family – Roadkill Crossing

Railfanning With Friends

Norfolk & Western’s J-Class 611 steam engine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The timing couldn’t have been better. My wife’s cousin and her husband came for a four-day visit from their home in North Carolina.

We consider them dear friends. We all enjoy watching trains, especially old ones. That’s what rainfanning is.

As it happened, the Shenandoah Valley Scenic Railroad planned a series of weekend excursions traveling east from Staunton, Virginia, only 40 minutes south of our home. Rick and Brenda would be here during the first weekend.

Despite the wilting heat and humidity, we ventured out to see Norfolk and Western’s J-Class historic 611 steam engine pull classic rail cars across Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. We decided to catch the 10 a.m. run.

We weren’t planning on riding the train. We wanted to watch it steam by with its smokestack puffing and iconic whistle blowing. Of course, we would record the day with video and photos.

Built in May 1950 in Roanoke, Virginia, the N & W J-484 Class engine was the last streamlined steam locomotive before the diesel-powered engines gained favor. The Queen of Steam is the only surviving engine of its kind and is housed in the Virginia Transportation Museum in Roanoke, Virginia.

The Queen of Steam. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The first location we chose did not afford the view we had hoped for, so we went to plan B. We drove a few miles east along the Jefferson Highway to Jericho Road. Only a quarter of a mile south, the tracks crossed the narrow rural road and gave us a treelined look west to where the train would curve into view.

We heard the train before we saw it. The engine’s chug, chug, chug, accompanied by the deep, resonant sound of its horn, alerted us to scramble into position for good looks and photo opportunities.

I began filming even before the storied 611 came into view. The train’s low-pitched whistle sounded as it crossed another road to the west. Soon it came steaming into view.

Full foliage stands of trees on both sides of the tracks created a tunnel effect as the train rounded the curve. Soon, the whistle sounded again, this time for our crossing. The lights flashed, the warning bells clanged, and the crossing gates came down

At the slight incline before the Jericho crossing, the fireman stoked coal into the firebox and a pillar of inky smoke rose from 611’s stubby stack. It was the shot I had hoped for, although I should have aimed the camera a bit higher.

The engine roared by, and fly ash drifted upon us. That’s what happens when you stand too close to the tracks. Even at 78, I showed my immaturity. Still, I got the shots and experience I wanted for all of us.

We tried for a shot of the train as it passed over the Jefferson Highway a few miles east, but we were too late. The combination of red traffic lights and the train picking up steam outpaced our hopes. Sans photographs, at least we got to see the train glide across the bridge.

We retreated to the historic small city of Staunton for lunch. First, we wandered and reminisced in a well-stocked antique store. Many of the items were the very same we are trying to pawn off to our children and grandchildren.

That nostalgic trip only increased my hunger for a tasty burger, which awaited just down the street. We arrived ahead of the noontime crowd and relaxed in the coolness of the comfy restaurant, sipping ice water, sodas, and sweet tea.

After enjoying our specialty hamburgers and French fries, we stepped back out into the abusive elements to a surprise. The train was back at the station, so we walked down to take a close look at the old engine before it left for its second excursion.

We inspected the engine in the shade of the station’s arched canopy. A bright red stripe with white stars adorned both sides of the engine and tenders in commemoration of the United States’ 250th Anniversary.

We had expected larger crowds due to the engine’s popularity. But only a few other railfans had gathered along the tracks.

At 1 p.m. sharp, the engineer blew the Queen of Steam’s unique whistle, and the train slowly pulled out of the station. The giant wheels turned slowly at first, then faster and faster as the J-Class 611 once again thundered east toward the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Joyful for our successful day of railfanning, we headed north for home.

A moment to remember. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

What Were the Chances?

It was a simple, mundane task that turned into a celebration of connections.

I needed gasoline for the lawnmower since our granddaughter said she would come the next day to mow our yard. The gas can for the mower was empty, so I drove to the local gas station to fill it and my vehicle, a process I gave little thought to.

A pickup with a huge water tank in the truck’s bed blocked most of the pumps. I was able, however, to back into the one pump that had the non-ethanol fuel I needed.

I went to insert my credit card and noticed a black one had been left in the slot to pay for the gas. I pulled the card out and wondered what I should do with it. The office at the rural station had already closed.

If it were my card, I would want someone to retrieve it and try to contact me. So, I put the card safely in my wallet, turned my attention to paying for gas with my own card, and returned home.

I Googled the lady’s name on the card and quickly found her address and phone numbers, both landline and cell phone. I called the mobile line first and left a message. I tried the landline, but it rang a rapid busy signal, a sign that it was no longer a working number.

I figured I would get a quick response to my message, but I was wrong. When I still hadn’t heard anything by the next day, which was a Saturday, I called the 911 center’s non-emergency number to see what I should do with the card. The dispatcher told me to drop it off at the police station. I decided to wait until Monday to do that and hope the lady would follow up with me before I went.

That’s exactly what happened when shortly before 9 a.m. Monday, the lady called. The number where I had left the message was actually her son’s phone, and he didn’t let her know until just before she called me.

To say she was giddy to know her card was safe would be an understatement. But there was more to it.

The lady explained that when she realized she had misplaced her card, she checked her latest transactions with it online. Purchasing the gas was the last charge.

She drove to the station to see if she could find her card. A truck with a large water container on the back was at the pump. The man driving the truck saw her looking around the pump we had used and asked if she needed help.

“I left my credit card in the pump yesterday,” she explained.

The man asked, “Was it black?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “How did you know?”

“I was here yesterday, and I saw a guy take the card out of the pump,” he said. It was the same man and truck I had seen. He told the woman that he buys a lot of gas there.

“I think he took the card up to the office,” he told her. Of all the details, he got that one wrong.

Then came the real shocker of the phone conversation.

“Are you Maren’s grandfather?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”

“I am Maren’s mentor at church,” she replied. “I recognized your last name because of your daughter.”

I thought, “What a small world.” But that wasn’t all.

The kind woman was a cousin of a dear friend of mine who had recently died unexpectedly. I chuckled to myself about the multiple overlapping connections we had.

Darlene arrived at my home a couple of hours later to retrieve her credit card, which she had put on hold to prevent misuse. In return, she thoughtfully handed me a carton of fresh strawberries.

We stood on the front porch and chatted for a long time about the happenstances that had led to the return of her card and the serendipitous connections we had discovered.

The more we conversed, the more common relationships we discovered. It was a joyous first meeting, and more than a fair trade of strawberries for a wayward credit card.

It’s Volunteer Appreciation Week

April 19 – 25 is designated as Volunteer Appreciation Week. If we take the time to notice, volunteers are all around us, helping us live our lives to the fullest by doing things that may go unnoticed.

Volunteers can be of any age. Grandparents, parents, men, women, teens, and youngsters take time to pick up trash from local creek banks in parks. Older students help younger ones during reading time at school.

Multi-generational volunteers helped knot and stitch comforters. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Volunteers help pull weeds at the local arboretum. They lead tours at local museums. They pick up litter along state, local, and interstate highways.

Volunteers come from groups like scouting organizations, hunting clubs, or are individuals who care deeply about the environment and their community. They can serve as crossing guards and ushers at concerts.

Of course, we can’t forget volunteer firefighters and emergency medical technicians who leave their jobs, family gatherings, and other activities to help someone in need for little or no pay.

Yesterday, grandparents, friends, parents, brothers, sisters, mentors, and the students themselves helped knot and stitch comforters for five high school seniors who will soon graduate. It’s an annual tradition.

Folks from our church also volunteer weekly at a local elementary school attended by children who live near the church. The volunteers pack food into bags for food-insecure families. It’s amazing how staff members and students alike thank the volunteers as they travel throughout the school and deposit the food-filled bags outside of classrooms.

I’ve only listed a few ways people can volunteer to help others. In what ways do you volunteer?

Packing bags of food at an elementary school. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

In Search of Warblers, Finding an Eagle

Where the birds were. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

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

Another Wedding Anniversary

Tomorrow is our 55th wedding anniversary. I am most grateful to my lovely and loving wife, our son and daughter, and their spouses, to our extended families, and to our many friends we have made over all those years.

Neva and I wouldn’t be where we are today without their wonderful advice, support, and love. Happy 55th, Neva!

Neva, along the Kancamagus Highway in New Hampshire. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

First Daffodil

My wife and I enjoy visiting her cousin and spouse in the Piedmont of North Carolina. They return the favor by visiting us in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

We all enjoy many of the same types of retirement excursions, including the local history of areas we visit. We like antiques and thrift stores. And we all enjoy watching birds.

We ventured out to a state park a few miles from their home. While looking for early songbird migrants, we walked a short loop through a woods with moslty second growth trees.

Sprinkled in among the woods were remnants of former residences and farm buildings. Near them, this clump of daffodils had sprouted up, a spontaneous memorial to the people who planted them.

After all the snow we had, it was a pleasure to find a single blossom in full bloom.

Birds of Vacation

One of several large ponds at the Celery Fields, Sarasota, Florida. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I love birding. It’s one of my favorite hobbies, mostly because you can bird anywhere, anytime, including on family vacations.

My wife and I recently spent a week with our daughter’s family in Sarasota, Florida. That area is a birding paradise, with many parks, beaches, wetlands, and preserves that offer birding hotspots.

I knew I had to be considerate of what the others wanted to do. With three young adults, the beach would be a priority. So, I planned my bird-watching times accordingly so I could also spend time with family.

Since I preferred to bird in the morning, none of the others in our group of seven wanted to go with me, and I had no issue with going alone. I was sure to meet other birders on my outings.

While the others sunned on the beach, I had my binoculars at hand to try to identify the gulls and shorebirds I encountered. Of course, I listened for and watched a few birds near the house we rented for the week.

The designated preserves and parks provided the best birding opportunities. I headed to the area’s best birding spot, the Celery Fields in Sarasota. The county-owned marshland got its name because 100 years ago, celery was actually cultivated in the 400+ acre plots.

Today, the Celery Fields are a multi-purpose property for residents and visitors in the Sarasota area. The Celery Fields serve as Sarasota County’s primary flood mitigation zone. The county recognized the importance of preserving wildlife habitat, and today has an Audoban Visitors Center run by a score of dedicated volunteers.

The different habitat areas of the Celery Fields.

With areas of wetlands, mudflats, canals, ponds, a wide variety of marshland vegetation, and treelines, the Celery Fields attract several species of birds and wildlife. It’s a birding magnet for people like me.

I visited the Celery Fields three times, aiming to see my spark birds, the gorgeous Painted Buntings, the social Sandhill Cranes, and the attractive Roseate Spoonbills. I got to see those and much more.

I also checked out two preserves along the coast near Bradenton. The first was small, and the other massive. Both had the kind of small trees, tropical vegetation, and wetlands that attract several species of birds.

However, rainfall in Florida has been far below normal, and many areas of wetlands have dried up, forcing birds and other wildlife into small pools of water.

Still, I was able to see and photograph several bird species, and other animals, like an alligator and a snake. I’ll share those encounters in a separate post.

The Celery Field

The Celery Fields afforded the best opportunities to see a variety of wildlife up close via boardwalks, levees, and stone paths.

The place had changed significantly since my last visit years ago. An Audoban Visitors Center had been built to provide visitors with information and maps of the many walking and birding paths.

Bird feeders were strategically placed near the center, attracting several species of birds for a closer look. This included a handsome pair of Painted Buntings.

Volunteer naturalists were also available to answer questions and explain what was being seen. Ponds, canals, trees, bushes, and natural plants provided excellent habitat and cover for the birds and wildlife.

Beaches

Since it was the holidays and the weather was sunny and warm, the beaches were crowded. Consequently, I only captured a few photos.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

The Preserves

I discovered the Ungarelli and Robinson Preserves after dropping off my oldest grandson at a golf course. Again, due to the lack of rain, the water levels at both places were very low, and some of the mudflats had hardened.

Still, bird species were plentiful, and the people I met were friendly and inquisitive about birds they saw but couldn’t identify. The binoculars dangling around my neck over my birding vest gave me away. It was a pleasure to help them learn about Rosate Spoonbills and Red-shouldered Hawks.

Like the Celery Fields, the Robinson Preserve was a multi-use facility. Kayakers, bikers, joggers, and dog walkers far outnumbered birders like me. That didn’t deter my enjoyment of the time spent there.

The highlight was discovering a large flock of American White Pelicans. I met a couple from Germany who equally enjoyed these fantastic birds. We watched as several pelicans flew into the flock, where many of them preened in the afternoon sunshine.

Blue-gray Gnatcatcher
Wood Stork
Osprey
Osprey
Turkey Vulture
Red-shouldered Hawk
White Ibis
American White Pelicans
Little Blue Heron
American White Pelicans
American White Pelicans preening
Observation tower
Kayakers
American White Pelicans
American White Pelicans

Happy New Year!

2025 in 12 Photos

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.

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.

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.

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.