Technology is always around us. Computers, laptops, tablets, smartphones, AirPods, hearing aids, and the list goes on and on. It can be dizzying at times, and I didn’t even mention AI.
Recently, while walking in the neighborhood, I encountered my first robotic lawnmower. To be honest, I didn’t even know remote-controlled lawnmowers existed. That probably says more about my naiviete than it does about technology.
When I arrived home, I encountered yet another robotic piece of equipment. A local landscaping business was replacing some older shrubbery for the neighbor across the street.
A robotic excavator. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
One of the workers arrived with a machine he unloaded with a remote control device. He guided it to the backyard, where I assume it did quick work of whatever shrub needed to be extracted.
Soon the man and his machine returned to the trailer, onto which the robotic excavator was quickly loaded. The worker did his job without even breaking a sweat.
I suppose that’s the same reason expressed in the use of the robot mower.
As for me and my house, we’ll keep paying our granddaughter to cut our yard.
Nearly 80 years of living have taught me how valuable strong, wholesome relationships are. As a youngster, I learned that family comes first, followed by close friends.
Growing up in a neighborhood of baby boomers taught me the importance of having caring, trustworthy pals. The importance of proper socialization stuck with me.
I’ve tried to carry those lessons throughout my life and into retirement. Healthy bonding relationships create a twofold effect for me. I feel better physically and emotionally.
As we age, we need nurturing relationships that sometimes require a certain vulnerability. It’s important to be open to every opportunity to connect and reconnect. That can happen through planned meetings or a spontaneous encounter at a restaurant, or even on vacation.
For me, it means incorporating my gifts and abilities with those of others. I enjoy writing, so I facilitate a monthly Zoom writing group with creatives in their 70s, 80s, and 90s. We each read a piece, and the listeners offer supportive comments and share ideas for improvement, or even suggest taking the story in a different direction. We also laugh a lot, and sometimes cry.
Surrounding yourself with like-minded people, especially as you age, is critical for retirees. An occasional nature walk in a local arboretum with folks who share my interests keeps me refreshed and uplifted.
A Tiger Swallowtail butterfly along a hiking trail. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Even as older folks, using our five senses lets us keep learning and growing. I try to listen more than talk. I enjoy hearing others’ stories and how they handled situations similar to what I’ve experienced.
I belong to a local birding club that holds regular outings. I attend as often as I can, not only to find migrating birds, but also to learn techniques for properly identifying bird species. Fall warblers, dressed in their drab colors, are difficult for me to identify. My birding friends eagerly show me how to tell a fall Cape May Warbler from a Bay-breasted one.
My wife and I belong to three different small groups, two of which meet monthly and always with food. We take turns hosting, and everyone contributes to the modest feast. One group is intergenerational, with ages ranging from infants to grandparents.
Two of the three groups are both comprised of seniors. It’s easy to share our latest aches and pains as we age, but once the simple meal is finished, we get down to business by answering a pre-assigned prompt individually. We discuss current events, memories from our formative years, and issues we need advice on. Serious or playful, the conversations are rewarding.
At a church retreat. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Hearing others’ experiences and perspectives broadens my thinking. It helps me better understand a point of view different from my own. That enhances and nurtures my life.
During the COVID-19 restrictions, we Zoomed every other week with my wife’s sister and four cousins, who were like brothers and sisters growing up. We enjoyed the camaraderie so much that we’ve continued monthly Zooms, since we live in different states.
My wife also Zooms monthly with college friends, all of whom graduated in the early 1970s and are scattered across the country. Those strong connections have led to in-person gatherings and even vacations together.
My wife and I spent a few days in Maine last summer with one of those lifelong college friends. The sound of ocean waves crashing lulled us to sleep while the pastel light of the rising sun awakened us at 4:30 a.m. We walked along the shore at low tide and ate fresh lobster on the dock in a quaint cove.
Weeks later, we visited the same friend in Baltimore, Maryland. She was a perfect host. On the hottest day of September, we toured a massive second-hand store and then a railroad museum. In the evening, we attended a baseball game at Camden Yards. We enjoyed our time together despite my Cleveland Guardians’ loss.
My wife of 55 years has many useful and creative gifts, but the greatest is hospitality. She loves hosting friends, family, and new neighbors for meals and fellowship. A young couple moved next door from New Mexico. Of course, my wife invited them for dinner, and they stayed for four hours. The conversation freely flowed, and they soon returned the favor.
Friends occasionally visit us from other states, especially from our home state of Ohio. They are enchanted by Virginia’s bucolic Shenandoah Valley, where we moved nearly a decade ago to be close to our daughter and her family.
We enjoy escorting visitors around our small city and the surrounding agricultural countryside. Shenandoah National Park borders our county to the east, and each visitor finds the park as remarkable and awe-inspiring as I do.
On one recent visit by Ohio friends, we met another couple who helped us locate and identify tiny but beautiful flowers we would have missed. The pesky gnats and cloud-enshrouded mountains couldn’t diminish our pleasant adventures.
The same results occur when we visit our son, his wife, and their young son in upstate New York, or when we return to our beloved Holmes County, Ohio, where we lived among the Amish for nearly four decades.
We moved to Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to be close to our daughter and her family. Those 10 years have flown by as we watched our grandchildren grow and mature. We followed them from T-ball to college baseball, attended piano recitals, band concerts, high school musicals, and volleyball games.
Packing bags of food for children. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We find great comfort and connection with others as we not only worship, but also participate in activities that involve community members. My wife volunteers at a thrift store once a week, and we both help pack and distribute food for food-insecure families at a local elementary school.
Of course, life challenges us physically as we age, so we exercise regularly and are mindful about what we eat and how much we eat. We make regular checkups with doctors and appointments with physical therapists as needed.
At our age, hardships occur too often for friends and family. Empathy and compassion help soothe the emotional pain we encounter.
Traveling has been an eye-opener for us, and we wish we had done more when we were younger. But we can only move forward in life and enjoy and learn from the trips we do take, whether by car, plane, or cruise.
My wife and I feel most grateful for our families and the many friends we have. Their love and support shower us with kindness and appreciation, whether they live next door or in another state or country.
Relationships flourish when we nurture them with compassion and openness. Their unconditional inclusion keeps us engaged and going.
In all of this, if I have learned anything in life, it’s that we are all one human family. Even amid differences, accepting others doesn’t mean agreeing with them. Instead, heartfelt connections count.
At this age, that’s exactly how I desire my life experiences and human interactions to add up.
A faint rainbow at sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The weather forecast didn’t call for it, but last night the westernmost edge of the significant nor’easter covered Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley just before sunset.
My wife and I were watching Major League Baseball when I noticed an eerie orangeish color in the northern sky. I rushed outside and spotted a faint rainbow in front of thick clouds in the eastern sky.
I grabbed my camera and headed to a farm with a clearer view to the west. The sun had already set behind the Allegheny Mountains, illuminating a few rogue clouds.
Finally, a vanity license plate I could understand.
So many times, I spot vanity plates that stretch my imagination and creativity to their limits. Try as I might, I can’t logically assemble the mix of letters and numbers to mean anything obvious.
For this car, seen in a parking lot in Shenandoah National Park, the meaning was clear as…well, green. And what a sparkling clean verdant color it was.
Here’s the full view of this “GRRREEN” car. My only question is: Was its owner promoting this flashy automobile’s screaming color, supporting ecology, or was it just naivete?
The fog rolled in at Big Meadows in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Our Ohio friends wanted to visit Shenandoah National Park. The weather was less than cooperative. We ventured out anyway.
On our way to the park, a deck of low clouds obscured our view of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where Shenandoah National Park is located. We pressed on. The dismal weather couldn’t deter our friends from wanting to experience this national gem for the first time.
Once in the park, clouds rolled across the mountain landscape, obscuring most of the views of Shenandoah Valley from the several overlooks along Skyline Drive. Occasional rain dotted the windshield as we climbed higher.
Since our friends enjoy camping, I pulled into the historic Lewis Mountain Campgrounds. During segregation, this was the only area that allowed Blacks to be in the park. Today, it has maintained its rustic look with a camp store, several woodsided cabins, and campsites for tents and campers alike.
Mountain Mint at Milum Gap along Skyline Drive. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
We stopped at Milum Gap, where the Millprong Trail connects with the Appalachian Trail a stone’s throw from the Skyline Drive. Honeybees and bumblebees buzzed at the late-blooming mountain mint blossoms.
We soon arrived at Big Meadows, and just as we exited the vehicle, clouds skirted across the landscape like a chilling phantom. We walked around anyhow.
However, the rain drove us back to the SUV, and we explored the expansive Big Meadows campground with many campsites, shower facilities, and a camp store. Our friends were impressed.
A fern circle in Big Meadows. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
As we returned to the sweeping, prairie-like bowl of Big Meadows, the rain turned to a light mist. So, we chose a path and began to explore. Every time I see Big Meadows, I am always impressed with its expansiveness and the array of colors, even without bright sunshine.
In fact, the low, silvery cloud cover seemed to enhance the plants and flowers we encountered. The simple beauty beckoned us in, and we obliged.
We had only taken a few steps on an established path when we spotted several Spotted Lanternflies clinging to the season’s second-growth Common Milkweed plants and other plant stems. Quick as they are, we still killed a couple of dozen of the invasive species that destroy woody plants and trees.
One of the Spotted Lanternflies we killed.A Spotted Lanternfly on Common Milkweed.
Still, we marveled at the russets, browns, and various greens of September. We admired many blooms and snapped photos to identify them later.
On another path across the way, we noticed another couple. The man was bent over, photographing something low to the ground. His partner stood behind, scanning the area with binoculars.
At first, I thought she was looking at birds. But the unseasonably cool, damp weather even kept the birds sheltered and quiet.
Curious, we approached the couple, who were more than happy to share their finds with us. The man pointed out the ginseng blossoms we saw him photographing.
Using her binoculars, the woman excitedly exclaimed that she had spotted one of 60 of Virginia’s native orchids. We walked several yards together before we arrived at the lone, spiky bloom of the Ladies Tresses.
Soon, a Meadow Variegated butterfly landed nearby. I had never seen one before. It posed nicely for a photo.
Then the amateur botanists sighted what they called a “butter-and-eggs” flower. This time we walked even farther and came upon a small area where the yellow and orange flowers flourished. Its official name is Yellow Toadflax, but it’s also called wild snapdragon. I learned later that it is a highly invasive plant.
I found some rosehips along the path back to our vehicle. It looked like Christmas, with their rosy red berries contrasting with the plant’s shiny green leaves. Spiky Burnet flowers grew nearby.
Stands of Goldenrod dominated open areas beyond Big Meadows, and especially along the road. Yet, we saw few in the high-elevation grassland of Big Meadows.
After basking in Big Meadows’ offerings, we headed north on Skyline Drive, hoping to find openings in the clouds at overlooks. We found a few and enjoyed the views before the clouds rolled back in. We took a short hike at Franklin Cliffs, and I found a Pearl Crescent butterfly resting on a blueberry bush.
Sadly, we also found the park trails sorely lacking maintenance, mostly because of the major staff and funding cuts implemented last year. Weeds and tree limbs, normally trimmed before the federal funding cuts, overhung the trails.
Despite the wet weather and chilly temperatures, our friends enjoyed their introduction to Shenandoah National Park. They assured us that they would be back.
We look forward to seeing them again, especially in that natural setting.
Our friends in Big Meadows. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The autumnal equinox arrives at 8:05 p.m. EDT. This means the sun will set due west this evening. In the U.S., tomorrow begins the first full day of fall.
Many people believe that the equinox brings an even amount of daylight and darkness, but that is a myth. This year, that occurs on Saturday, September 26, and is called equilux. The word is drawn from Latin equi (equal) and lux (light).
As hot as it was early on, summer has flown by. Welcome autumn.
The sun sets due west on the autumnal equinox. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The backside of a severe thunderstorm. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
After last evening’s storm passed, I stepped out the back door to check my rain gauge when this amazing scene stopped me in my tracks.
We had yet another storm, but it clearly had intensified as it approached the Blue Ridge Mountains and Shenandoah National Park, which serve as the eastern boundary of Rockingham County, Virginia, where we live.
The view of the mammatus clouds from my driveway. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The setting sun dramatically illuminated the eastward-moving thunderstorm. The pouch-like clouds are mammatus clouds, formed when colder air aloft sinks into warmer air below.
Mammatus clouds almost always occur either at the lead of a severe thunderstorm or at the rear of the anvil-shaped thunderstorm crown. For meteorologists and those who appreciate and study clouds, spotting mammatus clouds is a rarity.
Since such clouds don’t last long, I wanted a view with a better line of sight. So, I headed to nearby Heritage Oaks Golf Course, behind an elementary school, which gave me an unobstructed view of the fast-moving storm.
As you can see, the turbulent clouds had already changed in the five minutes it took me to arrive at the golf course. Plus, the sun had set behind the Allegheny Mountains 30 miles to the west, changing the intensity and direction of its rays. Consequently, the colors of the clouds mellowed to more orange than white and yellow.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
Still, I was ecstatic to capture these shots, so much so that I never did check the rain gauge.
A puffy white cloud August day. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
When I rose for my morning walk around the neighborhood, it was 47 degrees outside. On August 25!
As I walked in the early morning coolness, I thought more about how this August had been so different in the eastern U.S. The eighth month of 2026 here in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley has been anything but normal weatherwise.
August behaved normally the first nine years of living here after moving from Ohio’s Amish country. Year after year, August’s sun beat down, and the humidity overwhelmed you.
Usually, large cracks in the hardened, red soil zigzagged like spider webs. The parched grass crunched beneath your feet, devoid of any moisture for days, even weeks on end. Not this year.
Our burned-out backyard in 2020. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Apparently, August masqueraded as April. A few spring flowers bloomed again. With storm after storm, some locales measured inches of rain. A few areas even experienced tornadoes, a rarity in Virginia, with property damage and power outages. Fortunately, no injuries or deaths were reported.
Even then, the area remains abnormally dry, according to the U.S. Drought Monitor. That’s how dry the early weeks of summer were.
Though we didn’t realize it at the time, summer’s dog days fell in June and July. Haze filled the bucolic valley, significantly obscuring the view of the mountains to the east and west.
Strong winds in a severe thunderstorm damaged our Red Maple tree. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
With August’s arrival, puffy white clouds sailed through deep blue August days. When school began again, students donned jackets while waiting for the school bus. They still wore shorts, however.
Instead of parched yards, lawns grew and grew, sometimes requiring mowing twice a week. It was a cash cow for high schoolers mowing lawns.
Unfortunately, the states to the south and west, clear to the Pacific Ocean, blazed and baked under record-high temperatures, extreme heat warnings, and massive wildfires. High winds spread small fires into thousand-acre conflagrations in minutes.
It wasn’t just the U.S. either. Europe and Canada shared in the record heat, dryness, and wildfires. Homes were destroyed, and firefighters were hard-pressed to contain the raging wildfires. The fires spread so rapidly around Las Vegas, Nevada, that residents escaped with only the clothes they wore. Passengers on European river cruises were inconvenienced by having to deboard for buses because the water was so low.
August’s weather has been a double-edged sword. Upper-level winds carried wildfire debris far from the fires’ origins, resulting in air quality issues for millions of folks. That also created glowing, golden sunrises and sunsets as a trade-off for the undesirable smoky smells.
A hazy sunset over the Allegheny Mountains. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
At the same time, people appreciated the coolness, especially in the morning. Those on their daybreak exercise in my neighborhood have been wearing jackets and sweatshirts instead of T-shirts.
Of course, the regularities of August are still with us no matter the weather. Crickets and katydids lull us to sleep. Monarch, Tiger Swallowtail, Spangled and Variegated Fritillaries, and Pipevine butterflies flit from flower to flower, occasionally stopping for a photo op.
The avian fall migration has begun in earnest. I’ve successfully chased Swallow-tailed Kites and Mississippi Kites, both species far north of their normal range. Warblers and other songbirds have joined them in their quest for appropriate food absent in northern climes in the colder fallow seasons.
Conversely, folks in the southwestern U.S. have been baked in consecutive 100-degree-plus days, weeks in some places. Those are abnormal temperatures for August, even for those areas.
Clearly, geographic location has played a major role in the weather one has experienced this August. That’s the way weather rolls.
Despite the storm-damaged maple tree in my front yard, I’m very thankful we were in the cooler zone of August’s many vagaries.
The bucolic Shenandoah Valley. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I went out in search of some rare birds for the Shenandoah Valley: Mississippi Kites. Unfortunately, a storm front quickly moved across the Appalachian Mountains and into the valley.
Fortunately, as the storm clouds built, they were north of me a few miles. Unfortunately, that’s where the birds had been sighted. The sun beat upon my back as I trudged through the farm field for a better view of the small valley below me.
With the Kites nowhere in sight, I turned my attention to the cumulonimbus clouds moving rapidly northeast. The late afternoon sun brightly illuminated them. Shortly after taking this photo, the National Weather Service issued a Severe Thunderstorm Warning for those in the path of the storm.
That’s the way of bird watching. You go in search of one thing, and end up photographing something entirely different, but equally inspiring.
When the Swamp Milkweed plants bloom, I regularly check the blossoms for Monarch Butterflies. On this day, I found Green June Beetles instead.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Green June Beetles emerge to mate in late July and August. This one was feasting on the nectar of the lovely mauve flowers of the Swamp Milkweed.
The chunky one-inch-long beetles of the southeastern U.S. are commonly seen flying low to the ground in yards in mid to late summer.
My only question is: if they hatch in late July, why are they called Green June Beetles?
A Green June Beetle on Swamp Milkweed blossoms. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
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