Cloudy or sunny, our neighbor’s daffodils brighten our day. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
It’s spring! The vernal equinox arrived at 5:01 this morning.
Hopefully, that will put to rest winter’s worst weather. At this time of year, any snowfall won’t last long in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
Of course, nature’s course doesn’t hold to mankind’s arbitrary seasonal demarkations. I have noticed from afar the hint of coloration of the once-dormant trees that populate Mole Hill, a local and revered landmark. The buds of its red maple trees are especially evident.
A walk around our yard and neighborhood reveals other signs of springtime. Deciduous tree buds are swelling, if not opening, ornamental trees bloom, and a lone Hyacinth blooms. Lenten Rose plants are also blooming right on time despite their winter-singed leaves. The grass is greening and growing. I’ll have to ready the lawnmower for action.
Tulip leaves have knifed through the chilly soil. Migratory birds are slowly arriving while the year-round residents begin to stake out their nesting territories.
It’s springtime, and I couldn’t be happier as long as my allergy medicines remain effective.
Yesterday, the western sky was hazy in the late afternoon. After supper, I kept watch and headed to my favorite spots for sunset photography in Rockingham County, Virginia.
Colorful sunsets aren’t always easy to come by here in the Shenandoah Valley. It may look promising early on, but clouds tend to hang over the Allegheny Mountains that mark the state line between Virginia and West Virginia.
Then, just when you want to give up, boom, the pinks and oranges glow, if only briefly. Other times, it’s a complete bust. Nevertheless, I’d rather be patient than miss a stunning sunset.
Last evening, I changed locations several times until the western sky popped with color. I wasn’t in the most desirable spot, but I am not complaining after capturing this muted beauty.
An Amish farmstead near Mt. Hope, Ohio. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I recently visited my old stomping grounds in Holmes County, Ohio, home to the world’s largest Amish population. Remnants of snow still covered part of the ground, contrasting with the barren, fallow fields.
I enjoyed finding a few Amish farms, like the one pictured, remaining amid the rapidly expanding tourist businesses scattered throughout the once pristine countryside.
One of these is not the same as the others. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Our across-the-street neighbors have lovely flower gardens for all who pass by to enjoy. Since their house faces south, the winter sun, when it shines, warms the front yard.
This, in turn, encourages flowers to bloom when the days warm into the 50s and 60s, like they have for the last few days. I went over to photograph the Snow Drops and discovered that a lone Hyacinth had joined dainty white flowers in showing off its lavender beauty.
Barns have always intrigued me. The various sizes, shapes, colors, conditions, purposes, and settings combine to make photogenic captures. Wintertime is no exception.
My front yard birdfeeders are all on or under the red maple tree just outside my office window. That allows me to keep a keen eye on the comings and goings of the birds that frequent the feeders.
The birds really flock to the feeders before and during a snowstorm. The mix of birds includes the ground-feeding White-throated and White-crowned Sparrows and Dark-eyed Juncos. American Goldfinch, Purple Finch, and House Finch dominate the squirrel-proof hanging tube feeders. They also will feed on the ground, savaging for any seeds that drop from the feeders overhead.
If the army of European Starlings arrives, chaos ensues. The desired birds yield to the noisy and aggressive Starlings. That includes the dependable Northern Cardinals, which brighten the scene with their attractive colors. The female’s red-tinged olive feathers keep her camouflaged during nesting time, while her mate stands out in his all-red coat.
As brightly colored as the black-masked male Northern Cardinals are, they are fairly skittish and passive compared to other birds, like the Carolina Wrens and especially the Starlings.
The male Northern Cardinal in the photo waited on a branch above the feeding frenzy, awaiting an opportunity to fuel up undisturbed. That allowed me to capture the brilliant red in the falling snow.
A Say’s Phoebe in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Finding rare birders is always a memorable experience, no matter one’s level of avian expertise. Since I consider myself an average birder, I always appreciate the opportunity to bird with those who are more knowledgeable than me.
That was the case recently when someone discovered a Say’s Phoebe five miles west of my home near Harrisonburg, Virginia. Having a Say’s Phoebe in the Shenandoah Valley was a rare treat, but seeing it in person became my goal since it would be a life bird.
I first learned about the Say’s Phoebe via an email listserv that reports rare bird sightings. I bundled up and headed to the property where the bird was seen. Several birders were already there scouting the bird. Ironically, the phoebe, which should have been in the southwest U.S. or Mexico, was across the road from where I photographed a Snowy Owl a few weeks earlier.
I walked as quietly as possible on the crunching snow and heard words that diminished my enthusiasm. “There it goes,” one of the birders said. It was late afternoon, and the guess was the phoebe was headed for a warmer roast than the steel pole buildings with three open sides.
I got eyewitness reports of the bird and details of its favorite haunts around the produce auction buildings it frequented during the day. The recommendation was to try in the morning when the bird foraged for dead insects.
That is precisely what I did. Only two other birders were present when I arrived. They had not found it yet. Discouraged, one birder headed to her car but soon turned around, waving her arms furiously.
She had spotted the bird sitting on the handle of a hand pump, a favorite spot for the bird. Say’s Phoebes perch lower to the ground to feed than their cousins, Eastern Phoebes. But both species pump their tales and fly to intercept the insects, often returning to the same or near the same perch. Say’s Phoebes have a long, dark tail and a distinctive orange-to-pink buff belly.
The bird flew into one of the open-sided buildings and continued to snatch dead insects stuck in spiderwebs around the ceiling and security lights. The lovely bird posed enough for us to capture several decent photos.
Satisfied, the woman who spotted the bird departed for other birding hot spots. That left two of us to follow the bird around, which we did for an hour. Given the bird’s feeding behavior, we soon learned to stand in a central location and let the bird fly to us. That strategy paid dividends. My birding companion even recorded the phoebe calling.
The Say’s Phoebe searched high and low for food. Winter in Virginia isn’t insect season, and several inches of snow covered the ground, too. No one knew what brought the bird to the valley, but we were grateful for the opportunity to view it.
I had the photos I wanted in an hour, so I headed home to share the good news with other birders by posting it on several Facebook birding pages. I was happy to add another bird to my life list. This exhilarating encounter was another birding experience I won’t forget.
The Say’s Phoebe perched on a wall header. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I got so busy with the holidays that I forgot to post this photo of a Snowy Owl that showed up in mid-November in western Rockingham County, Virginia, five miles from where I live. So, I thought I would let this beautiful bird wish you a Happy New Year!
When I heard about the Snowy Owl, my wife and I headed out, hoping to see it. I wanted to document the rarity with photos, too. A few other birders were already there when we arrived. In a matter of minutes, we were joined by several others, including two different school groups from nearby private elementary schools.
The bird sat on a 55-gallon steel drum near a pasture. Another birder had set up his scope and allowed me to take this photo with my iPhone 14 Pro. Otherwise, I would have had to heavily crop the images I took with my camera. The next day, the bird was gone, not to be relocated.
So, on behalf of the Snowy Owl, I wish you the best in 2025.
This is where the owl was found and what we saw with the naked eye. Can you find the Snowy Owl?
Flowering shrubs, coconut palm trees, and brilliant rainbows were ubiquitous in Hawaii.
Our tour of Hawaii continued as we flew to the Big Island, which the locals call Kona. As our morning flight left Honolulu, I got a shot of Waikiki Beach and Diamond Head. Flying over other smaller islands, I was amazed at how deep blue the ocean was.
We landed at Kona’s small airport, where the luggage claim carousels are outside but covered with square thatch-like material to resemble native huts. Our small group boarded the bus for Kailu-Kona, where we had lunch. Our guide gave us a heads-up to sit at the bar where the prices were lower and the food just as good. We followed her wise advice and enjoyed our fish tacos.
Waikiki Beach (left) and Diamond Head (right).
One of the islands we overflew.
The fish tocos.
Where the locals swim.
A downtown city park.
We strolled around the oceanside town, window-shopping and enjoying the balmy breezes. Still, the sun was hot, so we refreshed ourselves with a cup of tasty shaved ice before boarding the bus again.
Since Kona has six volcanoes, traveling is either up, down, or around the island. We did all three on our ride to a historic coffee farm, now run by the Kona Historical Society, a non-profit organization. The farm is the only living history coffee farm in the country.
Along the path to the old farmhouse, bright red coffee cherries bent the bows of coffee bushes. Most were nearly ripe for picking. Tropical songbirds flitted from tree to tree, but there was no time to investigate them. A staff member from the historical society greeted us and gave us an overview of our visit.
As we neared the old, original farmhouse, an elderly Japanese woman appeared. Tradition calls for visitors to present a gift to the head of the residence. The docent, of course, had one and presented it to our host, Paula, who graciously accepted it.
Paula had a precious and moving story about her life on the farm. When she was four, her parents apprenticed her to the farm, where she mainly assisted in homemaking activities and worked in the garden.
Paula explained the traditions and daily routines the family went through to keep the farm operating. Her personal stories of a child doing an adult’s work moved us all.
Japanese came to this part of Hawaii in the 1920s, when the farm was established. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the Japanese were rounded up and placed in detention camps. However, Japanese farmers were not. Consequently, the coffee farms were deemed essential and continued to operate.
The farm was exquisitely maintained, just as when Paula helped on it. All the buildings were original to the farm, and each operation was explained. Having been to Honduras several times, I had seen the entire process of small coop coffee farms. I even helped pick the coffee cherries. The Japanese methods of growing, harvesting, and processing the cherries and the beans they contained were remarkably similar to what I had experienced.
We dressed up.Local lore in song.Local lore in dance.The worriers.The finale.
An exception was the way the beans were dried. In Honduras, beans are often placed on concrete pads or tarps and dried in the sun. The shed where the beans were dried at this historical farm had a slanting roof to prevent the tropical rains from spoiling the crop.
Our group was impressed with Paula and the simple but efficient way of producing the rich Kona coffee. It was a great introduction to the Big Island.
Our day ended with a traditional evening luau with roasted pig, poi, poke, rice, and fresh vegetables and fruits. Lots of singing and acting out historic events followed with dancers and native warriors. Of course, a light rain briefly drizzled us, which is customary and unavoidable.
A gentle rain began to fall, but in such a setting, it didn’t matter. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Roadkill Crossing 
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