Crepuscular rays at sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I was ready to give up on this sunset that had looked so promising. A layer of clouds hung above the Allegheny Mountains, creating a narrow break in the sky. I hoped for a brilliant sunset, but most of the color was in the southern sky.
I’ve learned to be patient, though. Long after the official sunset time, these crepuscular rays suddenly appeared. Crepuscular rays often occur at twilight and are created by sunlight shining through gaps in the clouds.
The rays created a sharp contrast between light and dark. In this case, the sun turned the rays terracotta and brightened the evening sky for a brief time. The local landmark of Mole Hill stood dark in the foreground.
My wife and I are still exploring Rockingham County, Virginia, where we have lived for seven years. That may sound hard to believe, but Rockingham is the third-largest county in Virginia. It covers 853 square miles, so there’s a lot of area to see.
We recently toured with friends an area of the mostly rural, agricultural county that we had never seen before. They were as curious as we were.
We chose the remote northwest section, where wildfires scorched thousands of acres of mountainous terrain in the George Washington National Forest during the first week of spring. We were pleasantly surprised with what we found.
Recent rains have greened up most of the area, with only a few burned spots visible from roadways. Thanks to firefighters’ efforts, an abandoned cabin was the only structure burned.
The areas of Bergton and Criders are set in a wide-open, fairly flat valley floor surrounded by mostly deciduous forests. It was a lovely scene.
The background of wooded hillsides and the building storm clouds behind this abandoned schoolhouse made an idyllic landscape portrait. It was one of many finds of the day.
A pair of squirrels on our Red Maple tree. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This pair of squirrels was just hanging out in our front yard on a warm spring day recently. While one chowed down on breakfast from a birdfeeder, the other basked in the morning sunshine.
A wind-blown female Northern Cardinal perched in our red maple. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I took my lunch outside the other day. The temperatures were more summerlike for the first of May.
I enjoy sitting in the sun for short periods, absorbing the free vitamin D and the natural springtime circus performing around me. Nature sprinkles my light fare with seasonings no human can buy or sell.
I sat on the cultured stone patio in my late mother-in-law’s red and white painted metal rocking chair. A light wind played with my napkin until my cell phone secured it.
I enjoyed the Swiss cheese and crackers and the birds flitting back and forth, singing their luxurious songs until the bully common grackles chased them away.
That gave me an idea. I opened an app on my phone that records birdsong. Soon, I discovered more birds in the immediate area than I realized. My old ears, with their diminished hearing, could not detect them.
A Chimney Swift. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The “flying cigars” called Chimney Swifts chitter-chatter high overhead, zooming in wide arching loops, capturing as many insects as possible. The dark, stubby birds that flap their wings faster than the eye can see were hungrier than me.
A clutch of American Goldfinches landed on the thistle sock hung in the tulip poplar tree, its greenish flowers just now blooming. Unfortunately, the grackles heard their gregarious interaction and quickly chased them away.
My app told me a Yellow Warbler was nearby, but I neither heard nor saw it. It might have been a flyover going farther north than Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
A female Northern Cardinal. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The ubiquitous House Sparrows jabbered atop the bluebird house attached to an old metal fence stake my congenial father-in-law gave me years ago. I made a mental note to check the box to see if the sparrows had built a nest.
Mourning Doves cooed from the neighbor’s rooftop while I finished my potato salad. Though their song is monotonous, I found it pleasantly reassuring.
American Robins bobbed in the grass, searching for their own lunches. Soon, one chased another to the neighbor’s.
A Song Sparrow. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
A pair of Northern Cardinals zipped from the Colorado blue spruce along our back property line to the fountain-fed birdbath by the screened-in back porch. Birds get thirsty, too.
For the first time since last fall, I detected a familiar chorus. The Gray Catbird’s liquid warbling gave it away. Its feline mimicking completed the hearty song. The variegated sound proved as joyous as the catbird’s return.
A Carolina Wren and a recently returned House Wren each called from opposite corners of the property. The Carolina adjusted its vocalization according to need while the house wren’s noisy melody beckoned a mate.
I washed down the last bit of ham salad and crackers with sweet tea, the only kind to drink in Virginia. As I reentered our home, the resident Song Sparrow skittered low along the ground and disappeared beneath my wife’s peonies.
That was all the dessert I needed.
A Gray Catbird preens after a dip in the birdbath. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I was working in the backyard when I noticed an ant on a peony bud. Immediately, I thought of the old idea that peony buds need ants to transform from bud to flower.
I didn’t know exactly why or how that interaction worked. So, of course, I Googled it.
Peony flowers provide food for ants, who keep harmful floral-feeding insects away in return. According to Warmund, spraying the peonies with insecticides is unnecessary. The ants will protect the flowers as long as they can obtain food.
Colors galore as a wildfire burned in the valley below last fall. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the last in a series celebrating National Park Week.
Autumn is often the best time to visit a national park. The annual coloring of the leaves attracts millions of people to many national parks, including Shenandoah National Park in Virginia.
The Park Service staff do an excellent job of keeping the public informed about the status of the changing of the leaves. From websites to social media to webcams, patrons of the parks can plan their trips accordingly.
Of course, everyone wants to hit the peak colors. The problem is that many factors play into trying to time the peak of coloration. Elevation, weather, temperature, tree species, longitude and latitude, and the sun’s angle all assist the color transformations. People’s schedules add to the leafy puzzle.
Living near a national park makes timing less risky. I closely monitor the weather, social media group photo posts that specialize in leaf watching in Shenandoah National Park, and the park’s weekly livestreaming. When it’s time to go, I head east and am seldom disappointed.
This past fall, much like this spring, was relatively dry. Fire conditions lasted several weeks, and fires did break out. The photo shows smoke from a fire near the Rappadan Camp that started outside park boundaries but quickly burned into the park’s forest.
The fire’s smoke starkly contrasted with the vibrant colors of the ashes, sassafras, hickory, oaks, and poplar trees. It subdued the usual exuberance for the park’s universal beauty.
Over nearly a week, firefighters finally got the upper hand as the leaves began to rain down. Eventually, fall storms helped quench the blazes and brought down the last leaves.
Despite the fire, park visitors still enjoyed the beauty of the changing leaves along Skyline Drive, from overlooks, and walking the trails that remained open.
Given nature’s multiple colors, it’s a good bet everyone left the park with lasting memories and photos to brag about.
Wild Lupine growing along a fire road in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the fifth post in a series celebrating National Park Week.
When you are in a national park, don’t forget to look down. You don’t want to miss the many wildflowers prolific in all but the winter. Even Death Valley is currently having a superbloom. I would love to see that sometime.
In the meantime, spring is the perfect time to look for wildflowers in national parks. I photographed the wild lupines along a fire road in Shenandoah National Park.
Wildflowers bring beauty to the park and attract other beauties, too. When I first visited Shenandoah National Park seven years ago, I was pleasantly surprised at the number and variety of butterflies I found in the park, even in the forests. The colorful blooms also drew bugs, bees, and, of course, Ruby-throated Hummingbirds.
So, when I visit any national park to bird, hike, and photograph birds and wildlife, the wildflowers also are on my agenda. The lovely lupines are the proof.
Little falls upstream form the main event. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the fourth in a series of posts celebrating National Park Week.
It is an understatement to say that people are drawn to waterfalls. Big or small, they are simply mesmerizing.
It’s one thing to see a photo or video of a waterfall, but it’s something else entirely to be standing next to one. The roar and the beauty transfix their observers. Even cascades of water over rock, then a crystal clear pool, then more white water entrances children and adults alike.
Shenandoah National Park officially has 36 named waterfalls. However, numerous others are in the park depending on the water flow. The photo above demonstrates that.
It’s one of many mini-falls above Lewis Falls, near the Big Meadows area. On a chilly November day, I hiked the Lewis Falls Trail in a group, and the many rapids and little falls upstream of the main event impressed us all.
It’s easy to be swayed by the impressive Yosemite Falls or Bridalveil Falls. I love them both. But romantic that I am, I am just as happy crisscrossing rapidly falling streams that form white water all the way to the cliff’s edge.
So, big or small, let’s praise the falling water in our national parks, which brings joy to everyone.
Teens learning about Big Meadows in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the third installment of a series celebrating National Park Week.
I often hike alone. But occasionally, I enjoy sharing my love of nature with others.
The church I attend has a mentor/mentee program for youth. A friend and I each serve as mentors for two teenage boys. Knowing we all enjoy the outdoors, we took them for a day trip to Shenandoah National Park last summer. We had a riot.
These energetic young men enjoyed every aspect of the trip. They loved the hikes and the enthralling views. They also identified birds, flowers, and rocks and occasionally pestered one another. A pair of fawns grazing at the edge of Big Meadows startled us as we walked along the union of the meadow and the forest.
We rested on a rock outcropping overlooking the always lovely Shenandoah Valley. The boys loved scrambling over the ancient rock formation and resting in the warm sunshine, basking in all nature’s glory. Given our generational spans between teens and septuagenarians, I marveled at our common contentment.
But that, in part, is what national parks are for. People of all ages, races, religions, backgrounds, and interests feel at home in our nation’s beautiful national parks.
Our excursion was a perfect example of how to celebrate National Park Week.
The opportunity I had hoped for. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the second in a series celebrating National Park Week.
On the afternoon of May 23, 2018, I decided to finish my day in Shenandoah National Park by hiking the Rock Spring Cabin trail. According to the park map, the trail wasn’t long, and I was curious to see the cabin.
So, off I went, binoculars around my neck and camera across my shoulder. I soon reached the point where the trail joined the Appalachian Trail (AT), and I hiked on. I could hear birds chirping and singing all around me, but the lushness of the forest prevented me from seeing or photographing most of the birds.
As the AT wound west and north around a hillside, the Rock Creek Cabin trail veered left and down a fairly steep slope. I passed the hiker’s shelter, saw the spring gurgling from beneath giant boulders, and hiked back up the incline to the cabin owned by a local hiking club.
My fascination satisfied, I returned to the skinny dirt incline toward the AT. Just before I arrived at the iconic trail, a pair of Common Ravens croaked and chattered noisily overhead. Their deep-throated gurgling echoed through the dense landscape as they bounced from tree branch to tree branch in my direction.
Thinking I was the intruder who initiated the ravens’ commotion, I started down the trail at a slow pace. I didn’t want to disturb the birds any more than I already had.
The strange thing was, though, that they didn’t really seem to pay me any heed. They swooped lower to another tree ahead of me but continued their conversation.
So, I swallowed my ego and began to pay better attention to what was bothering the birds. A short distance down the AT, I discovered their concern. A young but large black bear was foraging on the lush, green forest floor.
I readied my camera and saw my chance. The bear was approaching a small cluster of trees that separated us. So, I quickened my pace to try to photograph this beautiful creature as it emerged from behind the trees.
I stood quietly on the trail for the bear to appear. I didn’t have to wait long. I aimed and clicked the camera just as the bear spotted me. That one simple noise sent the bear racing headlong down the hill and quickly out of sight.
I got one shot and only one shot of the bear. I was as happy as the bear was scared. I had my first photo of a bear in the wild.
That day, I learned an important lesson: Pay attention and use your senses to see all that a national park offers.
Roadkill Crossing 
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