Day: October 27, 2026

Virginia weather finally cooperated this month, giving me opportunities to photograph the rising and setting of October’s Full Harvest Moon. In previous months, the weather had been cloudy and wet during the full moon cycle.

So, I checked the times for both events and planned accordingly. I chose Harrisonburg’s city Heritage Trail beside Bluestone Elementary School, a five-minute drive from our home, to shoot the full moon rising over Massanutten Mountain. The mountain’s southernmost terminus is a few miles east of the city, and it runs about 50 miles north and south through the center of the historic Shenandoah Valley.

The valley’s floor undulates between the Blue Ridge Mountains, home to Shenandoah National Park, to the east, and the Allegheny Mountains to the west. An elevated point just southeast of the school overlooks the trail, the city golf course, and a city park. It provides an excellent view of Massanutten.

Before leaving home, I checked a chart to estimate when the moon would rise above the mountain. The official time listed 5:50 p.m., but that assumes a flat horizon. That’s not the case in the Shenandoah Valley.

Since the moon would appear just before sunset, the sky would be pale, making it a bit difficult to spot the rising moon. Fortunately, a high-pressure system had settled over the valley, clearing the air of hazy humidity.

At exactly 6 p.m., the moon just peeked over Massanutten’s ridge northeast of Harrisonburg. I snapped away as the celestial beauty rose higher above the mountain and the sky grew darker.

Hikers and dog walkers passed by, and I gladly shared the Harvest Moon with them. Those not walking with their heads glued to their smartphones already shared a moment of mutual admiration with me.

Before bedtime, I snuck out and captured the typical photo of the bright full moon against its home in the velvety black sky. Filled with awe, I planned my morning sunrise adventure to document the full cycle of the setting Harvest Moon.

I had no trouble finding the moon that morning. I snapped a photo of it hanging just above my neighbor’s trees. I headed to Mole Hill, my mainstay for sunset photography, though I wasn’t sure it was the best location since the moon would settle in the north-northwest.

Another frost glistened in the intertwined light of the silvery moon and the slanting, blinding rays of the rising sun. Fortunately, Mole Hill, an ancient volcanic core, helped block the harshness.

Still, the moon view wasn’t quite what I wanted. I drove west a mile to Majestic View Road, and what a panorama it was. Scanning south to north, farm after farm joined together like a carefully assembled quilt.

Fog lifted out of the agricultural Dry River Valley. Water still flowed down from mountain rains, and the cool air condensed the river’s surface into a feathery cloud of mist that lifted ever so slowly over the blanket of farmsteads. The metal tops of their tall grain silos reflected the sunlight.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Fog wasn’t the only element shimmering over the valley. The cold morning forced homemakers, farmers, and cottage industry employees to fire up dozens of wood stoves. Smokey pillars rose straight up until they hit a layer of colder, heavier air, then turned sharply south.

The hair on my arms rose, not from cold, but from exhilaration. I couldn’t have imagined such spontaneous, coordinated choreography between humankind and almighty nature.

I returned my attention to the setting moon as it neared the summit of Shenandoah Mountain, the eastern front range of the Alleghenies. The moon angled toward a pair of tall evergreens on the ridge of the old folded mountain, easily seen even with the naked eye.

I clicked and clicked until the moon finally slithered below the mountaintop. I picked out a landscape shot with the moon over the mountain and texted it to my family. Joy is meant to be shared, not hoarded.

I headed east the way I had come, but soon stopped on the southeastern side of Mole Hill. The scene south resembled a monochrome factory town from a hundred years ago. One after another, chalky columns rose until colliding with the colder air and sharp sunrays. I stood transfixed.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

An American Robin flew onto a branch of the black walnut tree just above me, shaking my spell. Again, I drove downhill, but didn’t get far. More unbelievable scenery unfolded before me. I only had minutes to capture what the farmer whose lane I had parked in must see every sunny day.

As I shot different angles, I stood amazed, grateful, inspired, and fulfilled. If the farmer had observed me, I’m sure he had his own form of fun as well.

© Bruce Stambaugh 2026