writing – Page 17 – Roadkill Crossing

Happy New Year!

As the sun rises into 2024, I hope this new year is a safe, happy, and generous year for you and your family.

Sunrise on January 17, 2023, Fernandina Beach, FL. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh.

Happy 2024!

As much as I enjoy all the various decorations for Christmas, minus the blowup Santas, I prefer Mother Nature’s glorious winter kaleidoscopes. Even in the dull, dormant winter season, nature offers color displays everywhere. We need to be observant to catch them.

I marvel at the artistry of winter landscapes, with their deep russets and the ubiquitous varieties of browns and grays in meadows of wild grasses and the depths of forests. Where the two meet, prickly reddish briars of last summer’s wild red and black raspberries and shoots of wiry bittersweet color the demarcation.

Even on the coldest December day, the play between shadows and sun on the eastern slopes of the Allegheny Mountains warms my soul. I’m a sucker for the simple, everyday flickers of hope and joy that are there for our enjoyment. Consequently, sunrises and sunsets elevate my spirits the most, especially around the holidays. I learned to watch for any opportunity to photograph the sun rising and setting.

So, as the sun sets at the end of 2023, here is my favorite from this crazy, emotion-driven year.

I chose this photo not because of its spectacular colors but because the image represents all the geographic qualities of where we live in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The picture was taken in mid-November after the harvest.

Agriculture is prominent in Rockingham County, the second-largest county in Virginia. It’s the state’s largest poultry producer, and farmers grow hay, corn and soybeans. Livestock and dairy farms are also prevalent. The fence leads your eye to several farms pictured across this landscape.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that the sun is setting behind the Allegheny Mountains, which mark the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia in western Rockingham County.

I hope you have a very Happy New Year!

Street Photography in D.C.

Fishing under the first quarter moon during the Georgetown Glow holiday lighting.

My wife and I recently enjoyed a few days in Washington, D.C., with our family. It was the first holiday gathering with everyone present since we moved from Ohio to Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

When visiting our nation’s capital, expect to walk. Yes, the Metro network of trains and buses gets you to the general area of where you want to be. But walking gets you exactly where you need to go. And together, our family walked and walked.

That enabled me to do some fun street photography, although I couldn’t linger long if I wanted to keep up with the others. So, I took photos as efficiently as possible.

I was impressed by the collage of architectural styles, often standing on the same city block. The following photos are a few of my favorites, from monuments to residences to embassies to commercial buildings.

The U.S. Capitol building at the golden hour.

The U.S. Botanic Garden at the U.S. Botanic Garden.

The U.S. Capitol building, east entrance.

The U.S. Capitol at the U.S. Botanic Gardens.

The Lincoln Memorial at the U.S. Botanic Gardens.

As you can see, Washington, D.C., is a photographer’s paradise for street photography.

Snow on the Mountains

A view of the snow-covered West Virginia mountains.

My wife and I spent a wonderful long weekend visiting family and friends in Ohio. With a powerful cold front sweeping across the country, I suspected our return trip might be dicey since we had to travel through several mountain ranges to return to our home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

To avoid slippery roads, we waited until the warnings and advisories for heavy snow expired before setting out. That still gave us time to arrive home before dark as long as the roads were clear. Fortunately, they were.

The snow appeared as soon as we began to climb in elevation east of Morgantown, West Virginia. The tall, dark, barren trees sprouted from a light snow covering. The beauty would only increase as we progressed southeast.

The highways in Maryland traverse mountains that appear all scrunched together. The effect is that you are riding across the mountaintops without ever descending into deep valleys. There, the storm had frosted entire woodlots with powdered sugar. Inches of snow stuck to the tree branches and trunks and covered the forest floor and adjoining farm fields. It was gorgeous.

I stopped several times for photos. However, we saw numerous scenes without a safe place to pull over. Those images will have to remain pleasant memories.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Since I couldn’t stop along the narrow, winding state route, I chose several county roads for photos. I didn’t have to go far. It was like we had driven into a black-and-white movie from the 1950s. Forboding dark clouds enhance that effect.

We continued our trek south and east into West Virginia. The snowy, panoramic landscape became wide open once we hit Corridor H, U.S. 48. We took advantage of highway overlooks for thrilling shots.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

In Maryland and West Virginia, giant windmills swooped their massive blades round and round. Despite their distance from us, the noise shocked me when I exited the vehicle for photos.

The valleys became more expansive, and the mountains steeper as we continued east. As the National Weather Service predicted, areas above 2.000 feet in elevation received the heaviest snow. The lowland had little to no snow at all.

A sunlit mountainside near Baker, West Virginia.

The farther east we traveled, the more frequent the breaks in clouds, which allowed the late afternoon sun to break through. The contrast between the sunlit and shadowed snow created lovely shade and color contrasts.

As we entered our beloved Shenandoah Valley, snow had all but disappeared. Only the higher ridges remained white. The morning photos of friends on social media showed the comeliness of the snowfall in the valley, with the snow-covered old-age mountains as a beautiful backdrop.

Still, we were happy to have seen the snowy sights and thankful for cleared highways, and to be home.

Cattle grazed beneath the snow-covered Allegheny Mountains near Lost City, West Virginia.

Street Photography With a Twist

I love photography. It keeps me alert for the extraordinary while doing the ordinary. In this case, I was with my wife, her cousin, and her husband, all septuagenarians.

We get together every so often about halfway between our home in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley and their abode in central North Carolina. Lynchburg is a handy place to meet up, a two-hour drive for each of us.

We like many of the same activities, like playing cards, dominoes, antiques, and birding. We also enjoy casual strolls along city streets and well-marked biking and hiking paths. Lynchburg offers plenty of both.

Since we are not out to set any speed records on our walks, I can wander ahead and find the unusual among the usual rural or urban landscapes. Occasionally, I charge ahead too fast, and the others call me back to see what they have found. Together, we discover much to appreciate, ponder, and enjoy.

Take our most recent excursion, for example. Lynchburg is a city of hills and valleys, with a rich history, old buildings, waterways, sidewalks, cobblestone alleys, and lazy trails often following the winding creeks and the James River. One trail even had an old railroad tunnel, now lighted for bikers and hikers. The city is a paradise for photographers.

We came upon curious subjects to photograph every path we took. Along a creekside trail, we found this textured object. Any guesses? A tire? An alligator’s back? No to both. There’s a hint in the photo.

This is the closeup of an old fallen tree. The trunk was rotting away while its life-protective bark remained.

Not all photographic opportunities were so secretive. Still, using your imagination is critical. This old snag has stood the test of time, and the elements of four seasons have weathered into a once-living art object. Does anyone else conjure an owl flapping its right wing?

Speaking of living, this diminutive plant waved its once-green leaves red for the holiday season that is upon us. It is a volunteer burning bush, likely deposited by a seed-eating bird. There was no missing the bright color among all the trail-side leaf litter.

A short distance away, a competitor vied for attention. This sugar maple sapling shown like the sun on this dismal day. It made us all chuckle.

Not everything was so obvious, however. This photo has a complex combination of both natural and human-made actions.

Any idea what this abstract consists of? Look close. What’s on the left side? You are halfway home if you said a rock outcropping leached with calcium-laden groundwater. The right section is an old drainpipe. Some wannabe artists eliminated the plain rusty look by adding some pretty red and blue with a meaning. Those colors covered up some previous graffiti in faded white.

That pipe was a hint for us. The city lay just around the corner. We soon found this intriguing old set of double doors in a two-story brick building, likely once a warehouse during the railroad’s heyday. It faced the James River. The nearby trail was once a rail line.

A few steps away was a nearly block-long mosaic timeline of the history of Lynchburg. The blight of slavery was front and center. It’s an incredible piece of artwork often blocked by parked cars. This photo shows the intricate detail needed to tell the town’s story. I couldn’t imagine the time and effort it took to create this masterpiece.

We headed to the Amtrak train station away from Old Town. The building was magnificently reconstructed and expanded to hold city offices that had nothing to do with trains. We had a look around and came across some interesting finds.

An old luggage hand cart parked against the sturdy brick building caught my eye. No longer used, it can’t help but take train passengers and visitors back in time.

Across the street, an abandoned building seemed frozen in time. Dozens of solar bobbleheads danced behind a window in the late autumn sun. It was a curious collection that seemed abandoned, left to survive without human help.

This wasn’t our first rendezvous in Lynchburg with our friends. Given all there is to do, see, and photograph, it won’t be our last.

Mallards at Sunset

A trio of mallard ducks floating on Silver Lake, Dayton, Virginia.

I hope you had an enjoyable Thanksgiving. My wife and I had our Thanksgiving celebration spread over several days, from Sunday to Saturday.

We hosted our daughter and her family for a Sunday evening Thanksgiving meal. We enjoyed their company as much as the delicious food.

On Thanksgiving Day, we traveled southeast two hours to Lynchburg, Virginia, to meet up with my wife’s cousin and her husband, who live in North Carolina. Lynchburg was our halfway meeting place.

We rented an Airbnb and enjoyed hiking, sightseeing, playing cards and dominoes. Of course, the four of us downed a wonderful Thanksgiving meal. It was good to be together again as we always cherish their company.

My wife and I arrived home in the Shenandoah Valley just before dark Saturday evening. With wispy clouds in the southwest sky, a colorful sunset looked favorable. I headed to my favorite local spot for sunset reflections, Silver Lake in Dayton, Virginia.

I waited and waited, and finally, a bright orange area radiated over the Allegheny Mountains. As I snapped shot after shot, three mallard ducks landed on the lake.

The ducks swam towards the glowing reflection. I kept praying them onward before the color faded. Sure enough, they glided into the “warm” water, and I clicked away.

The photo above is highly cropped. The water reflects the sky’s beauty without the power lines, poles, and cell towers. It was a satisfying ending to our week of giving thanks.

Blessed or Grateful?

A Thanksgiving Day turkey. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I’ve always felt uneasy when someone says, “I am so blessed,” or “I feel blessed.” The statements seem off somehow. The context infers divine intervention or anointment.

Maybe it’s just me, but after hearing those comments all my life, they seem increasingly used in today’s selfish society. Then it hit this septuagenarian. That was my answer to the dilemma.

To utter the words “I am blessed” focuses on the person, not on the blessing the individual received. I understand they are happy, but it’s not about you, them, or me.

I know people are expressing praise and joy for something positive in their life that has happened. Take an automobile accident, for example.

A person posts on social media a photo of their totaled vehicle, but they were able to walk away with only minor or even no injuries. Yet, they espouse being blessed. What about the person or persons in the other car who were critically injured or didn’t make it? They, indeed, weren’t blessed, regardless of who caused the crash.

So, if people are glad they survived, were healed, or have a dozen grandchildren, why don’t they express gratitude instead of their blessedness? Doing so keeps the focus on the action, not the human.

I know it seems like I’m splitting hairs on this one. But given that I’m bald, I don’t think so. I want to hear an individual, group, or corporation keep the light on the goodness, joy, or success they experienced, not on themselves.

After all, too many others in the same situation have adverse outcomes. A mother celebrates the birth of twins on social media with the “I am so blessed” mantra while another silently mourns her stillborn child. Both deserve appropriate compassion.

In the U.S., the holiday season starts with Thanksgiving. It would be marvelous if we all expressed our gratitude for all we have and were willing to share some of it with the least, the last, and the lost.

Doing so would wonderfully bless those without the same opportunities as the givers. That way, we can collectively express our elation through our gratitude instead of through our ego.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Into the Smoke

As photographs go, this one looks dull. A horse-drawn buggy driven by an Old Order Mennonite gentleman doesn’t exactly draw you into the photo.

The buggy slowly climbed this incline in the western section of Rockingham County, where Old Order Mennonites have lived for generations in Virginia’s typically lovely Shenandoah Valley. This day was an exception, however.

The buggy appeared to be moving into the clouds. But, unfortunately, this gray wasn’t from clouds, fog, or smog. No. This lack of color resulted from a wildfire burning in the Jefferson National Forest 75 miles south of Rockingham County.

The day had started reasonably bright, but by mid-morning, cities, suburban neighborhoods, and rural areas were all filled with thick, choking smoke. One whiff and the odor screamed wildfire.

The problem was you couldn’t figure out where the smoke was coming from. The smokey haze blocked out the sun. It hid 4,000-foot mountains. It really wasn’t safe to be outside without a mask.

But the old firefighter in me wanted to know the source of the smoke since no media had any information. So, I went searching. That’s how I came upon the buggy. It wasn’t until hours after returning to my home that I learned of the Matts Creek wildfire, which has burned over 1,400 acres with zero containment.

I found an update from the U.S. Forest Service online, which gave details. Personnel, fire engines, fixed wing, and helicopters were all working to control the wind-blown fire. Several hiking trails in the James River Face Wilderness. That includes the Appalachian Trail.

Let’s hope the fire can soon be contained and extinguished without threatening structures and no injuries.

Photographing a Dream

Old Engine 611 blew its whistle as it passed below us.

As a young child, I loved trains. I remember running outside seven decades ago to watch the steam locomotives roar past my grandfather’s home.

The combination of the thick black smoke boiling out of the engine’s stack, the pure white steam issuing like little clouds at each tug of the train’s whistle, and the chug, chug, chug of the wheels that drive the train onward thrilled me.

When I had a chance to relive that experience recently, I couldn’t pass it up. Our son and daughter and their spouses and children gave us a gift certificate for our anniversary to ride on an excursion train. A diesel engine pulled this one, however.

As it happened, a famous steam locomotive, “Old 611,” “Spirit of Roanoke,” or the “Queen of Steam,” was pulling another excursion the same day as our ride through Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley, where we live.

The timing was perfect. After returning to the station, we could drive to the beautiful countryside and watch the 611 power along the tracks below a highway overpass. We had checked out the location beforehand to ensure we could see the train and still be out of the way of traffic.

We need not worry about the traffic. The seldom-used country road afforded a great view of the train and the mountains beyond.

So, after our relaxing ride with a delicious lunch from a local restaurant, we drove west 20 minutes to our selected spot. A couple of other train enthusiasts were already there. They knew as we did that many train chasers would arrive and crowd in to photograph the train, too.

Why all the excitement about a steam engine? The 611 is the only remaining member of Norfolk and Western’s class J-4-8-4 streamlined steam locomotives. Having been built in May 1950, it is one of the last mainline passenger steam locomotives fabricated in the U.S. Rail fans consider the 611 the climax of steam locomotive technology. Diesel engines soon replaced this gem of an engine.

We chatted with these gregarious men, one from Pennsylvania, the other from Tennessee. They taught my wife and me a great deal about the train we were waiting on. Just as expected, others soon joined us.

First, we had unexpected treats. An eastbound Amtrak Cardinal train zoomed by, followed by a westbound one an hour later. They were opening acts for the main event, the 611.

We could hear the shrill whistle of the steam engine as it crossed roadways far in the distance. It was time for the show. We all got ready to be thrilled.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Soon, the train neared our chosen spot. My wife started the video on my phone, and I aimed my camera to capture stills of this icon steaming by. The day had warmed into the 60s, but I still had goosebumps. I felt like a kid again.

The train roared along beneath us as I snapped photo after photo. In less than a minute, my throwback to childhood had ended.

Still, it was a dream come true. The memories from yesterday and yesteryear remain fresh in my soul.

Enjoy the sights and sounds of Old 611.

Autumn’s Amazing Colors – The Last

Brilliant Sugar Maples in the Park View neighborhood of Harrisonburg, Virginia.

Following my day in Shenandoah National Park, my wife and I headed south to Augusta County. We had more than colorful leaves on our agenda.

The “Queen of Steam,” Norfolk & Western Railroad’s Old 611 steam engine was running excursions twice a day from Goshen, Virginia, to Staunton, Virginia. Friends had pointed out a perfect place to observe the 611 heading east to Staunton.

So, Neva and I were up early to get a good spot at the bridge over the Buckingham Branch tracks at Swoope, Virginia. I wasn’t familiar with the area, so I wanted to scout different locations, too.

It was another beautiful day in the Shenandoah Valley. Cool temperatures in the morning, but a promised warming into the 60s by afternoon. The drive down to Swoope was nothing less than gorgeous.

Our spot on the bridge where we would have seen the 611 engine pulling the excursion train.

We arrived in Swoope at 8:30, and the train wasn’t scheduled to leave Goshen until 9:30. We didn’t know how long it would take the special train to arrive at our location. Besides a few walkers and joggers, we were the only people around.

Confident that our spots on the bridge wouldn’t be taken, we drove around the lovely valley dotted with rolling hills, pristine cattle farms, and gorgeous trees. The mixed hardwoods on Little North Mountain and the North Mountain beyond it were at peak color.

I took several shots of trees and farms and returned to the bridge. Soon, other rail fans arrived, and the chatter began. We listened for the train whistle to echo through the valleys. All was still.

Finally, a guy arrived who had information about the 611. It was listed as “static” at Goshen, meaning the engine wasn’t moving. A mechanical problem prevented 611 from running that day. The excursion would be pulled by diesel engines.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

My wife and I decided to return home. The morning had already brought much beauty into our lives. We had enjoyed the colorful trees, the well-maintained farms, and the congeniality of strangers.

The next few days, I continued my quest to photograph the beauty around Harrisonburg before the weather changed and brought the leaves down. I am happy to share them with you.