weather – Roadkill Crossing

Harvest Moonrise and Moonset: A Celestial Interplay of Light

The Harvest Moon rose over Massanutten Mt. on October 25, 2026. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Virginia weather finally cooperated this month, giving me opportunities to photograph the rising and setting of October’s Full Harvest Moon. In previous months, the weather had been cloudy and wet during the full moon cycle.

So, I checked the times for both events and planned accordingly. I chose Harrisonburg’s city Heritage Trail beside Bluestone Elementary School, a five-minute drive from our home, to shoot the full moon rising over Massanutten Mountain. The mountain’s southernmost terminus is a few miles east of the city, and it runs about 50 miles north and south through the center of the historic Shenandoah Valley.

The valley’s floor undulates between the Blue Ridge Mountains, home to Shenandoah National Park, to the east, and the Allegheny Mountains to the west. An elevated point just southeast of the school overlooks the trail, the city golf course, and a city park. It provides an excellent view of Massanutten.

Before leaving home, I checked a chart to estimate when the moon would rise above the mountain. The official time listed 5:50 p.m., but that assumes a flat horizon. That’s not the case in the Shenandoah Valley.

Since the moon would appear just before sunset, the sky would be pale, making it a bit difficult to spot the rising moon. Fortunately, a high-pressure system had settled over the valley, clearing the air of hazy humidity.

At exactly 6 p.m., the moon just peeked over Massanutten’s ridge northeast of Harrisonburg. I snapped away as the celestial beauty rose higher above the mountain and the sky grew darker.

Hikers and dog walkers passed by, and I gladly shared the Harvest Moon with them. Those not walking with their heads glued to their smartphones already shared a moment of mutual admiration with me.

The typical Full Harvest Moon shot. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Before bedtime, I snuck out and captured the typical photo of the bright full moon against its home in the velvety black sky. Filled with awe, I planned my morning sunrise adventure to document the full cycle of the setting Harvest Moon.

I had no trouble finding the moon that morning. I snapped a photo of it hanging just above my neighbor’s trees. I headed to Mole Hill, my mainstay for sunset photography, though I wasn’t sure it was the best location since the moon would settle in the north-northwest.

The full Harvest Moon over Mole Hill. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Another frost glistened in the intertwined light of the silvery moon and the slanting, blinding rays of the rising sun. Fortunately, Mole Hill, an ancient volcanic core, helped block the harshness.

Still, the moon view wasn’t quite what I wanted. I drove west a mile to Majestic View Road, and what a panorama it was. Scanning south to north, farm after farm joined together like a carefully assembled quilt.

Fog lifted out of the agricultural Dry River Valley. Water still flowed down from mountain rains, and the cool air condensed the river’s surface into a feathery cloud of mist that lifted ever so slowly over the blanket of farmsteads. The metal tops of their tall grain silos reflected the sunlight.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Fog wasn’t the only element shimmering over the valley. The cold morning forced homemakers, farmers, and cottage industry employees to fire up dozens of wood stoves. Smokey pillars rose straight up until they hit a layer of colder, heavier air, then turned sharply south.

The hair on my arms rose, not from cold, but from exhilaration. I couldn’t have imagined such spontaneous, coordinated choreography between humankind and almighty nature.

I returned my attention to the setting moon as it neared the summit of Shenandoah Mountain, the eastern front range of the Alleghenies. The moon angled toward a pair of tall evergreens on the ridge of the old folded mountain, easily seen even with the naked eye.

I clicked and clicked until the moon finally slithered below the mountaintop. I picked out a landscape shot with the moon over the mountain and texted it to my family. Joy is meant to be shared, not hoarded.

I headed east the way I had come, but soon stopped on the southeastern side of Mole Hill. The scene south resembled a monochrome factory town from a hundred years ago. One after another, chalky columns rose until colliding with the colder air and sharp sunrays. I stood transfixed.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

An American Robin flew onto a branch of the black walnut tree just above me, shaking my spell. Again, I drove downhill, but didn’t get far. More unbelievable scenery unfolded before me. I only had minutes to capture what the farmer whose lane I had parked in must see every sunny day.

As I shot different angles, I stood amazed, grateful, inspired, and fulfilled. If the farmer had observed me, I’m sure he had his own form of fun as well.

The view from the farmer’s lane. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Morning Mist at the Lake

The shots I love most aren’t the ones I expect to take. They are the spontaneous ones that appear suddenly, unexpectedly, and often only for a moment.

This scene appeared as I walked back to my vehicle in the rain after photographing the American White Pelican, the shot I wanted. After crossing a short footbridge at the west end of the lake, I stood in disbelief.

There it was, the opportunity I didn’t expect. A red barn across the lake, an orange sugar maple to its right, mist muting their color’s intensity. A carpet of weathered water lily leaves spread out across the shallows of the lake in front of a stand of burnished cattails.

On top of all that, a tree’s branch framed the surreal setting. Click.

Good Reason, Bad Decision

I really shouldn’t have taken this photograph. But when an alert came in that a lone American White Pelican had landed on Lake Shenandoah, I had to go see it and take some photos.

Given the results, I’m glad I did, but I wish I hadn’t. I was diagnosed with acute bronchitis the previous day and was prescribed four different medications. I took them as directed and slept well.

When the rare bird alert appeared just after 8 a.m., my birding adrenaline kicked in. I finished my meager breakfast, checked the radar, and found no rain.

So, I headed east six miles to the state-owned lake. It misted all the way. The closer I got to the lake, the more menacing the sky appeared. I hadn’t walked 20 yards from my vehicle when the rain began in earnest.

I passed another birder friend who said the pelican was just floating in the middle of the lake. So, I hustled to the fishing dock, and there it was. But the fog and rain made it difficult to photograph.

Still, I got several shots, but being a typical photographer, I wasn’t happy with the results. I should have turned back to my SUVs and headed home. Instead, I stayed, got wetter by the minute, and took photo after photo.

This is the best one of the series.

American White Pelican. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Why this bird was here alone, no one knows. American White Pelicans usually migrate from northern climes this time of year in large flocks to southern locations. This individual clearly got lost.

Today is a beautiful, warm autumn day when I should be out taking photos of the annual changing of the leaves. Instead, having learned my lesson, I’m behaving myself and staying put.

The Yellow Garden Spider

I’m not sure how long the Yellow Garden Spider had been there. Friends visiting from Ohio spotted it one morning as we headed out to explore our area of the Shenandoah Valley.

On a foggy morning, I found the spider’s intricate web dotted with dewdrops large and small. The sparkling display surrounded the arachnid like stars in the night sky. The spider, also known as a Black-and-yellow Argiope, was a giant, one of the largest the four of us had ever seen.

The spider’s web hung from the lamppost over the nandina bushes at the end of our front sidewalk. Several wrapped-up victims accompanied the sparkling dewdrops.

It was a fun way to start our day.

The Yellow Garden Spider. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A Surprise Nor’easter Sunset

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.

It was a welcome, colorful surprise.

The surprise sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Finding Beauty on an Ugly Day

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.

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

Autumnal Equinox

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

Snippets of Baltimore

Our friend, Diana, and Neva at the Baltimore Railroad Museum. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Thanks to our host, my wife and I crammed a lot in on an overnight trip to Baltimore, Maryland. We went there to watch the Cleveland Guardians play the Baltimore Orioles. Diana, our host, had other ideas.

If the traffic behaves, it’s a three-hour trip to Baltimore from our home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. We arrived right on schedule.

After a lovely summer lunch, we headed out into near 90-degree heat to visit a couple of venues Diana thought we would like. She was spot on.

First up was the perfectly named Second Chance warehouse, where used goods of all kinds are for sale to individuals and contractors alike. The place was massive. Customers can buy good used items, from furniture to radiators to old-growth lumber to vintage signs.

We wandered from aisle to aisle browsing the thousands of items available. Of course, the former steel manufacturing plant wasn’t air-conditioned, so we headed for the second spot when we got too hot.

The National Museum of Railroad History and Innovation was just around the block. We visited the air-conditioned history section to cool off and learn about railroad history. The museum recently changed its name from the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Museum to better represent the full scale of railroading.

We found the roundhouse to be the most interesting part. While Diana and Neva sat in rocking chairs in front of a fan, I wandered from old steam engines to diesel engines and passenger cars. I learned a lot.

Once a month, an engine is brought into the roundhouse pulling a coach to demonstrate how the roundhouse works. A 60-foot turntable rotates with 19th-century engineering.

The weight on the turntable rests on a highly efficient pivot center filled with massive ball bearings. Staff and sometimes visitors push long wooden levers to rotate the engine or car, perfectly balanced on the turntable.

After I made my rounds exploring the old engines and passenger cars, we headed back to Diana’s to rest and have another delicious meal. We left for the baseball game an hour before game time. With the heat, we decided not to walk and hitched a ride with Diana’s daughter.

We walked past the statue of my all-time favorite third baseman, Brooks Robinson, who played his entire career for the Orioles. Brooks was a human vacuum sweeper at the hot corner, and he certainly deserved to be voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

We found our seats near the Guardians’ dugout on the third-base side of the diamond. We had excellent views of the Cleveland players as they stretched and warmed up before the first pitch.

The game started out right for my Guardians. Rookie Chase DeLauter hit a two-run homer to give Cleveland the early lead. It didn’t last long. The Orioles had their way with Cleveland pitchers, and we left before the game ended.

The evening had cooled as we waited on our ride back to Diana’s. After our long day, we all slept well.

Despite the Guardians’ loss, I was glad we had come to Baltimore, a city with a lot to offer. We had a wonderful host who showed us only a snippet of this East Coast city.

Lunch with Diana. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Appreciating the Moment

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.

August Wasn’t August This Year

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.