After an early morning lab test at the local hospital, I drove a couple of miles to a favorite lake that often affords decent birding. I found the bird I hoped would be there, a lone Sandhill Crane, plus I got a bonus.
The small lake lay east and west, with an opening to the east where the spillway falls into a natural ravine. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Shenandoah National Park are visible in the far distance.
As I began my search for the crane, the sun broke through a layer of low clouds. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t last long, but the mauve and orange caught my eye. It was a stunning but subtle scene.
Sunrise at Lake Shenandoah, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Once I found the bird and pointed it out to a trio of young birders, I headed home. I kept my eye on the sky in hopes of an even prettier sunset.
With high broken clouds, I decided to visit Silver Lake in the quaint town of Dayton, just a few miles from my home. I arrived with the sun still hanging low in the southwest.
At first, I wasn’t impressed. I was fearful that the clouds that often congregate over the Allegheny Mountains to the west in the evenings might spoil any chance of a nice sunset. However, I have learned to be patient after years of chasing sunrises and sunsets.
That’s been even more true here in the Shenandoah Valley. With mountain ranges to the east and west of the county, the sun takes its time to paint the sky. That’s exactly what happened.
Things were still dull in the west, but I looked behind me, and the clouds in the eastern sky blushed in warm tones. I drove to the other side of the lake to capture the reflections.
The old mill
When I arrived
Colors in the east
The south bank
The reds begin
Across the lake
The farm
The long view
Silhouettes
The reds peak
I no sooner arrived there when the western horizon burst with fiery hues. I returned to my original spot and snapped away.
I was most grateful for nature’s wondrous morning and evening displays that day. It pays to keep an eye on the sky.
We live in a crazy world that seems to grow crazier by the day. But we must not let the chaos get to us. We need to carry on as best we can. For me, photography is one outlet that shuts out the din of the world’s madness against itself.
I enjoy photographing the wonder all around me, the serendipitous joy that springs upon me. By capturing those affectionate moments, I can share them with others, including you.
Staying in the present moment allows me to see things that others might just pass by. Consequently, I took thousands of photos this year. My photos feature people, insects, birds, trees, mountains, flowers, sunsets, sunrises, boats, planes, and a sundry of other subjects.
I have chosen to select one image for each month to review 2025. I hope each photo speaks to you the way they all did to me. Here then is 2025 in photos. Enjoy.
January
It’s only appropriate to begin this photo series with a snowy scene in January. This lone tree stood beneath the hovering clouds and was perfectly centered by the farm equipment tracks in the snow. The cerulean sky provided an excellent backdrop, like blue ice in a glacier.
The tree, January 15, Rockingham County, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
February
Is there anything more stunning than a bright red male Northern Cardinal in the midst of winter? Against evergreens laden with a skiff of snow, the bird shows even more colorfully. It’s just one of the reasons I love watching, feeding, and photographing birds.
That’s especially true when they grace your backyard with such natural beauty.
Male Northern Cardinal, Harrisonburg, Virginia. February 8. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
March
I enjoy walking in our suburban neighborhood of nearly 500 homes any time of year. Besides the required exercise, I encounter many photographic moments. This neighbor had the foresight to plant daffodil bulbs around an old hand cultivator, once used to till garden soil, which helped control the weeds.
Emerging from winter, the buttery yellow of the blooms added a splash of color that complemented the old, rusting implement.
Daffodils as accents, March 21, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
April
Though not the state flower, Virginia Bluebells should be. They are native to the state and are its namesake. Besides that, the flowers are simply beautiful. Their pink buds turn to azure blue blossoms, and they are a welcome sight wherever they bloom in spring.
Virginia Blue Bells, April 8, Edith J. Carrier Arboretum, Harrisonburg. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
May
I captured this photo at a historic village in Mumford, New York. Since it was Mother’s Day, the Genese Country Village and Museum had people in period clothing doing demonstrations and providing information about their particular station.
While walking by a barn, I caught this man and his dog sitting in the morning sunshine. The darkness of the barn’s interior made them stand out all the more.
A man and his dog, Mumford, New York, May 11. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
June
I’m a sucker for sunsets. With its fluffy-cloud days, June is often a good time to watch for glowing evening skies. June 20th was one such day. It just happened to be the summer solstice, when the sun would be at its northwestern-most point in the evening sky.
I headed to my favorite photo spot, the western slope of a local landmark, Mole Hill. Mole Hill is a prominent mound in Shenandoah Valley’s Rockingham County. You can see miles south, west, and northwest from the extinct volcanic core.
On the way there, I saw a pony cart tied to the trunk of a walnut tree at the peak of Mole Hill Road. I didn’t think much of it until I heard the distinct sound of hoves hitting the pavement. I turned and saw an Old Order Mennonite young woman and two girls in an open cart behind a blond-maned pony heading my way.
Knowing they would not want their photo taken, I waited until the cart was well past my location before I snapped the shutter. The setting sun illuminated the pony’s mane and the seeded heads of the tall grass north of the roadway.
With the evening quickly cooling, a light fog began lifting out of the river valley below the Allegheny Mountains that mark the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia.
The combination of the golden sky, the glowing clouds, the darkened mountains, the mist, the farmsteads, and the rolling valley floor created a once-in-a-lifetime scene. It felt like a holy moment, and I was thrilled to capture it for others to see.
Heading into the sunset, June 20, Dayton, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
July
In the United States, July literally always starts out with a bang. July 4th is Independence Day, and it just so happened that the cruise ship my wife and I were on docked in Portland, Maine, on that hallowed day.
Fortunately, the ship’s starboard side, where our cabin was, faced the city’s harbor. We had a front-row seat to all the explosive colors reflected in the water. It was a fun way to close out our trip.
July 4th, Portland, Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
August
Like many other locales in the nation, August was a hot, humid, and all too dry month. Still, people ventured out, keeping their routines and schedules despite the withering temperatures.
That was true for all kinds of outdoor sports. This photo shows the proud moment of the young man I mentor, far outpacing all the other high school runners in a cross-country meet. I wasn’t the only one who was pleased. Daniel’s classmates created a human gauntlet to welcome him as he approached the finish line.
Winning the race, August 29, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
September
This September in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley was fabulous. After a hot, humid summer, September ushered in cooler temperatures and revealed the magnificent colors of her topography and vegetation, both natural and cultivated.
This was the view I saw as I exited my vehicle at a country store near the quaint town of Dayton. How could I not take this shot?
From the area’s fertile soil, curving rows of field corn and rolling contours led the eye to the Allegheny Mountains to the northwest and the cruising cumulus clouds above. Come harvest, it was a bumper crop of corn.
Though I didn’t see it at the time, an American Crow is near dead center in the pastoral photo.
Early September in the valley, September 4, Dayton, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
October
Our three-year-old grandson loves Halloween. He also loves bubbles, so his folks bought him a bubble machine. Teddy wanted to show off how the bubble maker worked when we visited him and his parents the week of Halloween.
When Teddy ran behind the bubbles, the sharply slanting sun highlighted the multi-colored, windblown bubbles. The various-sized bubbles and their proximity to my camera created a moment I can’t forget. It was one of my favorites of the year.
Teddy and his bubbles, Rochester, New York, October 26. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
November
When a Red-headed Woodpecker poses for you, you have to take the shot. Of course, I am always ready with the camera when the moment arrives.
Red-headed Woodpecker, November 7, Linville, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
December
My wife and I spent Christmas week in Sarasota, Florida, with our daughter and her family. We wanted to devote holiday family time together somewhere warm. I’m happy to say the weather was perfect. With two college-aged grandsons and a teenage granddaughter, we hit the beach a few times.
After basking in the warm sunshine during the day, we returned a couple of times for the sunset. When the clouds didn’t cooperate, we settled for golden sundowns.
In this photo, a Brown Pelican appears to be leading the way home for this family walking along North Lido Beach. Sometimes the photo paints the picture for you. Plus, it’s only appropriate that we let the sun set on 2025.
Leading the way, December 23, Sarasota, Florida. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I hope you and yours have a joyous and safe New Year.
Hoover Auditorium, Lakeside, Ohio. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I didn’t believe in ghosts until I saw one.
It was July 3, 2010. My wife and I were enjoying our annual laidback week at Lakeside, Ohio, a Chautaqua community on the shores of Lake Erie.
Lakeside provided a respite away from the daily grind of life for thousands of families during its Memorial Day to Labor Day season. Founded in 1873 as a Methodist summer camp, the village has grown into a thriving community that promotes education, recreation, religion, and arts and entertainment.
My wife and I participated in selected activities from all four pillars of opportunity during our week-long stay. But we mostly relaxed with friends on the wrap-around front porch of the hospitality house where we stayed a week each year. We played dominoes for hours.
Across the street in the 100-year-old Hoover Auditorium, Lakeside offered a variety of entertainment and lectures each evening, Monday through Saturday. That’s where I saw the ghost.
A lively and loud Celtic group of singers and dancers nearly filled the 2,000-seat venue. We arrived early to secure seats where the breeze would provide relief from the hot and humid Ohio summer days. The old auditorium remained essentially unchanged from its construction in the late 1920s, including the absence of air conditioning.
The band busted out lively tune after tune. The music wasn’t my cup of tea, but experiencing new cultures was part of the Lakeside design. I was glad we had chosen front row seats in the second section of Hoover, where I could stretch my feet into the east-west aisleway.
About halfway through the program, the excessive noise emanating from the stage made me restless. Apparently, it bothered the ghost, too. For some reason, I looked up at the suspended triangular metal beam that held the speakers and the spotlights that illuminated the stage.
From stage left, a glowing, blueish-white figure appeared. A man walked casually across the beam, not built to hold any significant weight, to stage right.
As the music boomed out, I sat transfixed on this man from another era. He had the appearance of a maintenance man. The man looked to be in his 50s, clean-shaven, and I can never forget his ruddy face with that square jaw. His hair was slicked back, a style of the time, and parted on the left side.
He wore a work shirt with no label, thick denim work pants cinched with a thick leather belt, and heavy leather boots that laced up in the front. The apparition was dressed in the attire of an early 20th-century construction worker, the same era as when the storied auditorium was erected.
I followed the man as he casually stepped across the beam until its end. He knelt and appeared to be adjusting something. I wondered if he was attempting to turn down the sound.
Had the clanging and drumming of the uproarious music awakened this ghost? Was he annoyed at all the ruckus?
At that point, I briefly looked around at the audience. All eyes were fixed on the musicians and dancers on the stage. I glanced back up to the man, and he wasn’t there. In his place was a softball-sized glowing orb, the same blueish-white color as the man. The orb quickly arched back to where the man first appeared and then disappeared.
I looked at my wife beside me, but like the rest, she was focused on the performers. I had always wondered what I would do if I ever saw a ghost. I had my answer. I just sat there in disbelief.
Questions ran through my brain like a runaway train. What had I just seen? Had anyone else seen the same thing? Why did I see it? What did it mean? Was I crazy?
At the show’s end, we retreated to the porch across the street. I sat quietly as other guests discussed the show, waiting for someone to mention the ghostly maintenance man. No one did.
The next day, my curiosity got the best of me. I visited the village’s archive center housed in an old, white-clabbered church building. Besides the archivist, I was the only one there, which allowed me to speak candidly with the young woman about my existential experience.
She listened attentively to my story, nodding her head, seemingly believing every word I said. The young woman merely replied that she had never heard of a ghost in Hoover Auditorium.
“But,” she continued, “I’ve heard strange sounds while working alone here. And I have caught glimpses of what I thought were visitors, but no one had come in.” I felt heard and accepted.
The woman went on to tell of several sightings of ghosts in the old Lakeside Hotel. Guests had even reported them sitting on their bedsides. She sent me next door to where all of Lakeside’s records were kept.
I asked the village historian, an older woman, to review the architect’s plans for Hoover Auditorium. The employee led me to an architect’s metal cabinet, where the narrow, flat drawers pull straight out. I soon was reviewing the blueprints for the interior of the auditorium.
I found no structural beam that would have run across and above the stage where I saw the ghost. However, I did discover that the scaffolding used to build the inside of the auditorium reached approximately the same height as the metal frame where I saw the ghost. The woman, who also kindly listened to my story, said she had no record of anyone being injured or killed during the construction of Hoover.
So, I was back to where I started. Full of unanswered questions, and wondering why, out of an audience of 2,000 people, I was the only one to see this phantom. After fifteen years, the entire scene is still etched in my mind so keenly that I could still pick this guy out of a lineup.
I’m still baffled as to why I saw this ghost. But what it did do is open my eyes and my own spirit to a fuller understanding of life. Much to the contrary of today’s thinking and behaving, life isn’t simple black or white, or right or wrong.
This experience showed me that life is full of gray areas, questions without answers. Most of my life is now behind me. I strive to stay in each moment and embrace whatever comes my way, even if it is a ghost.
At the very least, I now know how I would respond if I saw a ghost. I just watched, wondered, and marveled at what I saw.
An old barn stood down over the hill at the end of a recently harvested cornfield. The roof of this old barn peaked out from autumn’s warm palette that surrounded it. The lovely scene was near Friendsville, Maryland.
It’s been a dry, dull fall here in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The usual brilliant fall colors of trees and shrubs were only tinged with color, then mostly withered to brown and have fallen to the ground. Only patches of colors have shown brightly instead of entire neighborhoods or mountainsides.
In our recent coming and goings north and back south through the Appalachian Mountains in Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania, much is the same. Dry fields and forest, and mere spots of color could be seen.
This farmstead south of Friendsville, Maryland, was the exception. Autumn’s warm hues of the deciduous tree leaves surrounded all the buildings, with a splash of green thrown in by the evergreen.
I was grateful the morning sunshine highlighted this lovely scene.
I enjoy the progression of a sunset as much as the finale itself. I usually try to arrive well ahead of time, but I occasionally slip up. Like last Saturday, which was a busy one for us, I had settled in to watch a college football game.
I glanced out the front window, which faces north, and noticed a pinkish tinge in the broken clouds to the north. I grabbed my cameras and headed for one of my favorite sunset spots, Silver Lake in the burg of Dayton, Virginia.
Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
A layer of clouds was slowly moving southeast, opening the western sky to the setting sun. The chances for a decent sunset seemed bright. The sun had already dropped below the rippling horizon of the Allegheny Mountains that mark the western boundary of Virginia and West Virginia.
Still, the sky was bright where the sun had disappeared. Areas north and south of that spot showed warmer colors. The shallow lake was its usual calm self, broken only by a few patches of lily pads, seaweed, and miscellaneous debris.
The reflections on the water doubled the beauty. At the south end is the old mill, which now houses a lovely quilt museum. Across the narrow country road stands an old white-washed farmstead, its barn duplicated on the quiet water.
The road turns west around an Old Order Mennonite family’s red brick home, and continues up the hill to another farm, where it bends due north across the ridge. The staggared trees along its edge provide a perspective of depth to each photo.
The road disappears over the hill and behind the old white farmhouse at the lake’s northwest corner. The house and outbuildings, all mirrored on the water, serve as icons in scores of photographs of the landmark lake.
Photo by Bruce Stambaugh 2025
As minutes pass, the tones of the sky grow deeper orange and red as they tint the underbellies of the clouds and brighten the water’s surface. The western sky turns golden with ruby crowns, all reflected on Silver Lake.
Every hilltop object, animate and inanimate, becomes a row of silhouettes against the blazing background. As if brushed by an artist, the clouds display an autumn color palette of browns, grays, and oranges with patches of reds and pinks, their twins staring back at them.
As if on cue, three mallards take flight, their calls seemingly celebrating the day’s glorious ending. Silver Lake never looked prettier.
The Full Corn Moon over the Allegheny Mountains. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I had hoped to capture the Full Corn Moon setting over the Allegheny Mountains on the morning of September 7. However, the early morning’s sunrays blanched out the moon before it reached the western horizon.
Consequently, this is the best I could do. I hope you can find faint moon in the photo’s top center.
Portland, Maine, harbor at twilight. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We neared Portland, Maine, our last stop on the cruise itinerary, at mid-morning. Our landing in Boston the next day was simply to disembark.
I was able to take several shots of the shoreline and the many inlets as we approached docking in Portland. I spotted the Ram Island Ledge Light Station, and was able to capture some acceptable shots of it. However, I forgot that it was directly across the water from the Portland Head Lighthouse. I could easily have photographed both, but my head was a bit fuzzy from the strong pain medication I was given. I rationalized that I already had some decent shots of that iconic lighthouse from a previous visit years ago.
The day began just like yesterday, in the ship’s medical center for another pain shot. The good doctor wanted me to go ashore to a hospital for CT scans of my ribs and head, since I had hit my skull in the fall. If we did that, it would be the end of our trip.
Cracked ribs weren’t a life-threatening condition, and Neva had checked my eye responses every two hours during the night, and I showed no signs of a head injury. Besides, we had already paid for transportation from the dock to the airport to catch our flight home. So we kindly declined.
Upon docking, we had to disembark for customs in Portland anyway. For some reason, we docked on the starboard side, so we had a perfect view of the harbor and downtown Portland. I took several photos while we waited for our group to be called to pass through customs. I heard and then saw an Osprey sitting on its nest that was built on the tallest one of the old wooden dock pilings.
The weather was perfect, and I felt well enough to walk through security and head to Commercial Street along the waterfront. We found a cafe, bought our decaf mocha lattes, and enjoyed the sights and sounds of a busy port.
From our sidewalk seats, we watched people board a narrow-gauge railroad and enjoyed the sounds of the whistle and the little steam engine chugging the train along the shoreline. A few minutes later, it backed its way into its parking location and waited for the next group of passengers.
We returned to the ship and, after dinner, enjoyed the evening activity of this special day. It was the Fourth of July, and a flotilla of boats big and small had anchored in the preferred spots offshore to watch the fireworks show.
We had the perfect view as the fireworks exploded just after dark. The booming sound echoed, and sparkling colors reflected off the harbor’s quiet waters. It was the most fitting conclusion to our land and sea cruise.
The next day was a hurry-up-and-wait kind of day as we rode the bus to the airport, made our way through TSA, walked to our gate, and sat for six hours. Fortunately, one of Boston’s best seafood restaurants was near our gate, and we had a yummy seafood lunch for our flight back to Virginia.
Thanks for traveling along with us, bumps and all.
I was really looking forward to visiting the Halifax, Nova Scotia area. We had booked an excursion to the famous Peggy’s Cove. We never made it.
After another good night’s sleep on the Zuiderdam, I rose early to meet the bus for our tour. When I stepped with my left foot into the shower mat, the ship suddenly made a quick pitch in the opposite direction. Instantly, for a split second, I was Superman, until I wasn’t. I hit the sink, and then smacked the floor with a shocking thud.
At first, I lay there stunned, no pain, my only thoughts reserved for my chronic back issues. But the back felt fine. I tried unsuccessfully to get up, and that’s when the pain shot through the right side of my body.
My wife helped me to my feet, checked me over, and assured me I wasn’t bleeding anywhere. Now thinking about the lovely day ahead, I dismissed the pain and got ready for the day.
We headed to breakfast on the Lido deck. To be safe, I had an old man’s breakfast, hot oatmeal and four prunes on the side. As I stood up to leave, I could hardly walk. The rest of the boring details are in a separate, previous post here.
Our plans for the day were cancelled, and I received excellent treatment in the ship’s medical center. The staff was terrific. So, were the pain meds.
Fortunately, our comfortable cabin served as an excellent resting place. The only problem was that I couldn’t lie down. A month later, I still can’t. The ship’s X-ray machine showed one cracked rib. The CT scans at our local hospital, when we returned home three days later, revealed three.
I felt better standing, so I spent an inordinate amount of time on our veranda, which faced the harbor side. I watched the morning marine fog layer evaporate into a warm, sunny day.
Rest assured, I snapped too many photos of the same scene, only with different ships. A harbor lighthouse stood directly opposite us, and its bright while paint glowed in the afternoon sun. It made a perfect background. But how many times can you photograph ships with the same setting?
All categories of boats passed by. Fishing, ferries, sailboats, a Canadian Coast Guard cutter, trollers, a stately tall ship, and even tugboats escorting a huge freighter made time pass and filled my phone with hundreds of unnecessary photos.
The doctor told me to move around as much as I could without causing excessive pain. So, we went to lunch and dinner, sitting on padded chairs.
It wasn’t the way we had planned to see Halifax. But it was the best we could do.
Roadkill Crossing 
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