wife and I were watching Major League Baseball when I noticed an eerie orangeish color in the northern sky. I rushed outside and spotted a faint rainbow in front of thick clouds in the eastern sky.

I grabbed my camera and headed to a farm with a clearer view to the west. The sun had already set behind the Allegheny Mountains, illuminating a few rogue clouds.

It was a welcome, colorful surprise.

The surprise sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Stating the Obvious

Finally, a vanity license plate I could understand.

So many times, I spot vanity plates that stretch my imagination and creativity to their limits. Try as I might, I can’t logically assemble the mix of letters and numbers to mean anything obvious.

For this car, seen in a parking lot in Shenandoah National Park, the meaning was clear as…well, green. And what a sparkling clean verdant color it was.

Here’s the full view of this “GRRREEN” car. My only question is: Was its owner promoting this flashy automobile’s screaming color, supporting ecology, or was it just naivete?

Finding Beauty on an Ugly Day

The fog rolled in at Big Meadows in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Our Ohio friends wanted to visit Shenandoah National Park. The weather was less than cooperative. We ventured out anyway.

On our way to the park, a deck of low clouds obscured our view of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where Shenandoah National Park is located. We pressed on. The dismal weather couldn’t deter our friends from wanting to experience this national gem for the first time.

Once in the park, clouds rolled across the mountain landscape, obscuring most of the views of Shenandoah Valley from the several overlooks along Skyline Drive. Occasional rain dotted the windshield as we climbed higher.

Since our friends enjoy camping, I pulled into the historic Lewis Mountain Campgrounds. During segregation, this was the only area that allowed Blacks to be in the park. Today, it has maintained its rustic look with a camp store, several woodsided cabins, and campsites for tents and campers alike.

Mountain Mint at Milum Gap along Skyline Drive. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We stopped at Milum Gap, where the Millprong Trail connects with the Appalachian Trail a stone’s throw from the Skyline Drive. Honeybees and bumblebees buzzed at the late-blooming mountain mint blossoms.

We soon arrived at Big Meadows, and just as we exited the vehicle, clouds skirted across the landscape like a chilling phantom. We walked around anyhow.

However, the rain drove us back to the SUV, and we explored the expansive Big Meadows campground with many campsites, shower facilities, and a camp store. Our friends were impressed.

A fern circle in Big Meadows. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

As we returned to the sweeping, prairie-like bowl of Big Meadows, the rain turned to a light mist. So, we chose a path and began to explore. Every time I see Big Meadows, I am always impressed with its expansiveness and the array of colors, even without bright sunshine.

In fact, the low, silvery cloud cover seemed to enhance the plants and flowers we encountered. The simple beauty beckoned us in, and we obliged.

We had only taken a few steps on an established path when we spotted several Spotted Lanternflies clinging to the season’s second-growth Common Milkweed plants and other plant stems. Quick as they are, we still killed a couple of dozen of the invasive species that destroy woody plants and trees.

One of the Spotted Lanternflies we killed.

Still, we marveled at the russets, browns, and various greens of September. We admired many blooms and snapped photos to identify them later.

On another path across the way, we noticed another couple. The man was bent over, photographing something low to the ground. His partner stood behind, scanning the area with binoculars.

At first, I thought she was looking at birds. But the unseasonably cool, damp weather even kept the birds sheltered and quiet.

Curious, we approached the couple, who were more than happy to share their finds with us. The man pointed out the ginseng blossoms we saw him photographing.

Using her binoculars, the woman excitedly exclaimed that she had spotted one of 60 of Virginia’s native orchids. We walked several yards together before we arrived at the lone, spiky bloom of the Ladies Tresses.

Soon, a Meadow Variegated butterfly landed nearby. I had never seen one before. It posed nicely for a photo.

Then the amateur botanists sighted what they called a “butter-and-eggs” flower. This time we walked even farther and came upon a small area where the yellow and orange flowers flourished. Its official name is Yellow Toadflax, but it’s also called wild snapdragon. I learned later that it is a highly invasive plant.

I found some rosehips along the path back to our vehicle. It looked like Christmas, with their rosy red berries contrasting with the plant’s shiny green leaves. Spiky Burnet flowers grew nearby.

Stands of Goldenrod dominated open areas beyond Big Meadows, and especially along the road. Yet, we saw few in the high-elevation grassland of Big Meadows.

After basking in Big Meadows’ offerings, we headed north on Skyline Drive, hoping to find openings in the clouds at overlooks. We found a few and enjoyed the views before the clouds rolled back in. We took a short hike at Franklin Cliffs, and I found a Pearl Crescent butterfly resting on a blueberry bush.

Sadly, we also found the park trails sorely lacking maintenance, mostly because of the major staff and funding cuts implemented last year. Weeds and tree limbs, normally trimmed before the federal funding cuts, overhung the trails.

Despite the wet weather and chilly temperatures, our friends enjoyed their introduction to Shenandoah National Park. They assured us that they would be back.

We look forward to seeing them again, especially in that natural setting.

Our friends in Big Meadows. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Autumnal Equinox

The autumnal equinox arrives at 8:05 p.m. EDT. This means the sun will set due west this evening. In the U.S., tomorrow begins the first full day of fall.

Many people believe that the equinox brings an even amount of daylight and darkness, but that is a myth. This year, that occurs on Saturday, September 26, and is called equilux. The word is drawn from Latin equi (equal) and lux (light).

As hot as it was early on, summer has flown by. Welcome autumn.

The sun sets due west on the autumnal equinox. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Snippets of Baltimore

Our friend, Diana, and Neva at the Baltimore Railroad Museum. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Thanks to our host, my wife and I crammed a lot in on an overnight trip to Baltimore, Maryland. We went there to watch the Cleveland Guardians play the Baltimore Orioles. Diana, our host, had other ideas.

If the traffic behaves, it’s a three-hour trip to Baltimore from our home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. We arrived right on schedule.

After a lovely summer lunch, we headed out into near 90-degree heat to visit a couple of venues Diana thought we would like. She was spot on.

First up was the perfectly named Second Chance warehouse, where used goods of all kinds are for sale to individuals and contractors alike. The place was massive. Customers can buy good used items, from furniture to radiators to old-growth lumber to vintage signs.

We wandered from aisle to aisle browsing the thousands of items available. Of course, the former steel manufacturing plant wasn’t air-conditioned, so we headed for the second spot when we got too hot.

The National Museum of Railroad History and Innovation was just around the block. We visited the air-conditioned history section to cool off and learn about railroad history. The museum recently changed its name from the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Museum to better represent the full scale of railroading.

We found the roundhouse to be the most interesting part. While Diana and Neva sat in rocking chairs in front of a fan, I wandered from old steam engines to diesel engines and passenger cars. I learned a lot.

Once a month, an engine is brought into the roundhouse pulling a coach to demonstrate how the roundhouse works. A 60-foot turntable rotates with 19th-century engineering.

The weight on the turntable rests on a highly efficient pivot center filled with massive ball bearings. Staff and sometimes visitors push long wooden levers to rotate the engine or car, perfectly balanced on the turntable.

After I made my rounds exploring the old engines and passenger cars, we headed back to Diana’s to rest and have another delicious meal. We left for the baseball game an hour before game time. With the heat, we decided not to walk and hitched a ride with Diana’s daughter.

We walked past the statue of my all-time favorite third baseman, Brooks Robinson, who played his entire career for the Orioles. Brooks was a human vacuum sweeper at the hot corner, and he certainly deserved to be voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

We found our seats near the Guardians’ dugout on the third-base side of the diamond. We had excellent views of the Cleveland players as they stretched and warmed up before the first pitch.

The game started out right for my Guardians. Rookie Chase DeLauter hit a two-run homer to give Cleveland the early lead. It didn’t last long. The Orioles had their way with Cleveland pitchers, and we left before the game ended.

The evening had cooled as we waited on our ride back to Diana’s. After our long day, we all slept well.

Despite the Guardians’ loss, I was glad we had come to Baltimore, a city with a lot to offer. We had a wonderful host who showed us only a snippet of this East Coast city.

Lunch with Diana. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

It’s Applesauce Season

My wife poured more cooked apples into the strainer. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

As summer ends every year, it’s applesauce season at our house.

My energetic and talented wife orders the apples from a local orchard weeks in advance. She anxiously awaits the phone call advising that they are ready.

When that call comes, the well-organized plan unfolds to perfection as it has for years. A bushel of Ginger Gold apples is retrieved, and the former kindergarten teacher gets to work.

Everything is ready for the applesauce assault. For one warm morning near summer’s end, our galley kitchen resembles an assembly line.

Of course, I’m a partner in the endeavor, but Neva is in charge. She checks the apples’ ripeness once she returns home, and usually within a day or two, they are ready to be worked up.

The sliced Ginger Golds. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The entire process is an extravaganza. The plastic containers are washed and ready to accept their sweet-tart contents. The mixing bowls stand clean and shiny, ready to share in their next-to-last role in the annual making of the tangy applesauce.

First, though, the apples are washed, sliced, and placed in bowls until they are mounded high. Kettles sit on stovetop burners, their contents steaming away at a low boil.

The apple slices are added in and cooked until their flesh is soft but not mushy. That’s where I enter the picture.

The apples are transferred to a smaller container and carefully carried to the screened-in back porch. Because we start the process early in the morning, the porch is cooler than it is later in the day. Plus, cranking steaming hot cooked apples can be a messy project, especially with a male septuagenarian as the manual laborer.

Cooking the apples. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The hand-cranked Victorio strainer is already affixed to the old painted drop-leaf table. The peeler’s top container is filled with the cooked apple slices, and I crank away. It’s important to turn the crank at just the right speed to avoid any splatter or mishap.

The apples are pushed into an opening at the top of the cylinder where blades separate the skin from the apple’s flesh as the handle is cranked. The skins follow a conical tunnel into another bowl while the finally cut apple flesh slides and oozes through a sieve into a different container.

That’s the good stuff, the critical ingredient to make applesauce. Once the container is full, the contents are emptied into one of the larger bowls, and granulated sugar is sprinkled in to cut the tartness.

An old-fashioned wooden spoon stirs the sugar into the applesauce, and occasional taste tests ensure it’s just right. The entire process is repeated until the last slice of apple disappears.

The end of the line. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Including the preparation and cleanup, the entire production takes up most of the morning. But it’s oh so worth it.

The quarts and pints hold a sweet-tart treat that, if rationed diligently, will last through the winter. Applesauce complements any meal.

When the grandkids ask for more, Nana knows all the sweaty effort was worth it.

Appreciating the Moment

The backside of a severe thunderstorm. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

After last evening’s storm passed, I stepped out the back door to check my rain gauge when this amazing scene stopped me in my tracks.

We had yet another storm, but it clearly had intensified as it approached the Blue Ridge Mountains and Shenandoah National Park, which serve as the eastern boundary of Rockingham County, Virginia, where we live.

The view of the mammatus clouds from my driveway. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The setting sun dramatically illuminated the eastward-moving thunderstorm. The pouch-like clouds are mammatus clouds, formed when colder air aloft sinks into warmer air below.

Mammatus clouds almost always occur either at the lead of a severe thunderstorm or at the rear of the anvil-shaped thunderstorm crown. For meteorologists and those who appreciate and study clouds, spotting mammatus clouds is a rarity.

Since such clouds don’t last long, I wanted a view with a better line of sight. So, I headed to nearby Heritage Oaks Golf Course, behind an elementary school, which gave me an unobstructed view of the fast-moving storm.

As you can see, the turbulent clouds had already changed in the five minutes it took me to arrive at the golf course. Plus, the sun had set behind the Allegheny Mountains 30 miles to the west, changing the intensity and direction of its rays. Consequently, the colors of the clouds mellowed to more orange than white and yellow.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Still, I was ecstatic to capture these shots, so much so that I never did check the rain gauge.

In Memory of Wendell Berry

An ally for all things wild, wonderful, and of nature died yesterday at his home in Port Royal, Kentucky. Wendell Berry was 92.

I didn’t know him personally, but a writer friend of mine did. Wendell even occasionally stayed in a cabin on my Amish friend’s farm in Holmes County, Ohio.

In honor of this great writer and activist for justice, I am posting his most noted poem, “The Peace of Wild Things.”

Rest in true peace, Wendell.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.