Shenandoah Valley – Page 12 – Roadkill Crossing

Now I Understand Why Seniors Guard Their Daily Schedules so Closely

Day hiking the Appalachian Trail in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I always needed a clarification. I was the marketing coordinator for a continuous care facility 10 miles from home.

Part of my responsibilities included writing a quarterly newsletter that featured people from every aspect of the campus. I interviewed residents in the nursing home, assisted living, independent living, and even employees.

Most residents welcomed me into their living space, gladly answered my questions, and allowed me to photograph them, often with a piece of quilting or carving they had done. It was the reaction of other residents that threw me off. Some declined when I asked them to be interviewed for the newsletter, while others said they were too busy.

I thought to myself, “They’re in a retirement community. How can they be too busy to be interviewed for half an hour?” So, I asked them for an alternative date. Again, they would offer an excuse that I couldn’t come that day because they had a doctor’s appointment, a friend was coming for a visit, a hair appointment, or some other reason at a specific time.

I stayed persistent and said I could come well before or after their appointment. Most declined, saying to pick another day that suited them. It usually was a day they didn’t have anything planned.

Sunrise at the Ohio retirement community where I worked. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

That should have been my first hint. Still, I didn’t quite understand why they couldn’t see me in the morning when they had a late afternoon appointment.

I do now. I held that position 20 years ago. At 76, I am the age of some of the folks I interviewed. I find myself repeating their behavior.

My wife and I retired, but not to a retirement community. We live in a ranch home on a third of an acre. We downsized considerably when moving from our long-time Ohio home to Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley to be close to three of our four grandchildren.

I’m done for the day if I mow the yard, which usually takes about an hour and a half, including trimming. Out of sheer fatigue, I readily turn down opportunities to fill in the rest of the day. The only exception is if one of the grandkids has a concert or baseball or volleyball game.

After an exerting project, I am more than content to sit on my lounge chair on our screened-in back porch and read or relax. Even though I exercise regularly, I need to recharge the next day.

I am even careful about scheduling anything other than a doctor’s appointment on a single day. I have to drive across town to get to the medical office. I always wonder what traffic will be like. Our small city hosts two thriving universities, several non-profits, and many businesses and residences, including many townhouses and condos serving as college student housing. Plus, I have to cross an interstate highway that runs right through the middle of the city, with vehicles entering and exiting. As much as I like to drive, it can be stressful.

So, I confess that I didn’t fully realize the effects of aging. In my 50s, I was still raring to go. In 2024, not so much. I still walk, hike, and do photography, and I am an active bird watcher. Those I can combine in one outing. But not if I have another kind of commitment that day. I spread out the activities in which I partake.

So, to all those former residents in the retirement community, I apologize for shaking my head at your excuses. I now guard my daily schedules like you did all those years ago. Thanks for the life lesson, even though I learned it too late.

The author at Hawksbill Peak in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Woodpeckers at My Birdfeeders

A male Red-bellied Woodpecker at the suet feeder. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

It’s been a slow winter for feeding birds. Both the number of birds and the kind of species coming to my birdfeeders are down.

I have my suspicions, but I’m not exactly sure why. It could be the two roaming black cats that wait stealthily for lunch. Or, it could be the loss of cover. My neighbor cut down two mature trees on our property line. Or, it could be the inconsistent weather of cold and warming here in the Shenandoah Valley. Or, more likely, there are simply fewer birds. In a recent report, Cornell University estimated three billion birds have been lost in North America since 1970.

However, I am happy with the variety of woodpeckers that have made a regular appearance at our feeders. They have especially frequented the peanut butter suet feeder in the front yard. The feeder hangs from the large red maple, only 30 feet from the street. Others prefer the black oil sunflower seeds, while some peck at the cracked corn I spread on the ground.

All the woodpeckers announce their arrival in one manner or another. The Red-bellies and the Flickers want the bird world to know that they are arriving, so their harsh, loud screeches warn other birds to get out of their way. I have not seen the two species at the feeders together.

The Downy Woodpeckers are the most discrete. Their soft squeak or rapid-fire drumming on a tree limb gets my attention. Other times they just show up.

Here are a few of my favorite shots of the various woodpeckers at my feeders.

A female Red-bellied Woodpecker searches for black oil sunflower seeds on the ground. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A female Downy Woodpecker snatches a sunflower seed. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The morning sunshine highlighted a male Northern Flicker at the suet feeder. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A male Downy Woodpecker at the suet feeder. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A Message from a Goddess

While walking with my wife in our suburban neighborhood, we spied this cloud iridescence or irisation.

Though not uncommon, this irisation occurred in a cirrocumulas cloud. Irisations usually occur close to the sun, which you can see in the photo. It was at the leading edge of the atmospheric river system that pummeled southern California.

I checked the radar when we returned home and found that the rain clouds ran from Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to Dallas, Texas.

But where does the word “irisation” originate? You can thank Iris, the Greek goddess of rainbows and the messenger of Zeus and Hera to us earthlings. Since I obviously received this colorful communication, I wanted to pass it on to you.

Ducks on a Pond

I went birding the other day to a couple of small lakes. I was hoping to find a flotilla of waterfowl. But it was not to be. At Silver Lake, I did see a lone male Canvasback swimming with two female Buffleheads.

A male Canvasback and two female Buffleheads. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The offerings at the larger Lake Shenandoah, southeast of Harrisonburg, Virginia, were even less. I scanned the lake with my binoculars and saw nary a bird. I walked the mile-and-a-half path around the lake, hoping to find a few ducks tucked among the cattails out of the wind.

As I reached the midway point, I spotted a diving duck. The little brownish duck didn’t stay long on the surface. After several tries, I finally got a photo of a female Ruddy Duck.

Even though there were few ducks on the ponds, I considered it a successful day of birding.

Of course, baseball buffs know the expression “ducks on the pond” as a euphemism for runners in scoring positions. I like it when my multiple interests overlap.

The Sentinel

A Blue Jay scout atop a neighbor’s maple tree. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We’ve had several chilly, gray-sky mornings lately in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Consequently, our backyard birdfeeders have been active. The usual suspects frequent the hanging and tray feeders to crack open the tiny black-oil sunflower seeds.

A small flock of American Goldfinches are the most faithful. A small flock of European Starlings are the least wanted. The latter devour nearly any bird food I provide.

Occcasional visitors are Northern Cardinals, Dark-eyed Juncos, a resident Song Sparrow, a pair of Carolina Wrens, and a few White-crowned and White-throated Sparrows. I’m glued to the windows when they all arrive, often simultaneously.

But the bird that usually announces its arrival is the Blue Jay. Of course, they seldom come alone. A group of four to eight brighten my feeders irregularly. They hog down the sunflower seeds, peck at the cracked corn, and sometimes the peanut butter suet.

When I’m out filling the feeders and heated birdbaths, I hear them mimicking other birds in the neighborhood. My favorite imitation is of the Red-shouldered Hawk, which makes occasional low flights over the house in search of a songbird meal.

The intelligent Blue Jays keep a sharp eye out for the Red-shouldered Hawk. They want to keep their feathers intact. Sometimes, I hear the Red-shoulder’s loud, repetitive screeching, meant to scare out hiding songbirds. The call is too close for me not to see the hawk. More often than not, it’s a Blue Jay in an evergreen pretending to be a hawk.

The Blue Jays apparently have observed this mode of attack and use it to their benefit, not to attack other birds, but to frighten them away from the feeders so they have free dibs at the goodies as they dive in like blue and white jet fighters.

Smart as they are, the Blue Jays may keep a sentinel perched high in a neighbor’s tree, listening and watching for any potential predator like a cat, hawk, or human. They take no chances.

I was fortunate to spy a Blue Jay lookout the other morning. It perched quietly for several minutes, turning its head every which way to ensure the coast was clear for breakfast. I turned away and then back again, but the tree was bare.

Sunset from Mole Hill

Sunset over the Allegheny Mountains. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I watch the sky for any hint of a colorful sunset. I have to go outside to do so since our house faces north. The view southwest, where the winter sun disappears, is obstructed by neighboring evergreens and houses.

When I think the potential for a colorful evening sky is favorable, I grab my cameras and head west. Mole Hill, an extinct volcanic core, is one of my favorite spots.

From Mole Hill, I have panoramic views in every direction but east. Recently high, wispy clouds stretched across the sky like fingers from the Allegheny Mountains 30 miles to the west. It looked good for a blazing sunset.

However, by the time I reached Mole Hill, upper-level winds had scattered the clouds, except right over the mountains where the sun would disappear. I waited, nevertheless.

My patience paid dividends. While the sky over the old-age mountains blazed orange behind the stubborn clouds, pinks and mauves blossomed south, southeast, and north. I happily snapped away.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

The Moon in a Mackerel Sky

I like to walk. Our neighborhood is the perfect place. We have little traffic in our little subdivision west of Harrisonburg, Virginia. Even though there are no sidewalks, the roads are wide and paved.

I walk as often as I can. But I enjoy the many things I see and sense as much as the exercise. The clouds caught my attention as I rounded the corner to our home in the crisp, cold air.

I recognized them right away. Meteorologists classify the high, scalloped clouds as Altocumulus clouds. Oftentimes, these clouds appear with other types of clouds. But on this winter’s day, they sailed the cerulean sky beneath a nearly full moon all alone.

The scene was too glorious not to share.

Winter Blues

Blue sky and dark blue shadows on snow. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

You don’t need me to tell you that the winter weather has been brutal in the first few weeks of 2024. And yet, it has its serenity, too.

I always loved how the long shadows of winter played across snowy landscapes. Even in suburban settings, the sky, trees, and shadows mark stark but lovely contrasts against the snow.

Such beauty helps us through blizzards, snow drifts, wind chills, and freezing temperatures. Altogether, they help chase away the winter blues.

Taking the Chill Off

Decaf Mocha Lattes. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The temperatures in Virginia’s snowy Shenandoah Valley were in the single digits again this morning. There’s nothing like a cup of coffee of your choice to help take the chill off the coldest morning.

My wife and I enjoy mocha lattes. We have to drink decaf at our age. What’s your favorite hot drink?

Ice is Nice as Long as You Stay Inside

An ice-laden grove of trees. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Much of Virginia was pelted with freezing rain all day yesterday. When we thought it was over, our area was engulfed in freezing fog for several hours this morning.

The temperature hovered around the freezing mark of 32 degrees Fahrenheit throughout the day yesterday, with sub-freezing temps this morning. That condensed the fog into tiny droplets of frozen ice that clung to everything. It was the icing on the cake, so to speak.

To stay safe, my wife and I never ventured out yesterday. Our kind neighbor even voluntarily brought our mail to the door.

We would have been buried under a heavy snowfall if the temperature had dropped even a few degrees. That would have been very pretty but also rather inconvenient. I am thankful the ice melted nearly as fast as it accumulated until nightfall when everything froze.

Despite the freezing fog, we drove the five miles to church for another wonderful worship time. The roads were just wet.

By the time church was over and we finished visiting with friends, the sun had burned off the fog, and only scattered cumulus clouds floated through the sky. The ice-coated trees glistened in the warming sun, making for a lovely drive home.

Tuesday’s forecast is for more of the same for all of Virginia. Like an Amish farmer friend used to say, “We’ll take whatever weather comes our way.”