A typical scene in Rockingham Co., Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
In the fall, traveling the rural roads in Rockingham County, Virginia, reveals Nature’s autumnal beauty. The trees along the highway’s edge bask in the sun’s more direct rays than if they grew more deeply in the forests.
Driving on Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park has the same effect. However, it is also much more crowded with global visitors in the fall. Traversing the local roadways usually means less traffic, which makes it safer to pull over, exit your vehicle, and snap away.
Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park earlier in October. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Doing so allows photographers to capture the fall’s breathtaking beauty. Occasionally, I encounter opportunities to spot some migrating birds and interact with local residents. Once I explained my purpose, I never had an issue. Of course, I choose my spots carefully.
The secondary roads of Rockingham County wind, climb, and descend through the rich agricultural lands that have been farmed for generations, sometimes by the same families and their descendants. I find that fact as rich and satisfying as the colorful leaves.
The joy of photographing the glorious fall colors is mainly in the sharing. I hope you enjoy this series of photos of birds, buildings, and leaves at their peak colors.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
I often find the brightest colors closer to home. The brilliant leaves show off houses, churches, cemeteries, and roadsides.
Of all the rural roads I traveled, this scene at the little hamlet of Spring Creek took the prize.
October has blessed us with some fantastic and surprising celestial wonders. The full Hunter Super Moon and the comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS graced our night skies last week. The comet is still being seen but will soon vanish from sight.
Earlier in the month, the Aurora Borealis danced in the skies across the northern hemisphere, leading the stellar trifecta. Residents in the southernmost regions, like Arizona and Florida, even saw them.
I didn’t have to go far to view any of the trio of events in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, where I live. The aurora’s colorful display reminded me of the animated light shows projected onto the American and Canadian Niagara Falls.
However, it’s hard to beat Nature’s heavenly choreography. All I had to do to see the Northern Lights was to step outside my front door. Pinks, reds, and greens played across the sky, dimming and dancing for all to see.
The Aurora Borealis on October 10, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I had only once seen the northern lights as a young man living in Ohio’s Amish Country. The red curtain of zigzagging brilliance danced and sizzled strangely in the southern sky. Yes, I heard an associated zapping sound, but briefly.
I knew the forecasts for the Aurora Borealis were favorable, but I didn’t expect to see such vivid beauty this far south. It was a welcomed surprise that enabled many to cross off seeing the Northern Lights from their bucket list.
Next up was October’s Hunter Super Full Moon, the fourth consecutive super full moon this year. I like to catch the moon rising over the Blue Ridge Mountains, which also host Shenandoah National Park in central Virginia.
October’s Hunter Super Full Moon over Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce StambaughThe Hunter Super Full Moon followed me home. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Because I wasn’t exactly sure where the moon would appear, I was able to snap a few shots just after it rose above the famed mountain range. The rural setting made the picture all the more captivating.
Then came the comet. Like the Northern Lights, the news media informed us of its arrival. The comet was expected to be its brightest on October 14. Unfortunately, fog, haze, and rain clouds obscured our skyward view.
Thursday, October 17, was our first clear night. My wife and I headed to a local landmark, Mole Hill. It’s an extinct volcanic core, long eroded and now covered with farmed fertile soils on its gradual slopes and a thick mixed forest on the steeper portion of the cone.
Mole Hill’s higher elevation didn’t help us find the comet. A hazy sky over the Allegheny Mountains, 30 miles to the west, was the culprit. We looked and looked but returned home disappointed. However, I wasn’t giving up since the comet wouldn’t reappear for 80,000 years.
The comet was viewed from Eastern Mennonite University’s hill. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The next night, I had success from the hill behind Eastern Mennonite University in Harrisonburg. After viewing photos from my iPhone 14 Pro taken around 7:30 p.m., I spotted a faint streak in the sky. What I couldn’t see with my old naked eyes, my smartphone easily captured for me. I was ecstatic.
We quickly found the comet standing in the middle of our street. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I took a few more photos and returned home to celebrate with my wife by showing her the sequence of images. Afterward, we went outside, stood in our residential street with no street lights, and found the comet about 30 degrees northeast of Venus, which hugged the horizon.
The next night proved even more successful. I zoomed in with the phone’s long lens and captured more than the comet and its long, fuzzy tale. When I looked at the photo, I realized Starlink was streaking across the sky just northeast of the comet.
The Comet and Starlink. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
October has been good to us so far. I wonder what joyous tricks she’ll offer up by Halloween.
The comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
My wife and I were busy last week. Everywhere we went, we saw color, literally and metaphorically. Color dominated, from flowers to birds to people to landscapes to food to sunsets.
Here are a few samples of the vivid, muted, and impressive hues we encountered as we traveled from Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to the Piedmont of North Carolina and back.
We met good friends from Ohio for breakfast in Front Royal, Virginia.We bought apples and fresh cider at a local orchard.We enjoyed lunch with cousins from California and North Carolina.
Dan Nicholas Park Lake.
Textures and colors.
The Foot Bridge.
A multitude of greens.
A pristine lake.
Reflections.
The last lily bloom.
Muscovy Duck.
A migrating Bay Breasted Warbler.
A Great Blue Heron.
Dan Nicholas Park wasn’t the only place we saw birds. We sat in the shade and chatted while various species of birds visited our hosts’ backyard feeders.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
Of course, I had to include a sunset from Cannon Park in Salisbury, North Carolina.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
The evening we arrived home in Harrisonburg, Virginia, the aurora borealis brightened the night sky. The following morning, we had the first frost of the season.
On Saturday, we hustled from one event to another. It was Homecoming at Eastern Mennonite University, where our daughter is the athletic director. The highlight for us was the dedication of the new state-of-the-art track. The ceremonies culminated with a ceremonial lap around the track by significant donors, former track members, and current track members. The oldest participant to run was in his 80s. He runs every day.
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Sugar Maple leaves are peaking.
That evening, we watched our grandson lead the Rock City Regime as the drum major at a high school band competition.
The colorful week ended with a welcome home by late-blooming clematis.
Kirtland’s Warbler, Waynesboro, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
When I opened the email from the birding listserv this morning, I knew I would pursue this rare bird. Fall bird migration was in full swing, and it’s a real rarity when a Kirtland’s Warbler is spotted. Experts estimate that only 1,500 of this species remain today.
It turned out that this bird was in a park only a mile from the wildlife rescue center where I took the injured Cape May Warbler last week. I had never been to the park where the Kirtland’s had been spotted.
My wife and I headed southwest toward Waynesboro, taking familiar back roads. Crossing over I-81 told us we had made the right decision. The busy highway was nearly bumper to bumper in both north and south lanes.
The GPS took us right to the park. The small parking lot was full, but fortunately, a space opened up right after we pulled in. Another birder arrived right after us and wondered where the bird was. I had no idea until we saw a small group emerge from the trees and thicket carrying binoculars and cameras with baseball bat-sized lenses.
They stopped and pointed their cameras and bins toward the thicket as we joined them. They spotted the bird immediately, and as good birders are want to do, they helped newcomers like us find the bird.
My wife had the rare bird in her binoculars before I did. Once it popped into the open, I saw the bird through my binoculars and then tried to capture images on my camera. Documentation is essential in birding, especially rare birds.
The bird darted up and down, in and out of the jungle of vines, saplings, and mature trees. It foraged on insects and berries. The bird finally popped into my viewfinder, and I got this photo and a few other less desirable ones.
Seeing a Kirtland’s Warbler is always exciting, especially if it is a life bird, meaning the first time you have seen the elusive bird. It’s a birder’s dream come true. Indeed, this bird was a lifer for several in the cooperative group.
Birding is all about finding and sharing, which Neva and I experienced today. On our way home, we celebrated with a delicious late lunch at our favorite burger place.
Looking east during the Golden Hour in Berlin, Ohio. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This scene caught my attention as my wife and I arrived in Berlin, Ohio, at her sister’s place. The white of the Amish homes and barns glowed in the Golden Hour light.
Morning sunshine tinted Sugar Maple leaves. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The signs of fall are everywhere in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Whether hiking in a park, walking around the neighborhood, or taking a country drive, hints of autumn’s imminent arrival catch people’s attention.
Impatient warm colors tint the once vibrant green of sugar maple leaves. Other maples blush reds on one branch and greens on the rest of the canopy. Scan hillside woodlots, and it’s clear autumn’s rapid approach has infringed on the once variety of hues of greens.
Some of the dulling and browning result from the severe summer drought. Rain has been sparse. Large and small trees continue to be stressed, some to the point of no return.
The wildflowers seem bedraggled, save for multiple stands of goldenrods waving in the wind. Still, blossoms persist despite the dryness and display their showy blooms.
The deep purple of wild morning glories contrasts beautifully with the ubiquitous goldenrod blooms. Different species of wildflowers display various versions of yellow only feet apart.
Sunsets come too soon. Even on cloudless days, the western horizon glows golden. Unfortunately, particles from wildfires hundreds of miles away, carried by the jetstreams, subdue the grateful human emotions.
The heat and dryness, not the season’s first frost, have stunted too many stands of cornstalks and singed their long, drooping leaves. Going consecutive weeks with little to no precipitation has that effect.
A hazy sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Insects also make their annual fall appearances. Caterpillars gorge on their host plants to prepare for the next phase of the metamorphosis. Praying mantis look for any opportunity to dine among the garden foliage.
The heavy dews of cool mornings reveal the stealthy spider webs with their glistening moisture. As the dew evaporates from the warming air, butterflies search for nector, powering up for their southern journies.
Scores of warbler species dressed in duller, non-breeding colors migrate to their southern haunts. Other species, including singers and shorebirds, also flee for more moderate climes.
It won’t be long until northern snowbirds, primarily the gray-haired versions, follow behind them in cram-packed cars and campers of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Warmer weather attracts all kinds of birds.
Of course, the turning of the leaves, the blooming wildflowers, the trimming of daylight, and cooler temperatures is as it should be. Fall is officially around the corner. The autumnal equinox is Sunday, September 22, at 8:47 a.m. EDT.
The first week of September brought a variety of photographic opportunities and emotions. I’ll let the week’s activities play out in the photos and captions.
My wife and I spotted this hot air balloon sailing over our neighborhood on our regular morning walk. Photo by Bruce StambaughWe celebrated communion at church. Photo by Bruce StambaughA storm front brought much-needed rain Sunday evening, leaving a rainbow spawned by the setting sun’s rays. Photo by Bruce StambaughSunday’s sunset exploded with a multitude of texts and colors. This photo was taken on Sunny Slope Farm. Photo by Bruce StambaughMole Hill, an extinct volcanic core, always makes an excellent foreground for the sunset over the Allegheny Mountains. Photo by Bruce StambaughFog rose from the Dry River in western Rockingham County that Sunday evening while grays and mauves dominated the southwestern sky. Photo by Bruce StambaughThe sky’s drama continued as I drove home on September 1. Photo by Bruce StambaughThe backyard Hyacinth bean plant was in full bloom in the morning sunshine on September 3. Photo by Bruce StambaughEvening clouds splayed over Silver Lake near Dayton, Virginia, on September 3. Photo by Bruce StambaughThe evening’s thin cirrus clouds made it seem like old Mole Hill was erupting. Photo by Bruce StambaughOn the west side of Mole Hill, the soft sunset seemed to emmite striated clouds. Photo by Bruce StambaughAs I watered our thirsty flowers, shrubs, and trees the following evening, I spotted a Black Swallowtail caterpillar. Photo by Bruce StambaughI attended an excellent lecture and gallery preview by photojournalist and filmmaker Morgan Heim at Eastern Mennonite University on Friday morning. Photo by Bruce StambaughWe ended the week by attending our church’s annual retreat at a camp at the base of Massanutten Mountain northeast of Harrisonburg. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
A mushroom merchant’s booth at a Farmers Market. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
When I spotted this booth at a Farmers Market in Rochester, New York, I had to take a photo. The friendly merchant’s smile showed he gladly approved.
And why shouldn’t he? The business name’s double entendre pitched both the product and its purpose. Undoubtedly, “The Fun Guys” owners are as mellow as their mushrooms.
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.
My older brother and I hauled in the walleye. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I fondly remember my family vacations in the 1950s and ’60s. I vividly recall them because we didn’t take many. We were a lower-middle-class family from a blue-collar city in northeast Ohio. My folks didn’t have the money to travel around the country too often, especially with five active and vocal children.
My most memorable trip as a youngster was a week on Pelee Island, Ontario, Canada, in Lake Erie. It was the middle of summer, sunny, hot, and humid.
As a 10-year-old, I was excited about our trip for multiple reasons. First, we had to take a ferry from Sandusky, Ohio, to the island. In those days, no passports or IDs were needed. You just paid the ferry fee and boarded the ship. I remember leaning over the side of the boat that foggy morning to watch crew members load cars and trucks onto the ferry.
Our dear mother couldn’t bear to watch because the drivers had to ease the vehicles from the dock to the ship over two unattached, thick wooden planks. I paid particular attention when our 1947 cream-colored, two-door Chevy coupe slipped across the void. Even as a kid, I saw that the car wasn’t centered on the planks. Still, it made it.
Our cousins and their parents accompanied us on the trip, along with our mother’s mother. Their three juveniles were nearly the same age as our three oldest. It was a guaranteed good time.
We enjoyed the voyage around other islands and through Lake Erie’s whitecaps. When we sighted Pelee, our excitement multiplied. From a distance, all I could make out were trees. A little cluster of attractive buildings appeared when the ferry drew closer to the dock. We disembarked and waited for our vehicles. I noted a general store with toys in its nine-pane front window during the downtime.
We piled in the car and headed south and then east on dirt roads, swirling dust clouds into the cerulean sky. As he drove, our outdoorsman father spotted pheasants in fields on the way to our little cottage without slowing down. How we all managed to fit into that two-bedroom, one-bath lake house, I don’t know. As a kid, it wasn’t my problem.
That week’s weather was sunny, hot, and humid, perfect for eight children ages four to 14 to play on the beach that served as our front yard. We enjoyed wading in the warm Lake Erie water when the tide went out. We built sand castles and took turns burying one another in the sand.
We spent hours scouring the beach for sea glass. My young mind couldn’t comprehend how the combination of water and sand could smooth sharp, jagged broken glass. I held the evidence in my hand, nevertheless.
A trio of fishermen rented the cottage south of ours. They used a beautiful wooden Lyman boat with an inboard motor to come and go. One afternoon, the fish must not have been biting because the boat came charging in at low tide.
Even as a kid, I could see by the men’s actions that they were drunk. One guy even fell overboard into the shallow water. Of course, the high-speed approach mired the boat into the wet sand. No matter how hard they tried, the boat wouldn’t budge until the tide came in.
Later, with the boat freed, I moseyed down the beach and found a silver cigarette lighter reflecting the afternoon sun in the clear, shallow water. A cigar lay nearby on the beach. Its paper wrapper with a bright red band still secured the stoggy. My uncle confiscated both when I revealed my treasures at the cottage.
Our father and uncle frequently went fishing for crappies and walleye. When the schools of fish moved a few hundred yards directly offshore of our cabin, my dad and uncle caught enough to feed the entire crew. The delicate white meat of the pan-fried fish filled our hungry bellies.
While our fathers fished, our mothers and grandmother watched us play hour after hour on the sandy beach. Those were the days before sunblock, and apparently, no one remembered to bring along suntan lotion. Before the week was over, the four oldest boys, including me, moaned and groaned in a darkened bedroom. The severe sunburns halted our lakeside romping. We were sore all over, unable to find a comfortable position to rest.
Still, it had been a memorable week. To top it off, our parents remembered the general store with toys. My eyes lit up when I saw the rotating stand displaying several kinds of English-made Matchbox toys. There was no plastic to be found in these miniatures of reality, and they were only a dollar each. I was ecstatic because our parents had given each of their five children a dollar before entering the store. So, I took my time and finally decided on an English-style fire truck as the ferry horn sounded for people to board.
We scurried to the dock across the road, and I carefully clutched my prize, not wanting to crush the colorful cardboard matchbox containing my precious purchase. I bid Pelee farewell as we walked up the ferry’s ramp for the return cruise to Ohio.
It had been a memorable week of fun in the sun, filled with ferry rides, fresh fish, and playing in the water with my siblings and cousins. Those pleasures successfully blocked the short-term memory of my painful sunburn.
These well-worn Matchbox toys are the only ones I have left. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Roadkill Crossing 
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