nature photography – Page 19 – Roadkill Crossing

Spring Flowers: Here today, gone tomorrow

A redbud tree at peak bloom at a local arboretum.

Don’t let those lovely calendar images of spring fool you. The gorgeous photos of tulips, daffodils, dogwoods, and any other flowering plant or tree may last all month in the picture hanging on your wall. But you better hurry outside to see them before they rudely disappear.

That’s Spring in a nutshell. It can be as fickle as the weather because the weather, especially in the age of rapid climate change, affects when things bloom and for how long. Throw in a heavy frost or two, and the blossoms’ purposes are lost until next year.

I don’t mean to be sounding doom and gloom. After the long, dark, and in many places, cold and snowy winter, we celebrate Spring’s arrival. But we need to get out and enjoy it while we can. We can easily take the many blooms and fragrances for granted until they are gone.

I’m as guilty of that as anyone. The older I get, the colder I get. Consequently, I avoid being outside too long on blustery, chilly days. I know. My age is showing.

I’ll admit that I’m a fair-weather kind of guy. I need the sun to keep me warm no matter how many layers of clothing I wear. Still, I love taking in the rapidly changing spring scenes. The leaves start to unfurl once the blossoms fade. Depending on the species and the weather, it is not long until the plant or tree leaves are in their fullness. As the leaves mature on some plants and trees, they darken into a rich green.

We are fortunate here in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The first spring blossoms show themselves in the forests in late winter. Witch Hazel blooms can easily be overlooked. The white snowdrop petals are easier to see against the burnished leaf litter.

This year, February and March traded their weather. Varieties of daffodils and crocuses bloomed early and stayed late. As Spring progressed and the weather cooled, they became the exception. Pockets of the Glory of the Snow, Spring Beauties, Bloodroot, and Coltsfoot soon joined them.

The Redbud trees were gorgeous unless back-to-back freezes nipped their pretty pink blossoms. The impatient leaves soon pushed the petals to carpet the ground. Even the maples were in a hurry to begin their chlorophyll duties.

Soon neighborhoods, roadsides, and forests were ablaze with color in April. The azaleas, rhododendrons, Virginia Bluebells, tulips, wild geraniums, and poppies put on a show. The pollinators buzzed high and low.

So, here we are in May. The dogwood blossoms have faded, while their leaves stand ready, awaiting touches of sunshine and rain. They need both.

Together let’s pledge to get out and enjoy whatever is blooming in our neck of the woods. If we wait too long, we’ll only have the calendars to remind us of what we missed.

The fresh leaves on our Rising Sun Redbud.

Never Give Up!

Whenever I go birding, I inevitably discover many other curiosities to photograph. Such is the life of a retired senior citizen.

On my most recent outing, I came upon this wild cherry tree that had been struck by lightning sometime last year. I hated to see the stately tree destroyed since it was one of only a few in this small state park. All kinds of wildlife depended on its flowers and berries for sustenance.

Since the tree is about halfway around the lake, pictured in the background, I usually pause my hiking for a rest here, admiring the beauty of the tree’s bark and splintered wood. This time, however, I noted something fascinating. Tender shoots of new branches were growing from the tree trunk, as seen in the foreground of the determined hardwood.

Such is nature’s way of producing life, where we humans see only demise. There is a lesson to remember here: No matter your situation, never give up.

Spent

The cones of last summer’s Black-eyed Susans stand naked before fluffy cattails.

On a recent birding expedition to a local lake, I spotted these spent heads of last summer’s crop of Black-eyed Susans. The buttery petals had fallen off or been eaten by birds or insects, and several hungry bird species had devoured the nutritious burnished seeds in the center of the wildflowers.

The morning sun kissed the bulbous cones, creating a two-toned effect. It was a fun find.

Earth Day!

Students, parents, and teachers visited a local arboretum.

Every year since 1970, April 22 has been observed as Earth Day. It’s a day to recognize humankind’s responsibility to respect the planet on which we all live.

The marking of this day found 20 million Americans striving for cleaner air, water and conservation of the land and its natural resources. The movement eventually led to the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency and the passage of several U.S. environmental laws.

In 1990, Earth Day went global, with 200 million people in 141 countries coordinating to improve the environment in their various locales. It lifted environmental issues onto the world stage.

So, here we are 53 years later, still striving to care for our precious planet. What plans do you have to commemorate Earth Day?

Floral Hummingbirds

A redbud tree at peak bloom in Harrisonburg, Virginia.

Redbud trees are in full bloom in the Shenandoah Valley and across the entire Appalachian region. The mountain drives are gorgeous right now.

Redbuds are one of the earliest blooming trees, and they grow in all sorts of conditions. They are one of my favorite trees, especially in bloom.

That’s because there is more to their beauty than meets the eye. The unique way the individual blossoms form is the secret. Clumped together, it’s not easy to see. Get up close, and focus carefully. You can see that each separate flower closely resembles a hummingbird.

Not convinced? Perhaps the photo below can help you see the pink little hummingbirds. I hope you have a chance to check out this phenomenon in person.

From My House to Yours…

Quietly Celebrating Another Anniversary

Daffodils at the arboretum. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh.

My wife and I recently celebrated our 52nd anniversary. We did so quietly.

Initially, we considered driving to Washington, D.C., to view the cherry blossoms at their peak. We had never done that, and living only two hours away, we could easily view the iconic flowers and be home before dark. We weighed our options and decided instead to stay close to home, which was my wife’s preference.

That decision paid dividends we didn’t expect. First, we slept in, which is not our routine. We usually awaken at first light. It felt good to start our big day well-rested.

After a quiet, light breakfast, we continued with a habit we started during the pandemic. We played cards and drank our morning decaf coffee. With the temperature hovering slightly above freezing, we were in no hurry to head outside for a few local adventures.

Traffic was light for the 10-minute drive downtown for an early lunch at a favorite restaurant. Since it was a Monday and not yet noon, there was no wait. We enjoyed our meals and the quiet atmosphere. They even had gluten-free bread for my brisket sandwich. It was nice to sit in the serenity of the ordinarily bustling restaurant. Our waitress even took her time bringing the check.

After lunch, we drove to a local arboretum and strolled around the artificial pond. Both buttery yellow and white daffodils colored the forested hillside surrounding the murky pond. Some flowers were already fading, while others were beginning to bud.

The aptly named star magnolias were also losing their luster. We admired some snappy-looking white and orange daffodils and various wildflowers beginning to grace the forest floor.

A young man approached us as we sniffed the blooms. He was the new marketing person for the arboretum, and we enjoyed an extended conversation with him about photography. My constant snapping of the shutter gave me away.

By then, the sun had taken the chill out of the air. That meant one thing: ice cream. We drove to a local ice cream parlor in a neighboring town. A kid’s cup is suitable for us now. My wife was more adventurous and ordered a caramel salted chocolate chunk while I stuck with my tried and true chocolate. We chose a table outside where my wife sat in the shade while I preferred the sun on my back.

On the way home, we stopped at another smaller arboretum at the north end of the small town. The place is more park than a botanical garden. A small, tree-lined stream called Cooks Creek winds lazily through a green space. Cooks Creek Arboretum is sandwiched between a hillside condo complex and a farmer’s still-fallow field stretching up to a big red barn.

Once the flock of pesky common grackles flew off, we heard a barred owl calling softly from inside an owl box fastened to a giant sycamore on the creek’s bank. The harmony of the owl’s twittering and the silvery gurgling of the stream brought a smile to both of us.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

With the return of the noisy grackles, we detoured to Silver Lake to check for migrating waterfowl. A quartet of ring-necked ducks floated and dived, floated and dived on the shallow lake’s surface. The lake’s Civil War-era mill attracts people far and wide.

Shortly after we arrived back home, the doorbell rang. A young woman handed my wife a bouquet from her sister and her husband, who live in Ohio. We appreciated their kind and loving gesture.

We snacked for supper, and after sunset, I drove to a high point in the countryside to take photos of three planets. Venus shown bright in the night sky, but I couldn’t find the conjunction of Saturn and Mars near the horizon. An invisible haze hung over the Allegheny Mountains, obscuring any starry beauty.

When I returned home, another kind of darkness fell. We learned of the horrific mass shooting at the Covenant School in Nashville. The sad news snapped us out of our anniversary bliss into the reality of today’s life in the United States. Our peaceful, quiet, and enjoyable anniversary day with my loving wife ended with a tearful thud.

For Sale: Free-range Grackles!

Just a few of the free-range Common Grackles in my front yard.

I don’t know about you, but the Common Grackles have taken over my birdfeeders and birdbaths. If you are interested, I’d gladly sell you a few or all of them.

Of course, you know I’m kidding. I couldn’t resist since April 1 is better known in the U.S. as April Fools Day. When I was a principal, the students loved to fool me on April 1 with all means of shenanigans. I was always glad when April 1 came on the weekend, like today.

So, April Fools Day! And in case you are interested in the grackles, please contact me a.s.a.p.

A New Life Bird!

*Please click on the photo to view the Red-cockaded Woodpecker. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh.*

I found it on the way home from Florida. Without success, I had looked for the Red-cockaded Woodpecker in South Carolina’s Cheraw State Park. I had also searched extensively for the rare bird in the tall pines of Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge near Folkston, Georgia.

Since we would pass by Cheraw State Park on the return trip to Virginia, I decided to try again. We had the time, and I needed to stretch my legs and aching back. I stopped at the park’s welcome center and spoke with a ranger about where to look for the woodpecker. He gave me precise instructions, and I was where I needed to be in five minutes.

When my wife and I exited the van, we heard woodpeckers chipping, calling, and flitting high in the pines overhead. Were they the ubiquitous Downy Woodpeckers found in every state, or were they my nemesis bird? It turned out they were both.

To protect the Red-cockaded Woodpeckers, scientists mark their cavity trees with rings of whitewash a few feet off the ground. That enables them to keep a close eye on the welfare of the rare birds. Look up, and the entrances to their nests are easy to find. Spotting the elusive woodpecker is a bit harder.

*The nesting tree of a Red-cockaded Woodpecker. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh.*

I was careful to stroll, always alert for any sound or sight of birds foraging. It didn’t take me long. Straight above me, a handful of small woodpeckers moved from limb to limb, pinecone to pinecone, searching for any moving insect protein.

I raised my binoculars and spotted what I was sure was a Red-cockaded Woodpecker. But birding alone is iffy, especially in search of rare birds. I briefly saw the big white patch on the bird’s cheek, a reliable field mark. But I had no one else to verify it was a Red-cockaded. That is protocol in IDing rare birds. My wife is not a birder, so I could not use her observations.

Soon, other small woodpeckers appeared and chased the Red-cockaded back to its nesting tree. Even with binoculars, it was hard to distinguish the Downys from the Red-cockaded. I took a few photos, hoping the rare bird was in one of them.

Still, I submitted my observations to eBird, the preferred app of birders. Of course, it flagged the Red-cockaded and told me what I already knew. My find was a rarity.

It wasn’t until we returned home, unpacked, and settled in that I could finally download my images to my laptop. With that done, I could enlarge the photos and see what I had captured digitally. My heart sank when I spotted not one but three different Downy Woodpeckers feeding in the treetops amid shadows and filtered sunlight.

However, one photo, taken without the zoom lens, clearly showed a large white patch on the bird’s cheek. About then, I got an email from a regional volunteer reviewer for eBird. He politely questioned my sightings and asked me to add details to verify my sighting. I did just that and added the two photos you see here.

That evening, the reviewer replied via email and thanked me for the additional information and photos. He certified that I had indeed seen a Red-cockaded Woodpecker! I was thrilled.

What’s the next rare bird on the list to find? The Ivory-billed Woodpecker, of course! (For you non-birders, that’s a joke. The Ivory-billed has been declared extinct, though a few supposed sightings occasionally pop up. None have produced evidence of an Ivory-billed Woodpecker).

Through My Winter Window

Sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean. Photo by Neva Stambaugh.

I wish you could see the view from my winter window. It’s nearly the total opposite of the one from our home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

Each winter, my wife and I spend a few weeks away from the cold and snow. We’ve done so for a dozen years. We always head to Fernandina Beach, Florida, a small town that anchors Amelia Island, a barrier island northeast of Jacksonville.

The weather is not usually balmy there. After all, Amelia Island is Florida’s northernmost spit of land. Still, it’s not northeast Ohio, where we used to live, nor Harrisonburg, Virginia, where we moved five and a half years ago to be close to our three oldest grandchildren.

So, we pack up the van and head south for brighter, warmer days during winter’s darkest. Of course, when you rent a condo on the Atlantic Ocean, the weather is as fickle as a two-year-old. Sometimes it plays nice, and sometimes it doesn’t. Nevertheless, we take our chances and hope for the best.

So far this year, sunny, warm days have been the rule rather than the exception. We couldn’t be happier.

I often sit at my computer in front of large plate glass windows and attempt to finish my work. By work, I mean doing morning devotions, checking emails, and reading stories online. That’s my routine in Virginia. Only I look at neighboring houses, vehicles, pedestrians, and dog walkers passing by.

But I am easily distracted in Florida. Besides being a writer, I’m also an amateur photographer. I bounce from desk to balcony to capture the menagerie of what I see. A beautiful sunrise over the ocean equals a pleasant start to any day.

Then there are the beach walkers, dog walkers, beachcombers, Navy helicopters from a nearby Naval station, and so much more. I gladly take it all in before my first spoonful of cereal.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

I watch the tide charts as much as I do the beach. I’m not alone. Joggers, runners, bikers, and shell seekers use the flat, wet sand as their personal expressway. I see the same people at about the same time every morning doing their separate things.

The dark, swarthy, tanned skin tones quickly identify the veterans. The pasty-pale pedestrians are asking for sunburns. The younger generations pass their elders rapidly unless they’re trying to steer a dog in the same direction and pace they want. I’ve witnessed many a canine confab between northbound and southbound owners and pets.

People aren’t the only regulars that come into my view. Brown Pelicans play follow-the-leader only inches above the rolling waves. Resident Ospreys sail overhead, hovering high above the gentle waters if they spot a potential meal.

I keep an eye out for dolphins and whales, too. The dolphins regularly feed in the waters a hundred yards offshore. Last year I was fortunate to spot an endangered Right Whale and her newborn calf floating at the surface like logs. The bright morning sun glistened over their dark, blubber-puffed skin.

Pelicans, an assortment of competing gulls, and terns often follow the dolphin’s lead hoping for spoils that manage to escape, if only temporarily. I especially enjoy the antics of the Forster Terns that zoom along and then climb in a glide over a school of fish. The terns divebomb toward the salty sea, hoping to scoop up delicate sushi morsels.

I especially enjoy watching the smaller shorebirds dash to where the water recedes along the soft sand. Willets and tiny Sanderlings drill and peck for small crustaceans deposited by the rhythm of the waves. Somehow the tiny Sanderlings always manage to outrun the encroaching foamy water. Their little legs seem to move 100 miles per hour.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

The ocean itself has been unusually calm so far this winter. Most passing weather fronts that constantly stir up the waters into angry waves have thankfully evaded us.

Still, I love the tender interplay between the sky and the Atlantic. Their colors intermingle, making it difficult to tell one from the other where they meet at the horizon near the Gulf Stream.

Every once in a while, rangers cruise up and down the beach in their off-road four-wheelers. Their primary duties are to clean the shore of any trash or driftwood and to keep an eye on early morning and after-school surfers. They also stop to chat with strangers who quickly become friends. The latter seems to occupy most of the rangers’ time.

Farther out in the deeper water, I use binoculars to watch shrimpers ply their nets 24/7 unless the dense fog obscures them. Occasionally freighters and dredgers sit in the channel that leads to the little port of Fernandina Beach. Their bright white LED lights punctuate the moonless night’s darkness.

I see all this and more through my winter window. I am most grateful I can take it all in before we return too soon to my more mundane vistas.