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.
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.
A Dickcissel on a fence wire. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
The Baltimore Oriole. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
Eastern Kingbird. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
A recently fledged American Robin. Photo Bruce Stambaugh
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.
An American Robin. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
One of the fledglings foraged for food beneath a birdfeeder. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
A young American Robin eyes the birdbath. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
A pair of juvenile American Robins. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
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.
A Northern Flicker and an American Robin at the backyard birdbath. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
A ground-based basinAn elevated birdbathA basin with a pump
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.
A gang of European Starlings can quickly empty a birdbath basin.
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.
Fall Cape May Warbler
Blue Jay
Gray Catbird
Female Northern Cardinal
American Robin
Chipping Sparrow
Female Purple Finch
Mourning Doves
White-throated Sparrow
White-crowned Sparrow
White-throated Sparrows
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.
A Brown Thrasher cools off in the birdbath with a small waterfall. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
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.
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.
One of several Northern Mockingbirds we saw. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
Two curious American Robins checked out the young Bald Eagle. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
Photos by Bruce Stambaugh
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.
It was a foggy morning to go birding. But this wasn’t any bird I sought.
For several weeks, a Crested Caracara, a bird common in Florida and Texas, had been seen off and on in the Broadway, Virginia, area. That was only a dozen miles from my home.
It wasn’t the first time I had tried for the bird. Then, it had flown off shortly before I arrived, where the Caracara had been spotted on more than one occasion.
I waited and waited, thinking the bird would return after the fog lifted. But it wasn’t to be.
While I had waited, however, I took a few photos of the landscape enveloped by the morning mist. The photo above shows both the fog and where the Caracara liked to perch.
The roadside fencerow in the foreground gave depth to the fog-enshrouded treeline in the background. I was happy with the image, even without my target bird.
The daytime temperatures in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley have been above freezing for the last few days. Consequently, the melting of several inches of snow that fell three weeks ago has begun.
I ventured out in the late morning recently to do some birding. However, I ended up taking more landscape photos because the birds weren’t as active as I’d expected.
I found the topography southwest of Staunton especially captivating, with its rolling landscape, country estates along winding, narrow roads, and the snow-covered North Mountain range as a backdrop to the west. Beauty surrounded me in every direction.
In one location, a Red-tailed Hawk perched on a limb, posture focused downward in hopes of spotting an unsuspecting rabbit, squirrel, or field mouse. In another, a light-phase Red-tailed Hawk soared in the afternoon sunshine, sailing on thermals rising from the warming farm fields below.
White-throated Sparrows and Song Sparrows fed along the exposed roadside grasses and road grit, but scurried for fencerow brambles as my SUV rolled by at pedestrian speed. In the rural areas, traffic was scarce, allowing me to take my time and enjoy the scenery all around me. I stopped several times in the space of a quarter mile to inhale the fresh air, absorb the warm sunshine, and scout for any birds.
I marveled at the patterns in the diminishing snow. Polka dots of grasses surrounded by inches of snowy white speckled south-facing hillsides. Tractor tracks among corn stubble created abstract paintings. Farmsteads stood silent, as if in awe of the February thaw, painting their own Currier and Ives.
A Northern Mockingbird played hide and seek with me, playing hard to get. Darting in and out of roadside thickets, I managed a few photos of the tricky bird. American Robins launched from treelines to forage in the high grasses of pastures still dotted with snow.
Canada Geese gleaned for food in a wide-open pasture as the ice on a bordering creek gave way to the welcome warmth. I spooked a pair of Mallards enjoying pockets of open water when I stepped out of my vehicle. The geese ignored their quacking.
On the way home, I stopped at a city park along the North River where Long-tailed ducks had been reported. Instead, I found a few humans less interested in patterns in snow or waterfowl than me.
I walked across a footbridge to approach the riverside. At the other end, three seniors my age laughed and shrieked with one another, ignorant of the flock of Common Merganzers floating nearby. The birds quickly took flight.
On the way to my SUV, a trio of young boys threw sticks and pinecones at a small flock of Mallards foraging in the river’s shallows. I advised the youngsters that it’s wrong to disturb wildlife. They hung their heads until I passed by, and then continued their barrage. However, they fled when I turned around and stared at them.
Ironically, the best birds were the closest to home. The thaw substantially diminished the ice on Silver Lake, and the waterfowl basked in the afternoon sunshine. Redheads, Canvasbacks, Buffleheads, and Pied-billed Grebes swam and dove for food.
Best of all, six Tundra Swans stood on the thinning ice, preening in the sun’s warmth. It was a glorious six hours spent in communion with Nature and all her blessings.
Roadkill Crossing 
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