This American Robin knows how to beat the heat. It sat in this birdbath cooling off for the longest time. It didn’t splash or move around like the birds usually do while in the birdbath.
The robin just sat and enjoyed the pleasure of being still and cool. It’s a lesson for all of us to stay cool during this prolonged heatwave.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
Chimney Swifts are some of my favorite birds. I have adored these magnificent little birds for a long time. Let me count the ways they bring me joy.
More than likely, you’ll hear these gregarious birds before you see them. Their chattering call, while they are furiously flapping their pointy wings, alerts you to their presence.
I find their looping flight patterns intriguing, too. They like to fly overhead, wings furiously flapping, sometimes dipping low, and then back up in a rapid arch.
If you miss them on their first pass, stand still, and they are likely to return, perhaps bringing others with them as they skim the sky for any and all insects. If you have Chimney Swifts in the neighborhood, you likely won’t be bothered much by mosquitoes.
Chimney Swifts are equally at home in cities, suburbs, and rural areas. As long as these chubby-looking birds have a chimney in which to roost, they will make themselves at home.
It’s only appropriate that Chimney Swifts built their nests on the insides of chimneys. Their sooty colored feathers blend perfectly with whatever powdery substances they might pick up as the birds zip in and out of their chosen chimneys.
To clean themselves, Chimney Swifts will zoom over lakes and rivers, suddenly dip into the water’s surface, and then speed off to air-dry themselves.
Before North American colonization, Chimney Swifts originally built their nests in hollowed trees, on cliff faces, and in caves. Once White pioneers built their brick chimneys, the cigar-shaped birds adapted to a new habitat.
They build their nests on the inside of chimneys by using a glue-like saliva secreted from under their tongues. Chimney Swifts use their long claws to cling to the side of chimneys. The birds cannot perch like most other birds.
Some people cap or screen their chimneys to keep birds out. That, coupled with newer chimney designs and sizes, has led to a decline in the Chimney Swift population in recent years.
When we lived in Ohio, our home was built on an Amish farm. We had Chimney Swifts every year, and we lived there for 38 years.
I greatly enjoyed the aerial antics of the chattering Chimney Swifts. In the evenings, I would stand and watch as the birds swirled in loops over the house, dropping closer with every pass until they would dive into our short chimney.
Before we added air conditioning to the house, I would sometimes sleep on the couch in the lower level of our bilevel home on hot, humid summer days. There, the temperature was cooler.
We had a wood-burning fireplace, and when the Chimney Swifts had young in their nests, it seemed like they would feed all night long. The force of their powerful wings, helping them to brake once they entered the chimney, rattled the glass fireplace doors.
An adult bird once fell into the fireplace because I hadn’t secured the damper all the way closed. I would don thick gloves, carefully remove the bird, and let it free outside to fly again.
During the colder months, I loved to sit on the raised hearth in front of the firebox and enjoy the radiant heat and the aromatic aroma of seasoned wild cherry, oak, and ash wood chunks blazing away. The warmth penetrated my shirt, soothing my aching back.
Once the Chimney Swifts arrived in April, however, no more fires were built until the birds left in early October. The birds spent the winter in northwestern South America.
They migrated north over Central America to all areas of the United States east of the Rocky Mountains, where they breed and raise their young. Come October, they began their extended journey back to South America.
Our Virginia home doesn’t have a fireplace, but several of the close neighbors do. Consequently, I can continue to enjoy the chitter-chatter of the helpful Chimney Swifts as they zoom around the neighborhood.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
I’m always happy when the first sunflower of the season blooms brightly. The buttery petals that surround the setting-sun center add volunteer beauty to the backyard flower garden.
The birds accidentally plant the seeds that sprout into plants. Despite gleaning by ground-feeding birds and four-legged critters, a few sunflower seeds are overlooked and eventually buried beneath the discarded shells left by birds feeding overhead.
Usually, only one or two sprouts make it to adulthood to produce their flowering sunshine. This year, several competed for the chance to bloom. Though this plant’s stem was twisted by the weight of Common Grackles continually landing on it, being crooked didn’t matter.
I celebrated its success and happily anticipate the American Goldfinches to enjoy its fresh, juicy seeds.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
A birding friend of mine messaged me that he had found a Dickcissel singing on a fence post along Moores Mill Road, 20 miles from my home. I had to wait a day to chase the rarity in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
Colored like a miniature Eastern Meadowlark, the chunky grassland bunting occasionally wanders east from its mid-American breeding habitat. I had seen Dickcissels before when we lived in Ohio, but this would be my first in Virginia.
The narrow country road cut through two farm fields, with wire fencing hugging both sides, making it easy to spot the wayward bird. I made sure I left early in the day to see this bird. As it turned out, there was more than one.
To get there, I drove most of the way on the Valley Pike, also known as US 11. The historic roadway was the main route up and down the storied valley until the interstate opened in the 1960s.
Both Confederate and Union troops moved up and down this highway and on May 15, 1864, fought a battle in New Market, only a few miles north of where the Dickcissels were. It was easy to envision soldiers marching along and cavalry horses kicking up dust on what was then a dirt road.
I turned east on Moores Mill Road, stopped a quarter mile off of US 11, stepped out of the car, and listened and looked for the short, buzzy song. AllAboutBirds.org describes the grassland bird’s song as “fairly short but hard to miss, a clicky buzzing dick-dick-ceessa-ceessa.” Thus the bird’s name.
Soon, I heard the bird, and then another calling on the opposite side of the road. One bird perched on a tall weed in a grassy field to the south. A Dickcissel on the north side sang a fence wire. I wasn’t sure which way to look.
I snapped a few photos before a car approached from the west and slowed. The birding vest I wore, the binoculars around my neck, and the camera in my hand were a dead giveaway to the driver about what I was doing.
At first, I thought the vehicle would pass on by. Instead, it stopped. I had just snapped a photo of a Baltimore Oriole, which didn’t spook as the car passed by.
The driver stopped to see what I was up to. He was a man in his 70s, gaunt, and unshaven. With the driver’s-side window down to talk, I noted piles of clothes, used fast-food cups and wrappers, and other items filled his 10-year-old vehicle. Rather than judge, however, I asked if he lived nearby.
“No,” he said, “I live a few miles west of here. I’m on my way to get breakfast at one of the restaurants in New Market.”
In my head, I questioned why he was driving east when New Market was straight north. Still, the man wanted to know what kind of birds I was seeing.
All the while, one of the Dickcissels had perched on a bare, thorny bush 50 feet in front of the car, and the oriole still sang from a tall, leafy bush 50 feet behind.
Not surprisingly, the man had never heard of a Dickcissel, but he perked up when I told him I had seen and heard a Baltimore Oriole.
“Man,” the guy exclaimed, “I haven’t seen one of those birds around here in a long time.”
Rather than pointing out the oriole singing in the bush behind him, I showed him a photo of the bird on the camera’s rear screen. He couldn’t believe it.
I asked him if he knew where the road got its name, and he immediately replied. “Well, a long time ago, a man named Moore owned the land on both sides of the road,” he said. “He had a grist mill on the creek about a quarter of a mile south of the bridge.” He pointed east toward the stream.
I thanked him for the information and, wanting to get back to birding, told him I didn’t want to keep him from his breakfast. He told me he appreciated my showing him the photo of the oriole and continued on his way.
I was intrigued by the man and wondered if he was actually homeless, given the interior of his vehicle. The 15 minutes I spent chatting with him hadn’t really been an interruption at all. I spotted birds even as he talked.
I continued birding and recorded several species typically found in this grassy habitat. An Eastern Kingbird gave me good looks right from my car. A Savannah Sparrow sang somewhere from the tall grasses. A Gray Catbird practiced its imitations of other birds before dashing for cover.
Curious, I drove east as the road descended to cross the creek. The man was right. The leaves on the sycamore trees growing along both sides of the creek banks obscured my view of the old mill’s remnants.
I turned around to head home when another car approached. Another birder wanted to add the Dickcissel to her yearly list. She already had photos of the birds by the time I stopped to share where I had seen them.
The Dickcissels could have simply been migrating. I’ll return to Moores Mill Road to see for myself. When I do, I’ll be surprised if that day can match the serenity of this morning.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
I knew American Robins were nesting in shrubs and trees around our suburban home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
Early on, I saw them gathering dried grass for nesting, and dipping it into one of the birdbaths I have set out. This softens the material, making it more pliable. Sometimes, during the same trip, they would sweep the wet grass into the soil around the birdbath and fly off to build their nests.
I never followed them for fear of discouraging them from nesting in the giant holly bush or concolor pine tree. Neither did I want the neighborhood cats, who too often roam my yard, to follow my scent to the trees. I learned the hard way.
When we lived in Ohio’s Amish country, American Robins, Northern Cardinals, and other songbirds would nest in the many shrubs and trees I had planted on our acre and a half. I would often check the nests I could reach to see the progress from eggs to fledglings.
I stopped doing that when I was on my third or fourth round of curiosity. I discovered the eggs or hatchlings were gone. Everything was fine before, so I wondered if my frequent visits allowed feral cats, raccoons, or other animals to follow my tracks to their lunch.
Consequently, I am more than happy to know that the birds are using the greenery around our property without prying into the state of the incubation. I think that strategy is working.
While doing yardwork, I can sneak a peek at the progress without getting too close. In a matter of days, babyblue eggs transform into fuzzballs with begging beaks, and then into chubby babies, and finally into fledglings.
In the case of the robins, that’s when the show begins. Mom brings her surviving babies to the birdbath with the mini-waterfall or to feed beneath the seed-filled feeders for the seeds that sloppy eaters like the Common Grackles drop.
Mother robin shows the pair of juveniles how to peck and scratch for food. She sometimes jabs and overturns the mulch around the flowers and shrubs to uncover insects that provide her youngsters with needed protein.
Though they are nearly the size of their mother, the little buggers beg for food. So, mom obliges until she tires, and flies off to a dense row of evergreens, leaving the young birds to fend for themselves.
They soon learn. I spot them standing in the birdbath, still as a statue, as if they are listening to the musical sound of water upon water. When a grackle suddenly appears, the young robins scamper for cover beneath the thriving peonies until it’s safe to return.
Though they call and call, neither mother nor father answers. The baby robins get the hint and peck away under the feeders or in the flowerbeds, just as their mother had modeled.
Once they complete their growth to adulthood, the spots on their chests will disappear, and they will begin the cycle all over again.
According to Cornell University’s Ornithology Lab, an American Robin can produce three successful broods in one year. On average, though, only 40 percent of nests successfully produce young. Only 25 percent of those fledged young survive to November.
From that point on, about half of the robins alive in any year will make it to the next. Even though a lucky robin can live to be 14 years old, the entire population turns over on average every six years.
I hope the two young robins in my backyard beat the odds and have long, productive lives.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
While birding in a local arboretum, I came across this group of male Mallards casually swimming in Cooks Creek. They seemed undeterred from the purpose of their outing by my uninvited appearance.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
The key to attracting birds to your backyard is more than providing the food the various species need. Birds also require cover for protection and water to survive.
Choosing what to feed birds is easy. Wildlife stores, hardware stores, and businesses that cater to farming and other agricultural folks sell a variety of seeds, suet, and feeders needed for our feathered friends.
Homeowners are responsible for establishing the necessary habitat for protection, perching, and nesting. Planting a variety of native trees, shrubs, plants, and grasses helps to attract a wide variety of birds.
Too often, however, setting out water is overlooked as a necessary ingredient for birds. Water completes the avian trifecta for attracting birds.
Obviously, birds need water for hydration. And just like people, birds need water to keep themselves clean. Birds bathe often to maintain their feathers, rid themselves of dust and mites, and cool down in hot weather. Most birds prefer ground-level birdbaths, but some come to elevated ones.
Adding a small water pump, fountain, or even a small waterfall increases the likelihood of attracting birds to water, especially songbirds. Birds will hear the trickling sound and take that as an invitation to drink and bathe.
Different species have particular ways of drinking. Blue Jays gulp their water by tipping back their head and chugging it down. Mourning Doves are the opposite. They only dip the end of their beaks into the water and daintily sip until satisfied. Northern Cardinals take their time, seemingly enjoying their refreshing liquid.
Birds even use water to clean their beaks of residue, such as seed shells. American Robins bring nesting material to dampen it, making the straw or dried grass more pliable. But it is critical to keep the water and the birdbath basins filled and clean.
As larger birds like Common Grackles, American Robins, and Blue Jays bathe, they splash water out of the containers with their vigorous movements. It’s important to keep the water level full so the pump won’t burn up.
Birds tend to keep their nests neat. They carry fecal sacks containing their babies’ unwanted excrement. Unfortunately, Common Grackles are known to drop those gross sacks in the birdbaths. So, ensuring the birdbaths are clean and filled with fresh water is critical for keeping birds healthy.
Cleaning birdbaths should be done regularly, following a few easy steps. Discard any water left in the bath. Sprinkle a powdery cleaning compound, such as Comet, around the bowl, and use a soft brush to scrub it around to remove any dirt, algae, or other residue. When finished, rinse that out, and refill the birdbath with clean water.
In addition to establishing bird feeders, providing water enhances birds’ attraction. Adding a small pump surrounded by mostly flat stones to create a gurgling sound also brings birds, both migrating and residents, to feeders and birdbaths. The stones provide perches for the smaller songbirds. If the water slows, the pump will likely need to be cleaned as well.
It’s best to remove the pump during the winter months to avoid freezing. The water can be kept from freezing by adding a birdbath heater.
Placing both feeders and birdbaths in locations easily viewed through a window lets you see the benefits of your efforts. In the end, the birds reap the rewards.
Find instructions for what items are needed to build a birdbath at https://warblerfall.com/.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
One of the main reasons I enjoy birding is that I see so much more than birds. This curious steer is one example.
I love being outdoors with nature, absorbing all that she has to offer. I love clouds, farms, trees, mountains, valleys, landscapes, sunrises, and sunsets.
Being one with nature requires paying attention. Quite often, I am astonished at what I see, even though I may have viewed the same scene before. That doesn’t mean it’s the same as last time. Life is full of surprises and continual change.
Lastly, I love to tell about what I have seen, heard, and touched because it has touched me. Consequently, I love to share what I have discovered with all of you. Even a curious cow.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
My wife and I spent the morning of our 55th wedding anniversary birding. That’s about as exciting as it gets for septegenarian celebrations.
Though spring bird migration had been ongoing for a month, the early warblers were only now beginning to be seen and heard in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. I wanted to see and literally hear those lovely, high-pitched songs. I know the term “literally” is overused, but this was my first bird outing with hearing aids.
I’m a very curious person, and I wanted to hear what I was missing in my latter years. Previously, I had to depend on the ears of younger birders to know, for example, that a Cape May Warbler was near. The bird’s thin, high-pitched “see, see, see, see” call was beyond my perception.
I knew March 27 was too early for the Cape May. But equipped with my hearing aids, perhaps I could catch the calls of other early-arriving warblers. So, off we went to a noted birding hotspot in Augusta County, Virginia, Bells Lane.
My wife occasionally accompanies me on my birding adventures, but she wouldn’t call herself an avid birder. I appreciate her company and enjoy showing her a particular species when I spot one.
Even though Bells Lane is in the city limits of Staunton, its geography and topography shout country. The narrow road meanders up, down, and around hills and valleys from a US highway to a state road. From its zenith, traffic buzzes north and south along I-81, though the noise barely reaches the beloved birding location.
With its proximity to the city, people use Bells Lane for other reasons. With only a handful of residents along its winding two-mile stretch, the narrow pavement is a safe place to jog, bike, or walk your dog, in addition to birdwatching.
When I pulled off the main highway onto Bells Lane, I opened the moon roof and lowered the windows, and drove at a snail’s pace. The air was cool, but fresh with the scent of apple blossoms and birdsong. I smiled with great pleasure at hearing multiple birds singing, and used the popular Merlin app on my iPhone to confirm my suspicions.
Birders are happy with such technological advances that can affirm or alert you to nearby birds. However, the combination of common sense and location tempers emotions when a rare bird is indicated.
Using their amazing ability to imitate other birds, Northern Mockingbirds are notorious for setting off frenzied searches for birds that aren’t there. I almost got caught doing that this time.
In the thicket of blooming redbuds and serviceberry bushes and old-growth trees, I caught a quick glimpse of a yellow and black bird zipping through the understory. An oriole, I thought, but which one? I didn’t see it long enough to identify it.
Much later on at the summit of Bells Lane, Merlin showed a Scott’s Oriole. I had never seen one, and wondered if that’s what I saw a half hour ago. That was unlikely, since a Scott’s Oriole’s territory is the southwestern United States.
Then I saw it. A Northern Mockingbird sat atop a fence post, demonstrating its wide repertoire of songs. I immediately discounted the Scott’s Oriole sighting, but wondered how in the world the mockingbird knew the oriole’s song if it had never heard it.
We saw several Northern Mockingbirds as we wound our way along the bumpy road, with horse and cattle farms dominating the rolling landscape. At one stop, I could only see the top of what appeared to be a rather large house, well situated behind a wooded hillside.
Between the road and the house, birdsongs rang out as clear as day. I stood in awe and joy at being present in that moment, finally able to hear those glorious songs so well.
The underrated Field Sparrows dominated the avian chorus. Unfortunately, I couldn’t locate even one of the birds, though they had to be close to me. That’s the disadvantage of birding alone. My wife enjoyed the bird cacophony while reading in the SUV.
The low, gray clouds made photographing birds difficult.
Several times, I parked the vehicle and walked along the roadway. I met another birder who advised me that a flock of Ruby-Crowned Kinglets was foraging for insects 50 yards ahead on the left side of the road, where the underbrush thickened.
I quickened my pace, only to be stopped by the luxurious liquid sound of an Eastern Towhee. It was a male. The black hood with rusty sides and a white streak down its chest provided protective camouflage as it kicked and scratched among the dead leaves on the forest floor. I finally got a clear shot of it.
Farther up the road, I must have found a stray of the Ruby-crowned Kinglets. The lone bird flitted from limb to limb over my head, devouring insects.
Merlin showed a Pine Warbler calling, but I couldn’t find it. Pine Warblers are often among the first of their species to migrate back north after overwintering in the warmer southern states.
The young Bald Eagle on its perch. Photos by Bruce Stambaugh
As we reached the halfway point, we were at the summit of the ridge. A line of black Angus steers lumbered away from a small red barn down the pasture toward the road.
A snag of a tree stood just beyond the barn, and at the highest perch was a subadult Bald Eagle. Patches of white feathers against black revealed its age. It wasn’t a warbler, but I was thrilled to see it. The proud bird sat perfectly still, overseeing the valleys to its east and west.
Notorious for roosting in one location for hours on end, the young Eagle seemed oblivious to the cattle, the American Crows flying in the distance, and to me. I snapped away before retreating to my SUV.
The forecasted rain began to fall, gently at first and then more steadily. Our morning of birding had come to an end with perfect timing.
We headed back into town for lunch, having heard and or seen 43 bird species in a little over two hours. I anticipated warblers, but saw an eagle instead. It was an unexpected gift on our anniversary morning.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
Tree Swallows are back! They are usually the first of the swallow family to return north.
With the spring migration in full swing, it’s a joy to see these beautiful, acrobatic birds once again coursing over fields and ponds in Virginia.
Tree Swallows benefit humankind by devouring thousands of insects as they dive and dart over farm fields and wetlands alike. Not only that, their iridescent deep-blue backs and clean, creamy front and undersides make them gorgeous to look at.
These aerolists twist and turn, chasing flying insects. They nest in tree hollows and nest boxes usually meant for Eastern Bluebirds.
Don’t let their beauty or their sweet, chirping sound deceive you. When nesting, Tree Swallows will divebomb anyone who comes close to a box where they are nesting. I can speak from experience.
While searching a local marsh with bluebird boxes fixed to roadside fence posts, I unintentionally got too close to one. Soon, a pair of Tree Swallows took turns buzzing my head. I quickly realized my mistake and moved away.
Tree Swallows are fiercely competitive, too. I once saw a pair of males battling over a hole in an old snag by a canal. The two birds faced off, screeching noisily as their wings flapped frantically.
Soon, one bird forced the other one down toward the canal’s surface, but didn’t stop there. The bird on top forced the upside-down bird underwater, drowning it in less than a minute.
Tree Swallows perch in small to large groups on telephone wires and fence wires. From that perch, they launch into an attack on unseen prey.
During haymaking times, Tree Swallows join Barn Swallows in swooping high and low in circles around the farmer’s mowing machine. They feast on the fleeing insects as the farmer cuts the alfalfa or mows a pasture field.
Come June, Tree Swallows will have taken up nesting from the midsouthern states to near the Arctic tundras. They winter along the southern and western coastlines in the United States and throughout Central America.
So, take heart. If the flashy Tree Swallows haven’t reached your area yet, be patient. Migration continues through early June.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2026
Wildlife Photos From The Chesapeake Bay Region
Culture and Communities at the Heart Of India
Artist and nature journalist in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.
Photographer Of Life and moments
Less Noise. More Meaning
Art is the only way to run away without leaving home. -Twyla Tharp
Writing generated from the rural life
writer. teacher. podcast cohost.
El amor cruza fronteras / Love crosses borders
Roadkill Crossing 
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