rural life – Page 8 – Roadkill Crossing

The Male Ego vs. Common Sense

The yard I foolishly mowed. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I sat beneath a spreading canopy of an ornamental tree at my favorite cafe, waiting for my celebratory lunch. It was my reward for a spontaneous decision I wished I hadn’t made.

Early in the late August morning coolness, I had already walked my usual mile in our suburban neighborhood. The humidity neutralized the refreshing temperature.

The forecast showed heavy rain off and on for the next three days. As I walked, I weighed my options. Should I mow our yard or not? The grass was already high, and the rain would only allow it to grow thicker and higher.

Our granddaughter, who usually mows for us, was in school. Plus, I needed more time to request the on-call lawn service, so I was the only option. The truth is that I loved to mow the yard. I enjoy the exercise and the challenge of mowing the grass in different directions each time, creating various patterns in the yard.

Back home, I confidently announced my decision to my wife.

“Are you sure?” she wisely asked with clear doubt and a contorted look. She knew the consequences that I ignored.

I gassed up the mower and charged onto the lawn as my wife left for the morning. It was 68 degrees Fahrenheit when I started and 86 degrees when I finished.

The first 20 minutes went well. I made several passes around the perimeter of our third of an acre and got halfway through the front yard when the reality of why others mow our lawn kicked in.

I’m allergic to grass. Despite my nose running like a baby’s, I followed my male ego’s insistence. I soldiered on as best I could while my wife’s question rattled in my numbed brain. Soon, however, the physical reactions forced this stubborn septuagenarian to take an extra-long break. I needed to rest and hydrate. Plus, I used half a box of facial tissues.

Nevertheless, I pressed on as the temperature spiked and the humidity intensified. With the front yard finished, I retreated to the garage’s shelter to repeat my previous routine: sit, drink, towel away the sweat, and repeatedly blow my nose.

In short, I was miserable and exhausted but still determined to finish the job. My stubborn male ego spurred my misguided desire to do so. Fortunately, with a few more rounds, I completed the mowing. I took another break before cleaning up the mower and blowing off the driveway, sidewalk, and patio. What should have taken an hour turned into two.

I was ecstatic to be finished despite my stupidity. I cleaned up and basked in the comfort of air conditioning.

As the late morning transitioned into the afternoon, I headed to the downtown cafe I loved. I treated myself to my favorite lunchtime dish: a gluten-free waffle with fresh fruit and sweet tea in the dappled shade of that cityscape tree. The delicious food vindicated my miserable morning. At least, that’s what I rationalized.

My celebratory lunch. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I spent the afternoon relaxing in a lounge chair in the shade of the back porch. I promptly fell asleep despite the heat, which now had reached 96 degrees. An hour later, I awoke to a new reality. Despite the ongoing drought, the National Weather Service posted a flood watch for northern Virginia. Hopefully, rain was on the way.

The hazy, clear blue sky filled with high cirrus clouds. Soon, a brisk wind sailed lower, more menacing cumulous clouds overhead.

A blessed, gentle rain began by early evening but quickly became a downpour. Lightning flashed in every direction, with some strikes too close for comfort. Ear-splitting booms instantly followed bright bolts.

The evening cooled once the storm front passed, and I settled in for a good night’s sleep, exhausted but happy for the rain and the manicured yard. I confessed my evident male ego stubbornness to my compassionate wife, laughed at my foolishness, and fell into a contented, deep sleep.

In his iconic 1909 craft book “Write It Right,” Ambrose Bierce stated that “good writing” is “clear thinking made visible.” My actions proved that muddled reasoning is just as evident.

Hiding in Plain Sight

A female Ruby-throated Hummingbird. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We had a lovely and much-needed inch of rain yesterday and overnight. Much of the lawn greened up right away.

This morning, I was fortunate to catch this female Ruby-throated Hummingbird resting on a shepherd’s hook. The hook holds the hummingbird feeder below the ant mote at the center bottom of the photo.

As I cropped the photo, I realized all the various greens helped hide the little hummingbird. It was like the bird was hiding in plain sight. That’s the way nature works!

Under Summer Skies

A summer evening clouds over Massanutten Mountain, Harrisonburg, Virginia.
Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

It’s been a long, hot, dry summer in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Even after Tropical Storm Debby dropped over five inches of rain, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration kept the valley in the extreme drought category.

Each summer has become hotter and dryer in the seven years we have lived in Virginia. This summer has been the worst. We haven’t mowed our yard for nine weeks. Brown is the new green.

Watering our plants, shrubs, and trees became a daily necessity as the dry days morphed into drier weeks. The trees we planted when we moved look particularly dire.

Our regular morning walks happened just around sunrise when the temperature was tolerable, or they didn’t happen at all. During those early morning strolls, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty above me. Each day, the sky provided an ever-changing array of patterns and colors, heat or no heat.

Morning mackerel clouds.
Cirrus clouds.
Cumulus clouds.
Crepuscular rays.
Clouds at sunrise.

The sky is easy to take for granted. Too often, we focus on our personal or professional busyness and fail to notice what’s overhead. Our frequent walks helped me appreciate the sky, cloudy or clear, more and more. The heat and humidity often created hazy, overcast days, but even cloudy days brought no rain except for a few teasing five-minute showers.

Then there were the days when white, puffy cumulus clouds floated across the pale blue sky like towering cotton sculptures. They took my mind off the extreme temperatures that brought heat advisories and extreme heat warnings.

I didn’t have to leave my house to enjoy the remarkable sky. A peek out the windows sufficed. I even found the overcast days bearable. Occasional breaks in the clouds brought momentary flashes of bright sunshine.

A five-minute shower. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

At sunsets, crepuscular rays streamed down from the heavens. My late father would tell his children that the sun was drawing water. I now smirk at the unfounded folklore but not at my gregarious father.

Living in one of the top agricultural areas in Virginia, I felt for the farmers. They labored under both the heat and the anxiety of no rain. In their prayers for moisture, I wondered if the farmers saw the beauty above them as they chopped fields of corn for silage to feed their livestock. Stressed by the drought, the stunted cornstalks curled, their floppy leaves singed brown, and many bore no ears at all.

Field corn struggled to grow in the drought. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The farmers who lived along the valley’s many streams and rivers irrigated their crops before the waterways dried up. Then, along came Debby with her drenching rains and ensuing flood warnings. A day later, the streams’ water levels diminished rapidly, and they returned to being braided again, their tumbled-smoothed rocks sending what water remained every which way.

Because of the summer’s heat, we kept our vehicular trips to a minimum. But when we were out, I admired the sky’s variety of moodiness. From clear to cloudy, partly cloudy to mostly cloudy, the heavens revealed all their emotions and, except for Debby, kept the rain for other geographic regions.

From dawn to dusk, nature’s color palette was on full display despite the persistent heat. To view the artistry, we just needed to look up.

Scalloped clouds at sunrise. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Holes in the Clouds

Altocumulus Clouds. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

On our morning walk, my wife and I spotted an unusual cloud formation, as seen in the photo above. We first noticed the large hole in the formation of altocumulus clouds. Then, my wife spotted a second one while I focused on the knife blade-looking break to the right of the holes.

Airliners caused all three of these anomalies. You can see the remnants of the contrails left by the speeding planes. Notice how they are spread out in the mid-level atmosphere where altocumulus clouds form. These jets simply punched holes in these vertically climbing clouds. The instability aloft caused the holes and contrails to widen.

The National Weather Service said this about altocumulus clouds: “Altocumulus clouds with some vertical extent may denote the presence of elevated instability, especially in the morning, which could become boundary-layer based and be released into deep convection during the afternoon or evening.”

We are still waiting for the deep convection to produce some much-needed rain here in Virginia.

A Morning Well Spent

Like this Tiger Swallowtail, butterflies are drawn to Turk’s Cap lilies. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I visit Shenandoah National Park whenever I can. Being retired has its advantages. I usually go to the park with a purpose in mind.

Recently, I drove the 45 miles from my home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to the Big Meadows area of the popular national park for several reasons. I like to capture butterflies on the impressive Turk’s Cap lilies. Secondly, the temperature in the Blue Ridge Mountains, where the park is located, is usually cooler than the oppressive heat the valley has experienced lately.

July is when the impressive summer flowers are in full bloom. Butterflies, bees, and other flying insects can’t resist their lure, and alert humans can’t miss the spotted, bright reddish-orange blossoms either.

These photos were all taken along Skyline Drive south of Big Meadows.

It didn’t take me long to spot a few butterflies flitting around. I usually find a group of flowers and wait for the butterflies to arrive. There was a problem with being a stationary human, however. I forgot to take my bug spray along, and between the gnats and the mosquitoes, I spent as much time swatting as I did taking photos. It was a minor sacrifice just to observe nature’s glorious beauty.

At Big Meadows, a ranger guided a small group of tourists on a nature walk. I moved around the sweeping, prairie-type basin. Due to the ongoing severe drought that Virginia is experiencing, the usual array of wildflowers is not as abundant as in previous years. However, as did the Monarchs and other butterflies, I found a few bright Orange Butterfly Weeds and the aromatic Common Milkweed blooming.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

I was also impressed with the thousands of honey bees and bumblebees that buzzed and hummed around the area. The Sweet White Clover got most of their attention.

Of course, I can’t go to Shenandoah National Park without taking my binoculars. Songbirds were everywhere, but the dense foliage of the trees made them hard to spot. Did I mention that mosquitoes and gnats were ubiquitous?

By noontime, the heat and humidity sent me back into the valley to the comfort of my air-conditioned home. Still, I felt mentally refreshed and renewed, ready for the rest of the day.

A Great Spangled Fritillary basked in the morning sunlight on a Rattlesnake Fern.

Can You Eat Upside Down? Birds Can!

A female American Goldfinch plucks a seed from a sunflower head. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Can you eat upside down? American Goldfinches sure can!

In the summertime, the acrobatic little birds put on a show around sunflowers. Often, they hint at their arrival at a sunflower patch with a distinctive, cheery call. Soon, they land atop a flower and begin their feeding.

The lively and colorful birds use their short, sharp beaks to pry the juicy new seeds from the flower head. Their sturdy pinkish bill effortlessly cracks open the seed, and the birds devour their reward.

The American Goldfinches seem able to eat in any position: upside down, sideways, or at any angle. Since the laden flower heads bend toward the ground as their seeds mature, the birds have no choice but to attack their target in any way they can. The birds gain needed nutrition and moisture from the fresh seeds.

The male looks regal in its summer mating plumage of bright yellow with jet-black wings, tail, and forehead. A white wing-bar adorns each wing. The female is duller in color year-round. She is feathered more for camouflage than fashion. Her pale yellow-green is much duller to help blend in with the greenery she inhabits. The female’s coloration helps conceal the eggs during incubation and the young when they hatch.

In the winter, both sexes turn dull to protect themselves by blending in with their weedy surroundings. Black oil sunflower seeds draw them to feeders, though the pulp center has to be much drier than the fresh-off-the-flower summer offerings.

Of course, goldfinches aren’t the only species with this feeding trait. Nevertheless, it’s a joy to watch their antics in any season.

Birds aren’t the only animals that prefer fresh sunflower seeds. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Embracing Morning’s First Light

Thistle blossoms ready to flower. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

When I awoke, I noticed the ripples of the morning’s mackerel clouds glowed pink. I headed for a location with an open view to the east. Arriving a few minutes later, the colors had dimmed but were still lovely.

I hustled to a high point on a paved trail that separates a golf course and an overgrown field. I snapped several shots of the sunrise but quickly became distracted by all the bird calls.

When I turned to find the Indigo Bunting, this stand of ready-to-bloom thistles caught my focus. I was struck by the faint kiss of the day’s sunrise on the thistle’s buds. The embrace was subtle but evident nonetheless.

I never did find the Indigo Bunting, however.

My initial view of the morning’s beauty. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The Sweat Bee

A Sweat Bee on a sunflower. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The volunteer sunflowers in our backyard appear to be at their peak bloom. In the photo of the prettiest one, I spotted a Sweat Bee on one of the flower’s pedals. I decided to feature the sole insect on the lovely blossoms.

According to Kenn Kaufman in Field Guide to Insects of North America, more than 500 species of the tiny bee inhabit the North American continent north of Mexico. It’s a female-dominated society, too. The daughters help their mothers maintain their expanding nests in the soil. Males aren’t born until later in the summer, so my subject is likely a female.

Evolution of Sunflower Blossoms

The gang of volunteer sunflowers. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

What better way to celebrate the Summer Solstice than to feature sunflowers?

We were fortunate to have volunteer sunflowers sprout up in our backyard flower garden this year. Seeds dropped by birds or buried by squirrels from one of my birdfeeders created these wonders.

At first, the gang of neighborhood rabbits nibbled the tender leaves. But apparently, there were so many sunflower shoots that the bunnies couldn’t keep up. Consequently, for the first time in the seven years we have lived in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, we have a helter-skelter stand of sunflowers.

I have enjoyed watching them grow so quickly in the string of warm days and nights we have experienced. As the flowerheads began to form, their various shapes, textures, and swirling patterns intrigued me. At the corner of our back porch, pure art in nature flourishes.

Ants, bees, butterflies, flies, wasps, and other insects depend on sunflowers for nourishment. See how many different creatures you can spot in this series of photos.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

How long will it be before the American Goldfinches and other seed-eating birds begin to dismantle these living sculptures in the quest for fresh, tasty seeds?

Reality vs. Fantasy

Sometimes, reality is stranger than fantasy. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

When I happened upon this tender scene, I did a double-take.

My wife and I had joined an entourage from church for a Sunday afternoon of baptisms for three teens in the chilly mountain stream. After the dunkings and the celebratory congratulations shared, I wandered away from the rest of the revelers to see what I could find.

Scores of Pipevine Butterflies and Tiger Swallowtail Butterflies flitted through the woods. They danced carefree from rays of broken sunlight to dense shade, oblivious to the human invaders.

I certainly didn’t expect to find a cat casually nursing three young ones in the forest. And I especially didn’t expect to find a stuffed cat and her young stuffed kittens. But that is exactly what I discovered.

Some children not connected with our group were splashing in the nearby stream. Perhaps one of them thought this wild cherry tree along the banks of the Dry River at the base of Shenandoah Mountain was a lovely and safe haven while romping in the water.

I’ll never know for sure, but this composition of fantasy playthings among nature’s real and evolving habitat was too good not to share.