June 2024 – Roadkill Crossing

Why I Travel the Backroads

The Upper Falls at Letchworth State Park in New York.

My wife and I love to travel the country’s backroads. There are many positive reasons for our preference for highways other than interstates and expressways.

Engineers design and build multi-lane thoroughfares to save time by avoiding small towns, winding mountainous roads, lower speed limits, and often slower traffic. When you are retired, those reasons play second fiddle to scenery, wildlife, and plain old country charm.

The secondary roads hold surprises along the way. We find sleepy towns with impressive century-old homes, cozy diners and restaurants, locally owned and operated cafes, and shops we would miss on the superhighways. We discover fascinating state parks and cascading streams that play tag with the roads. We enter canopy tunnels of giant oaks and maples, flashy sycamores, and towering tulip poplar trees.

We also see too many storefronts shuttered in once-thriving downtown business districts. In the country, we pass abandoned houses far too often. They remind us of our younger years and serve as a reality check for the 21st century.

Of course, driving the roads less traveled has its drawbacks. Traffic comes to a crawl behind agricultural equipment, traveling at a snail’s pace from one farm to another. Semi-trucks delivering goods to local businesses block traffic flow for minutes while they attempt to squeeze into awkward and narrow loading docks. We feel the driver’s frustration.

Occasionally, traffic halts completely as cowboys on ATVs round up a herd of wayward cattle. I’ve even had to pull the car off the road to let them pass. Others might consider these situations as inconveniences. Rather than despair, I accept them as a part of everyday rural living.

Our latest trip to visit our son and his family in upstate New York, nearly 500 miles from our home in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley, offered similar experiences.

The ancient Allegheny Mountains bend northeast across Pennsylvania, making a direct route north impossible. So, we have learned to divide the trip into two days, taking alternate routes each time. Traveling with patience allows us to observe and appreciate whatever we see along the state and county roads that deliver us to our destination.

An Amish couple along the Susquehanna River in central Pennsylvania. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

With the folded forested mountains on either side of us, the roads hugged and crossed the Susquehanna River with its many rapids and occasional islands. We stay the night in small cities like Williamsport, Pennsylvania, or Corning, New York.

We stop at overlooks to view the Susquehanna, tour the famous glass factory, or visit an old-fashioned country store and still arrive at our appointed time relaxed and stress-free. It’s a win-win situation.

A hobbyist’s backyard in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We headed south after our joyous visit with our son, his wife, and their curious two-year-old son. However, a last-minute decision turned our car west toward New York’s Letchworth State Park. It was time well spent.

Avid birder that I am, I stopped at several overlooks to view the impressive Genesee River Gorge and scout for birds. At one spot, a pair of Scarlet Tanagers foraged in an old oak tree, its leaves still not completely unfurled. A Summer Tanager landed nearby, but I was too slow with my camera. I savored the image of the bright red bird with a light-colored beak and was happier still that my wife got to see it, too.

The cheery songs of migrating songbirds resounded, but we had to keep moving since we were already taking the slow way home. Soon, we arrived at the lookouts to view the river’s inspiring trio of falls that cut the deep gorge a millennia ago.

I parked beside a vehicle identical in every way to our midsized SUV. The occupants exited their car just as we did, ecstatic about the fate of two metallic bronze Subarus parked side by side. I caught the stranger’s infectious joy and soaked in the three roaring falls.

I set the GPS for Altoona and noted that we would travel unexplored territory en route to the hotel. For most of the way, it was all state and county roads.

I knew we had hit the jackpot when we turned onto Short Track Road, a narrow county highway built to convenience locals. It wasn’t long until we began passing white homes with fading red barns. That combination meant one thing: Amish. Those farmsteads reminded us of our nearly four decades in Ohio’s Amish country, where we daily viewed similar scenes.

The hand-painted signs with mismatched upper and lowercase letters advertising cottage industries of hand-stitched quilts, local honey, brown eggs, and sawmill services brought familiarity. However, as is often the case with the Amish, they tweaked their clothing and buggies slightly different from their home communities in Ohio and Pennsylvania.

We noted that the crown of men’s black felt hats tapered from the brim to a flat top. The buggies were styled more plainly, equipped with different lighting and reflective tape, and displayed no orange, slow-moving triangle on the back. It was a sign of both their independence and connectedness to one another.

The blue bridge. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We crossed the fast-running headwaters of the Susquehanna on a decades-old, baby-blue iron bridge. Our car tires hummed over the meshed steel grating. Soon, we passed a white-brick country church that caused me to double-take. Its marque read, “Forget hope. Attend church.” Even though it was a Sunday, we kept driving.

We passed the entrance to yet another state park that looked immaculate. The road quickly turned and began a winding, steady climb up a low mountain. The rushing white waters of a roadside stream beckoned, but with no pullouts, we couldn’t stop to enjoy it fully.

The box turtle. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

On the downslope, the road straightened and eventually flattened out, with pasturelands on one side and wetlands on the other. I spotted a box turtle crossing the road. With little to no traffic, I stopped and carried it across. It was the least I could do.

Our journey continued the next day with similar effects. We visited the Paw Paw Tunnel Towpath Trail near Old Town, Maryland. As we left the car, birdsong and butterflies filled the air.

Walking from the parking lot to the old Chesapeake and Ohio Canal tunnel, the sights and sounds only improved. Baltimore and Orchard Orioles chattered competing calls from adjacent trees. A pair of Eastern Phoebes fed their young in a nest built on the canal’s old stone retaining wall. Blackburnian Warblers and Warbling Vireos serenaded us hidden among the leaves.

Black and Tiger Swallowtails, Pipevine, Dusky Wings, and Cabbage butterflies danced from wildflower to wildflower. Some gathered nutrients from puddles on the trail.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

We exchanged greetings with other hikers and bikers as we strolled along. The graveled trail’s dappled light, filtered by a mix of deciduous trees, big and small, cooled the hot day.

Satisfied and ready to be home, we crossed the Potomac River into West Virginia and steered south. Though arriving home tired, our drive on the backroads proved more refreshing than this septuagenarian could have imagined. That’s why we take them.

Help People in This Heat!

Like many Mid-West and eastern U.S. areas, the National Weather Service issued a Heat Advisory for Virginia for today. Many urban areas have Excessive Heat Warnings for heat indexes well above 100.

People without air conditioning, and especially the homeless, have to find ways to stay cool. Many have nowhere to turn unless agencies or regular institutions intervene. Individuals can make a difference, too.

As I write this, it is currently 96 degrees Fahrenheit, but it feels like 103 when the humidity and dewpoint are factored in. This morning, I drove to downtown Harrisonburg, Virginia, where we live, and I distributed a case of bottled water to folks who needed it.

Because Harrisonburg is a small metropolitan area, I knew where to go, where the homeless hangout. However, I had to hunt for them because they were already seeking shelter wherever they could find it.

I found several people gathered under small shade trees, their few belongings stuffed in shopping bags, duffle bags, and backpacks. As I approached the largest group huddled under the larger tree, one of the men came out to greet me and offered to help me with the carton of water.

I simply handed it to him with the instructions to make sure everyone got what they needed. He thanked me and said he would. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw the same man distributing bottles of water to those under the other tree closer to the road. I smiled and waited until he had finished before driving away.

I am not sharing this to brag. I am posting this in the hope that those of you reading this post will do likewise in your own community. When the opportunity to help others arises, respond appropriately and humbly in ways that people’s needs are met. It’s the right thing to do.

Evolution of Sunflower Blossoms

The gang of volunteer sunflowers. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

What better way to celebrate the Summer Solstice than to feature sunflowers?

We were fortunate to have volunteer sunflowers sprout up in our backyard flower garden this year. Seeds dropped by birds or buried by squirrels from one of my birdfeeders created these wonders.

At first, the gang of neighborhood rabbits nibbled the tender leaves. But apparently, there were so many sunflower shoots that the bunnies couldn’t keep up. Consequently, for the first time in the seven years we have lived in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, we have a helter-skelter stand of sunflowers.

I have enjoyed watching them grow so quickly in the string of warm days and nights we have experienced. As the flowerheads began to form, their various shapes, textures, and swirling patterns intrigued me. At the corner of our back porch, pure art in nature flourishes.

Ants, bees, butterflies, flies, wasps, and other insects depend on sunflowers for nourishment. See how many different creatures you can spot in this series of photos.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

How long will it be before the American Goldfinches and other seed-eating birds begin to dismantle these living sculptures in the quest for fresh, tasty seeds?

Reality vs. Fantasy

Sometimes, reality is stranger than fantasy. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

When I happened upon this tender scene, I did a double-take.

My wife and I had joined an entourage from church for a Sunday afternoon of baptisms for three teens in the chilly mountain stream. After the dunkings and the celebratory congratulations shared, I wandered away from the rest of the revelers to see what I could find.

Scores of Pipevine Butterflies and Tiger Swallowtail Butterflies flitted through the woods. They danced carefree from rays of broken sunlight to dense shade, oblivious to the human invaders.

I certainly didn’t expect to find a cat casually nursing three young ones in the forest. And I especially didn’t expect to find a stuffed cat and her young stuffed kittens. But that is exactly what I discovered.

Some children not connected with our group were splashing in the nearby stream. Perhaps one of them thought this wild cherry tree along the banks of the Dry River at the base of Shenandoah Mountain was a lovely and safe haven while romping in the water.

I’ll never know for sure, but this composition of fantasy playthings among nature’s real and evolving habitat was too good not to share.

Three-for-One Sunset

Whenever I visit Lakeside, Ohio, I always head to the dock around sundown. Even if it is cloudy, I never know what to expect.

Two blocks from the shore, the sky looked promising for another spectacular sunset. When I reached the dock, however, I noted the thick cloud bank to the west. Given past experiences at Lakeside, the Chautauqua on Lake Erie, I hung around.

Part of my interest was in the crashing waves driven by a strong northwest wind. Lakeside is on the western end of the lake, where Erie’s waters are the shallowest. Consequently, strong winds play havoc with the water, causing continuous erosion to Lake Erie’s southern coast.

The dramatic show of the wild waves assaulting the cement dock distracted me from the setting sun. A break in the clouds, however, gave me a shot at capturing a sunset.

The sun peeked through an opening in the clouds and sent a crepuscular ray upward, where it illuminated a high cloud. The fury of the waves colliding with the dock created a mirror-like reflection of the evening’s sun.

It was a three-for-one sunset!

From One Nest to Another

A Cedar Waxwing collects nesting material. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Birds always teach something new.

While mainly looking for warblers on Reddish Knob on the Virginia/West Virginia boundary, I spotted a Cedar Waxwing light into a wild cherry tree. I aimed my camera to capture a shot or two of the always lovely and entertaining waxwings.

At first, I thought the bird might be after the Eastern Tent Caterpillars in their silken nest. Waxwings supplement their spring and summer diets with insects when berries aren’t available.

Since the bird stayed in the same spot, I kept clicking away. It wasn’t until I loaded the photos onto my laptop that I realized that the Cedar Waxwing was after nesting material, not food. According to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, the female Cedar Waxwing usually gathers the nesting material for the first brood.

In this case, the waxwing collected the tent’s silk support strands and ignored the rest. Perhaps those connecting threads are stronger than the silk that forms the tent.

The process took less than a minute, and she was off to add her precious cargo to construct her own nest. The female waxwing weaves grasses, twigs, cattails, and pine needles to form her cup-like nest. Now, tent caterpillar silk threads can be added to the list.

The sequence of the Cedar Waxwing gathering silk from the Eastern Tent Caterpillar tent. Please click on the photos to enlarge them. Photos by Bruce Stambaugh.

Not only did I see a beautiful bird at work, but I also learned about Cedar Waxwing nest building. And, yes, I heard and saw a few colorful warblers, too.