March 2024 – Roadkill Crossing

The Cherry Blossom Surprise

Cherry blossoms line the western Tidal Basin with Arlington, Virginia, in the background. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Since childhood, I have wanted to see the beautiful cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin in Washington, D.C.. That was a long time ago for this grandfather.

I saw calendar photos displaying these historic trees’ beauty year after year. It wasn’t just the trees’ pleasing pink color. The symmetry of the blooming ornamentals, as they curved around the Tidal Basin, drew me into the photo. Add in the Washington Monument in the background, and I was hooked. I had to see that inspiring scene for myself.

As much as my wife and I like to travel over our 53 years of marriage, I’m not sure what took me so long to make the trip. Age and the process of life’s activities getting in the way of my pursuit dulled my desire.

Living in Ohio most of my life, the nation’s capital seemed so far away. Plus, I hesitated about traveling from our rural home to the city to view the trees. In retrospect, I realized how silly that was. But, other than television news reports, we only had a few opportunities to know the exact timing of the cherry trees’ blooming. The Internet changed that in a big way.

I discovered a blossom cam of the flowers. The National Park Service had predicted March 23 as the peak blooming time this year, but watching the bloom cam made it clear that the peak would occur much earlier.

I had no excuse this time, mainly since we now lived less than three hours away in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. We moved there seven years ago to be close to three of our four active grandchildren.

Along the walkway to the Jefferson Memorial. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The first full day of spring promised to be mostly sunny and warm, perfect for snapping photos. The morning sunshine would highlight the trees along the western rim.

I left home early, but it needed to be earlier. The drive in heavy traffic took me three and a half hours to arrive at a parking lot near the Jefferson Memorial.

Everything was perfect. The crowds were yet to appear, giving me and many other photographers plenty of space to capture our desired angles and subject matters.

Forsythia, weeping cherry, and pink magnolia.
Students gather at the Jefferson Memorial.
The walkway around the western rim of the Tidal Basin.
Beneath the blossoms.
Cherry blossoms in different stages.
A walkway at the FDR Memorial.
Photo op.
The view from a bridge.
Walking the dog.
Against the sky.

Several people in various attire mingled at the Jefferson Memorial. Professional and amateur photographers clicked away at couples in frilly gowns and fancy suits and high school and college graduates in flowing robes. Teachers and adult chaperones of elementary, middle, and high school student groups herded their darlings into huddles for impromptu lessons.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

As I continued my stroll around the basin, the blossoms brought out the best in people. Strangers offered to take photos of couples trying to take the perfect selfie. A man dressed as Santa Claus strolled beneath the blossoms, bringing unexpected cheer to young and old alike.

The best time for photographs waned as the sun drew higher in the sky. People greeted me with smiles and verbal hellos as I walked beneath canopies of blossoms, returning to my car.

Such pleasantries sweetened the fragrance of the thousands upon thousands of pale pink blossoms. Witnessing humanity’s kindness stirred a joyous surprise that put photography into its proper perspective.

The iconic shot of the Washington Monument through the cherry blossoms. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Welcome to Spring!

A spring equinox sunrise over Holmes Co., Ohio.

To those living in the Northern Hemisphere, welcome to the first full day of Spring 2024!

For those in the Southern Hemisphere, welcome to the first full day of autumn.

Enjoy your day wherever you live.

Sunrise, Sunset and Mole Hill

Our suburban home near Harrisonburg, Virginia, faces north. That requires me to constantly check east and west around dawn and dusk for any hint of a colorful sunrise or sunset.

My chances of catching a lovely sunrise have to be more intentional. The older I get, the easier it is for me to sleep past the sun’s morning appearance. Seniors seem to have a sleep cycle similar to that of newborns. I fall asleep fine, but staying asleep is another matter. Consequently, my awakenings in the middle of the night contribute to my sleeping pattern. I toss and turn and then sleep soundly until sun up.

So, I have many more Virginia sunset photos than sunrises. I walk in the neighborhood as often as I can, and I especially like doing so in the morning.

The morning sun highlighted a farmstead on Mole Hill. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The other day, my wife and I were about to begin our morning stroll when I noticed the sun shining on a farmstead on the eastern slope of Mole Hill, a local landmark. Mole Hill is the remnant of a volcanic core from millions of years ago. Over millennia, nature’s elements have weathered and withered the basalt down into a gently sloping geographic feature resembling a molehill, thus its name.

With my camera at the ready, I captured the sun highlighting this old homestead. I didn’t think much of it then, but that changed the following evening.

I wasn’t too hopeful for a glowing sunset, yet when I looked out, the sky radiated orange across the western sky. I knew my only chance for a photo was from the middle of the street in front of our home. So, I did that, standing at nearly the same spot as the morning photo of Mole Hill.

The farmstead stood out even with the setting sun behind it. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

In one of the photos, the same farmstead stood out, even on the shaded side of the historic hill. I don’t tinker with my photos, so this eerie highlight simultaneously puzzled and intrigued me.

Call it what you will. I’m glad the sun shines on Mole Hill morning and evening.

The Honey Bee

My wife and I drove to the Edith J. Carrier Arboretum on the James Madison University campus in Harrisonburg, Virginia. It’s a beautiful place for a respite in any season, and we are grateful to have it so close to home.

Mature hardwood deciduous trees dominate 87 of the arboretum’s 125 acres. A large pond serves as its centerpiece. A small stream runs through the center of the arboretum, located in a ravine with thickly wooded hillsides. The arboretum has been open to the public since 1989.

People visit the arboretum for many reasons. The arboretum’s patrons include JMU students, local school groups, families, birders, photographers, and senior citizens like us. It’s a great place to learn, relax, and enjoy all the arboretum has to offer, including occasional seminars.

Many people focus on flowers this time of year. Flowers and birds were our main agenda. We strolled around the grounds and found many blooming native, domesticated, and wildflowers.

Near a rock outcropping, I spotted a group of spring beauty flowers. When I bent down to get a close-up shot, I noticed a honey bee flitting from one blossom to another. It was the first bee of the season for me.

Can you find it in this photo?

A lone honey bee buzzed from one spring beauty flower to the other.

A Strange Stand-off

I was searching for migrating birds when I encountered this scene at a farm pond.

A male Mallard was escorting his partner as they foraged along the far end of the murky pond. A Black Angus steer suddenly trotted over to check out the feathered creatures encroaching on his territory. Fortunately, the duck and the steer stopped short and began a brief staredown.

Once the bull calculated that the duck was no threat to his ego or pasture, it waded into the pond for a drink. The Mallard didn’t seem too impressed.

Male Mallard vs. a bull Black Angus steer.

Evolution of a Sunset

A reflective sunset in the eastern sky in Rockingham Co., Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

No two sunsets are alike. That should be no startling revelation. Each sunset has its unique evolution, however. Some last just seconds with only a hint of orange, while others splash the western sky with a painter’s palette’s worth of colors.

Sometimes, a sunset defies both stereotypes and logic. That’s when a photographer’s fun begins.

Our home in Virginia’s verdant Shenandoah Valley faces north. Consequently, I need to check the western sky well before dusk for the ingredients for a decent sunset. If I spot puffy clouds hovering over the Allegheny Mountains, I get ready to head west.

I often gather my camera gear and drive a few miles southwest to a ridge overlooking a fertile valley dotted with Old Order Mennonite farms. Only the Dry River splits the gently rolling farm fields. Its tree-lined banks make its southward path easy to spot.

A favorite photo location for a mountain view is the aptly named Pleasant View Old Order Mennonite Church. Look west from its grounds, and the aged, rolling ridgeline of the Allegheny Mountains endlessly fills the horizon. Look east, and Massanutten Mountain dominates the landscape, with the Blue Ridge Mountains 40 miles beyond.

Please click the photos from the church to enlarge them.

There are no guarantees with sunsets, of course. Atmospheric conditions play good cop bad cop with the sunsets’ outcomes. I’ve been fooled and disappointed too many times to have high expectations. I set out with the joy of simply being able to witness whatever develops.

As a septuagenarian, I have learned to be patient with sunsets. I have headed home long after sunset’s time had expired, only to see a blooming garden of pastels fill the western horizon in the rearview mirror. So, even if the initial stages of the evening glow are less than spectacular, I persevere. Too often, I leave disappointed. Still, my time wasn’t wasted. I enjoyed the fresh air and American Robins and Eastern Bluebirds singing as they settled into their nighttime roosting positions.

Such was the case recently when I spied a patchwork of clouds hovering over the Alleghenies. When I arrived at the old church, the sun was nearly hidden behind those old, weathered peaks. Still, I snapped a few shots and then moved lower into the valley to hopefully catch a colorful reflection in a roadside farm pond or the Dry River, which had plenty of running water from recent rains.

The western glow perfectly silhouetted the lines of trees along the river banks. I stopped my vehicle by the cemetery of a historic country church. As I exited my car, my eyes were drawn southeast. I was stunned. The beautiful blues and pinks of a prized sunset flooded the eastern sky. I snapped away from different angles as quickly as possible, knowing the colorful array before me wouldn’t last long.

My first view of the reflective sunset in the east. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Had I not stopped for a photo looking west, I would have missed the glorious beauty as far as I could see north to south. As a photographer, it always pays to look over your shoulder before putting away your camera. Satisfied with the many eastern-facing shots, I turned to the tree line and got my intended but less colorful photos.

Then, I remembered Slab Road, a quarter of a mile away. Rural road names in Virginia are about as practical as they come. Instead of a bridge over the Dry River, the highway department poured a narrow two-lane cement surface over the riverbed since the river was indeed dry more often than wet.

I stopped short of the river and quickly exited to catch the last light of the day reflecting on the water dammed up by the slab. The scene was breathtaking but not nearly as dramatic as the sunset reflected against the eastern clouds over Shenandoah National Park.

The Dry River flows over Slab Road. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A milk truck with a shiny, 3,000-gallon stainless steel tank forged through the running water over the slab. I followed, hoping to capture one more decent landscape shot. But my prime time was up, and I came away with a bland photo of a farmstead with powerlines running through the sky.

Nevertheless, the evolution of this sunset couldn’t have played out better. My heart overflowed with joy and gratitude for a beautiful ending to another precious day on earth.

The tree line that marks the Dry River. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Bird Migration Has Begun

A male Canvasback escorts two female Buffleheads on a local lake. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

With the calendar turning from February to March, bird migration has officially begun. True, several bird species had already started the arduous task of returning north from their southerly winter habits.

To account for that, birders divide the seasonal calendar in the Northern Hemisphere much differently than humans do. Bird spring runs in March, April, and May when most migrating birds return to the nesting homelands in the northern United States and Canada.

Surprisingly, summer is the shortest season for birds. It lasts just two months, June and July. It’s prime mating, nesting, egg laying, and hatching time. Once the young are self-sufficient, the first migrating birds begin their long trips south.

The fall season for birds runs from August through November. Different species have more than one brood and migrate on a different schedule based on habitat, food supplies, and other factors. For birds, December, January, and February comprise the winter months.

So, now that March has arrived, birders scout their favorite ponds, lakes, rivers, streams, wetlands, and fields for any early arrivals on their way north. Birders especially prize waterfowl and songbirds to spot and photograph.

Locations where migrating birds frequent are called hot spots. I checked a few on March 1. Though I didn’t find many bird species, I enjoyed seeing and photographing new migrants.

An American Pipit poked its head above the grass just to the left of the Northern Cardinal.

My first stop was one of my favorite locations for birds and sunsets, Silver Lake in Dayton, Virginia. It’s a 12-acre lake built in 1822 for a mill. The shallow lake is perfect for diving and dabbling ducks. I saw only a trio of female Buffleheads and one muskrat this time.

A few miles away is the Cooks Creek Arboretum, tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac. I spotted three birders with binoculars aimed at a hillside farm field. Birders tend to be pleasant people, so I didn’t hesitate to ask what they were seeing.

“About 150 American Pipits are flying and landing in the field,” one of them said. “Unfortunately, they seem to land over the crest of the hill.”

We walked together down the path to get a better look, but with a heavy cloud cover in the late afternoon, the birds were only visible during their short, rapid flights. However, I followed the birds to the flatter, more southern part of the field.

I captured a relatively poor photo of a few of the pipits flying. Patience, though, is a venture for birders. I saw a few birds foraging in the green vegetation of the field. I captured one of the small brown pipits as it began to fly. After wintering in the extreme southern U.S. and Mexico, the pipits were on their way to the far north Arctic tundra.

Please click the photos to enlarge them. Photos by Bruce Stambaugh

Happy seeing these fascinating visitors, I was pleased at my next stop just a few miles east. A local hot spot farm pond held dozens of Green-winged Teals and a handful of Northern Shovelers. Since the pond is on private property, I stood on a knoll across the road from the pond. With the distance of the pond, the chilly wind, and my inability to hold the camera steady, I felt fortunate to get some shots of these lovely birds.

I drove several miles to another farm pond much closer to the road. A lone Blue-winged Teal swam with a pair of Mallards while two Canada Geese watched from the shoreline.

On the way home, I detoured to a local arboretum and quickly found a nesting Great Horned Owl with two owlets in the fork of a sycamore tree. Friends had told me about it the day before.

Though spring doesn’t officially arrive until March 19, the birds are on the wing for spring migration. I intend to catch as much of the birding splendor as I can.