weather – Page 12 – Roadkill Crossing

Bird Migration Has Begun

A male Canvasback escorts two female Buffleheads on a local lake. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

With the calendar turning from February to March, bird migration has officially begun. True, several bird species had already started the arduous task of returning north from their southerly winter habits.

To account for that, birders divide the seasonal calendar in the Northern Hemisphere much differently than humans do. Bird spring runs in March, April, and May when most migrating birds return to the nesting homelands in the northern United States and Canada.

Surprisingly, summer is the shortest season for birds. It lasts just two months, June and July. It’s prime mating, nesting, egg laying, and hatching time. Once the young are self-sufficient, the first migrating birds begin their long trips south.

The fall season for birds runs from August through November. Different species have more than one brood and migrate on a different schedule based on habitat, food supplies, and other factors. For birds, December, January, and February comprise the winter months.

So, now that March has arrived, birders scout their favorite ponds, lakes, rivers, streams, wetlands, and fields for any early arrivals on their way north. Birders especially prize waterfowl and songbirds to spot and photograph.

Locations where migrating birds frequent are called hot spots. I checked a few on March 1. Though I didn’t find many bird species, I enjoyed seeing and photographing new migrants.

An American Pipit poked its head above the grass just to the left of the Northern Cardinal.

My first stop was one of my favorite locations for birds and sunsets, Silver Lake in Dayton, Virginia. It’s a 12-acre lake built in 1822 for a mill. The shallow lake is perfect for diving and dabbling ducks. I saw only a trio of female Buffleheads and one muskrat this time.

A few miles away is the Cooks Creek Arboretum, tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac. I spotted three birders with binoculars aimed at a hillside farm field. Birders tend to be pleasant people, so I didn’t hesitate to ask what they were seeing.

“About 150 American Pipits are flying and landing in the field,” one of them said. “Unfortunately, they seem to land over the crest of the hill.”

We walked together down the path to get a better look, but with a heavy cloud cover in the late afternoon, the birds were only visible during their short, rapid flights. However, I followed the birds to the flatter, more southern part of the field.

I captured a relatively poor photo of a few of the pipits flying. Patience, though, is a venture for birders. I saw a few birds foraging in the green vegetation of the field. I captured one of the small brown pipits as it began to fly. After wintering in the extreme southern U.S. and Mexico, the pipits were on their way to the far north Arctic tundra.

Please click the photos to enlarge them. Photos by Bruce Stambaugh

Happy seeing these fascinating visitors, I was pleased at my next stop just a few miles east. A local hot spot farm pond held dozens of Green-winged Teals and a handful of Northern Shovelers. Since the pond is on private property, I stood on a knoll across the road from the pond. With the distance of the pond, the chilly wind, and my inability to hold the camera steady, I felt fortunate to get some shots of these lovely birds.

I drove several miles to another farm pond much closer to the road. A lone Blue-winged Teal swam with a pair of Mallards while two Canada Geese watched from the shoreline.

On the way home, I detoured to a local arboretum and quickly found a nesting Great Horned Owl with two owlets in the fork of a sycamore tree. Friends had told me about it the day before.

Though spring doesn’t officially arrive until March 19, the birds are on the wing for spring migration. I intend to catch as much of the birding splendor as I can.

A Great-horned Owl with owlets. 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?

Amish at Recess

Swartzentruber Amish sled riding at recess in Wayne Co., Ohio.

There is “snow” better way to enjoy the January cold than sledriding. These Swartzentruber Amish students certainly enjoyed their afternoon recess gliding down a slippery hillside near their one-room schoolhouse.

After attending a meeting in Kidron, Ohio, 11 years ago, I decided to take some back roads home. It had snowed a few inches overnight, but the clouds had moved out by afternoon. The clear sky’s bright sun warmed the cold January day.

This scene came into view as I rounded a bend on a narrow township road. I knew I had to get a photo of these Amish schoolchildren sledding at recess. I also knew that I had to be discreet since I always tried to honor the Amish position of no photography.

I secured one photo undetected before moving on. The joyous laughter of the happy scholars made the satisfaction of this photo all the more enjoyable.