birds – Roadkill Crossing

Enjoying Nature’s Many Benefits

You never know what you’ll happen upon in nature. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We live in a stress-filled world with lots of artificial noise, annoying distractions, societal expectations, and short deadlines. There are ways to escape the madness, even if only temporarily.

In my almost 79 years of living, I have made a habit of escaping much of life’s static by getting away. Even in retirement, I feel life’s stresses.

Hiking and bird watching are two excellent ways to forget all of the activities that clutter our lives, especially with 21st-century technology constantly hounding us. Combining exercise with enjoyment helps strengthen my body, foster mindfulness, and recharge my spirit for living.

I add in a third complementary hobby: photography. Snapshots of my outings document where I have been and what I have seen. Then I can share the treasures I have found with others, which only enhances the joy of the experience.

Poet Mary Oliver taught us to “pay attention, be astonished, tell about it.” During my treks, I put this poetic advice into practice. I marvel at a pair of Swallow-tailed Kites foraging for insects over a recently mown field. Walking through a tunnel of blooming Mountain Laurel along the Appalachian Trail stops me in my tracks.

A Swallowtail Kite. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A blogger friend of mine who frequents Georgia’s Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge does so for solitude and renewal by kayaking among alligators. Finding renewal in nature is a personal preference. Making the effort to enjoy the outdoors is what counts.

Recent studies have proven what author Wendell Berry has always known: “For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.” One study “found evidence for associations between nature exposure and improved cognitive function, brain activity, blood pressure, mental health, physical activity, and sleep.” Another research paper focused on the health benefits of nature in urban areas.

These studies show that everyone, everywhere, should commune with nature. It can be a morning walk in your neighborhood or a long-distance bicycle ride. I walk frequently in our suburban neighborhood in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The melodious bird calls and the fragrance from well-attended flower gardens combine to energize my steps.

I find Berry’s grace under the shady canopy of towering trees, among stands of colorful wildflowers, while viewing wildlife big and small, and in forever mountaintop vistas. So, whether with friends or solo, I enjoy nature in her many forms. Being retired allows me to do so as time allows.

I keep a steady pace until I spot something pretty or intriguing. I pull out my smartphone and photograph it. That documents the time and place to reinforce my memory. It might be another opportunity to share it as well.

I belong to a local bird club, so I can follow up on any rare bird alerts as I can. I don’t always find the bird in question, but I’m not disappointed. I often encounter other birders in search of the same species. We commiserate and share other birding adventures we’ve had. New friends are made in the process.

I’ll occasionally join a scheduled bird hike in a city park or even in Shenandoah National Park 40 miles away. Having multiple pairs of eyes scanning the sky and peering through thickets and woodlots enhances all our chances of seeing a special bird.

I have the privilege of mentoring a high school junior from our church. He also happens to enjoy bird watching, so we occasionally venture out with small groups or another mentor-mentee pair to enjoy the hiking, camaraderie, and all we encounter along the way.

Impatient with our septuagenarian pace, the trustworthy teens forge ahead, exploring on their own. Once, they encountered an unfamiliar rock scramble and rushed back to us, realizing they had missed the turn.

I am most free to enjoy the flora and fauna when I go alone. I travel at my own leisure, stopping to photograph bees and butterflies on flowers, unusual rock formations, and birds if I can spot them in the dense foliage.

After hiking to a majestic overlook in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I rest a spell, partly to regain my energy and catch my breath, but mostly to inhale the view. The quiet has its rewards: a doe grazing with her fawn, Red-tailed Hawks and Turkey Vultures soaring on thermals with puffy white clouds sailing high overhead in the cerulean sky, a Timber Rattlesnake soaking in the sun on a limestone outcropping.

Hydration and nourishment with water and snacks are essential, especially when hiking at higher altitudes. With binoculars hanging from my neck and a camera slung on my shoulder, a pair of walking sticks keeps me steady even on the rockiest of terrain.

Spending time in nature provides many benefits, especially for seniors as we age. It helps improve cardiovascular health and sleep, and reduce inflammation in the body, according to this study by the Elder Care Alliance. My family physician tells me “to keep moving,” so I do.

The essence of being in nature with the wild things gives me all the peace I need. With no signal in remote areas, the cellphone never interrupts.

On the Fence

Eastern Kingbird. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

With the sun behind this bird, it may be hard to discern the species. But birders use other clues to identify birds when conditions prevent seeing the bird directly.

When I cleared a hill on a gravel road, I didn’t spot this Eastern Kingbird right away. I stopped my vehicle as smoothly as I could without skidding on the loose gravel.

First, I noted the bird’s size. Secondly, its posture was distinctive for an Eastern Kingbird. In addition, the habitat was right for this species. Eastern Kingbirds love open, weedy fields, which were behind the bird, with trees nearby, which were on the east side of the road.

The white feathers at the tip of its tail were another field mark. When you are birding, you have to take the shots you are given and be happy with that.

As a photographer, I was happy with the composition of this shot, despite the strong backlighting.

Two Birds with One Shot

I snapped this photo of a Red-tailed Hawk soaring on a thermal over a fallow farm field. I never saw the Turkey Vulture that photobombed the image until I checked the photo on the camera’s back screen.

Both bird species are common in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, one of the leading agricultural counties in the Commonwealth. Most farms supplement their grain and hay crops with milk cows, beef steers, and especially poultry barns.

Consequently, there are plenty of food supplies for both the hawks and the vultures, with dead carcasses sometimes hauled to the back 40 acres for disposal. Deer/vehicle collisions are also common, providing more opportunities for nature’s natural scavengers to feast to the full.

Two birds with one shot. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The angle of the seemingly interconnected wings of the two birds also intrigued me. Of course, with the Red-tailed Hawk higher than the sailing vulture, the large black bird was no threat to the Buteo jamaicensis.

Welcome to August!

It’s hard to believe, but today is the first day of August.

August is notorious for hot, hazy, humid days, better known as the Dog Days of Summer. But as this photo from August 2024 shows, when a cold front pushed through, it used the energy from the heat and humidity, along with the dew point, to create some pop-up thunderstorms.

The cooling after the storms is a welcome relief, but given August’s reputation, the pleasant weather seldom lasts.

Of course, August offers more than uncertain weather. County and state fairs are held. Back-to-school sales entice parents and their offspring to purchase new clothing for their students, who will soon begin a new school year.

Farmers are literally making hay and hoping for rain to quench their grain crops. Golden, hazy sunsets will close out productive August days.

And for the record, August officially begins the fall bird migration, with some birds already molting into their non-breeding plumage.

So, welcome to August, and embrace all that she has to offer.

An August thunderstorm formed over Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Visiting a Neighbor: Reid State Park

One of the beaches at Reid State Park, Georgetown, Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Reid State Park lies a mile across the bay from the cottage where we stayed. To get there by car, we drove seven miles.

The park serves as an access to the ocean for the general public. It also stands as a stark reminder of Mainers’ desire to preserve and protect their precious and lovely coastline from too much commercial development.

Diana, our host, wanted us to experience the park the way other visitors do. It was also an opportunity for a wider perspective of the Atlantic Ocean than what we could see from her cottage in the woods across the way.

Young girls braved the waves. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

With the tide high, the waves rolled in to the joy of the water lovers of all ages. Young girls braved the strong waves, trying to stay erect against the crashing force. Their mother stood on alert where the waves turned to foam.

Wanting to try to ride the larger waves ashore, teenagers snagged a driftwood log and walked it bravely into the breakers. I was afraid to watch further.

Ducks also rode the waves close to shore and out of the wind. Gulls perched on rocks or pestered picnickers for any discarded scraps. Song Sparrows darted from scrubs to sea oats in search of proper food. I stood on the giant metamorphic rocks for an elevated view of all the action.

People searched the tide pools in the rocks for any trapped fish and starfish. The park featured no water slides or swimming pools. The purpose was to enjoy all that nature offered, from water-worn boulders, sandy beaches, and birds and butterflies.

When we returned to the cottage, low tide revealed the tidal flats of sweep sand for all to enjoy in the park and beyond.

Low tide expands the park’s “beach” exponentially. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Beating the Heat!

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.

American Robin keeping cool. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The “Flying Cigars”

Chimney Swifts in flight. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

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 build 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.

The stubby chimney on our former Ohio home. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

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 donned thick gloves, carefully removed the bird, and let it fly free outside 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 firewood 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 spend the winter in northwestern South America.

They migrate 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 begin 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.

First Sunflower

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.

Serenity on Moores Mill Road

On Moores Mill Road. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

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.

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 Dickcissel singing. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A Study of Juvenile American Robins

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.