hiking – Roadkill Crossing

Enjoying Nature’s Many Benefits

You never know what you’ll happen upon in nature. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We live in a stress-filled world with lots of artificial noise, annoying distractions, societal expectations, and short deadlines. There are ways to escape the madness, even if only temporarily.

In my almost 79 years of living, I have made a habit of escaping much of life’s static by getting away. Even in retirement, I feel life’s stresses.

Hiking and bird watching are two excellent ways to forget all of the activities that clutter our lives, especially with 21st-century technology constantly hounding us. Combining exercise with enjoyment helps strengthen my body, foster mindfulness, and recharge my spirit for living.

I add in a third complementary hobby: photography. Snapshots of my outings document where I have been and what I have seen. Then I can share the treasures I have found with others, which only enhances the joy of the experience.

Poet Mary Oliver taught us to “pay attention, be astonished, tell about it.” During my treks, I put this poetic advice into practice. I marvel at a pair of Swallow-tailed Kites foraging for insects over a recently mown field. Walking through a tunnel of blooming Mountain Laurel along the Appalachian Trail stops me in my tracks.

A Swallowtail Kite. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A blogger friend of mine who frequents Georgia’s Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge does so for solitude and renewal by kayaking among alligators. Finding renewal in nature is a personal preference. Making the effort to enjoy the outdoors is what counts.

Recent studies have proven what author Wendell Berry has always known: “For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.” One study “found evidence for associations between nature exposure and improved cognitive function, brain activity, blood pressure, mental health, physical activity, and sleep.” Another research paper focused on the health benefits of nature in urban areas.

These studies show that everyone, everywhere, should commune with nature. It can be a morning walk in your neighborhood or a long-distance bicycle ride. I walk frequently in our suburban neighborhood in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The melodious bird calls and the fragrance from well-attended flower gardens combine to energize my steps.

I find Berry’s grace under the shady canopy of towering trees, among stands of colorful wildflowers, while viewing wildlife big and small, and in forever mountaintop vistas. So, whether with friends or solo, I enjoy nature in her many forms. Being retired allows me to do so as time allows.

I keep a steady pace until I spot something pretty or intriguing. I pull out my smartphone and photograph it. That documents the time and place to reinforce my memory. It might be another opportunity to share it as well.

I belong to a local bird club, so I can follow up on any rare bird alerts as I can. I don’t always find the bird in question, but I’m not disappointed. I often encounter other birders in search of the same species. We commiserate and share other birding adventures we’ve had. New friends are made in the process.

I’ll occasionally join a scheduled bird hike in a city park or even in Shenandoah National Park 40 miles away. Having multiple pairs of eyes scanning the sky and peering through thickets and woodlots enhances all our chances of seeing a special bird.

I have the privilege of mentoring a high school junior from our church. He also happens to enjoy bird watching, so we occasionally venture out with small groups or another mentor-mentee pair to enjoy the hiking, camaraderie, and all we encounter along the way.

Impatient with our septuagenarian pace, the trustworthy teens forge ahead, exploring on their own. Once, they encountered an unfamiliar rock scramble and rushed back to us, realizing they had missed the turn.

I am most free to enjoy the flora and fauna when I go alone. I travel at my own leisure, stopping to photograph bees and butterflies on flowers, unusual rock formations, and birds if I can spot them in the dense foliage.

After hiking to a majestic overlook in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I rest a spell, partly to regain my energy and catch my breath, but mostly to inhale the view. The quiet has its rewards: a doe grazing with her fawn, Red-tailed Hawks and Turkey Vultures soaring on thermals with puffy white clouds sailing high overhead in the cerulean sky, a Timber Rattlesnake soaking in the sun on a limestone outcropping.

Hydration and nourishment with water and snacks are essential, especially when hiking at higher altitudes. With binoculars hanging from my neck and a camera slung on my shoulder, a pair of walking sticks keeps me steady even on the rockiest of terrain.

Spending time in nature provides many benefits, especially for seniors as we age. It helps improve cardiovascular health and sleep, and reduce inflammation in the body, according to this study by the Elder Care Alliance. My family physician tells me “to keep moving,” so I do.

The essence of being in nature with the wild things gives me all the peace I need. With no signal in remote areas, the cellphone never interrupts.

Along New Hampshire Route 16

The Ellis River at Jackson, New Hampshire. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

There’s a lot to like about driving on Pinkham Notch Road, which is New Hampshire Route 16. We wanted to revisit some of the places we had seen seven years ago, when we initially visited the area.

After leaving the Mt. Washington area, we took the long way around to our hotel in Gorham, New Hampshire. We headed southeast to Pinkham Notch Road.

Our first stop was Jackson, a sleepy resort town on the Ellis River. The historic Honeymoon Covered Bridge, built in 1876, spans the river and is the village’s icon. Jackson also houses cute cottages, tourist businesses, and country inns.

The road basically follows the flow of the Ellis River, whose headwaters begin on Mt. Washington. The Glen Ellis Falls crash down 64 feet in a rock-filled narrow gorge a few miles north of Jackson.

To access the falls, you have to cross through a pedestrian tunnel under Route 16 and wind your way along the river, down rocky steps, and on a trail that’s occasionally muddy in spots. The trek is well worth it, however. Amid a forest of birch trees and evergreens, the rushing waters crash against giant, jagged boulders before falling and continuing down the mountainside.

Just up the road is the AMC Pinkham Notch visitor center. It’s the place for serious hikers to check in, rest, and shower. The Appalachian Trail that descends from Mt. Washington slides behind the center and crosses the road at Pinkham Notch.

The Pinkham Notch visitor center. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

A little farther up the highway is the entrance to the Wildcat Mountain ski area. If you’re up for it, the auto road to Mt. Washington is right across the road.

If you enjoy the outdoors in any season, the Pinkham Notch area in New Hampshire offers activities for everyone.

Glen Ellis Falls, Gorham, New Hampshire. Video by Bruce Stambaugh

On Top of Mt. Washington

This is how the famous mountain looked after we completed our round-trip excursion. From the left, the Mt. Washington Hotel, the cog railway, and the peak itself. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

We left our friends’ home in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom for an hour’s drive to the Cog Railway in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire. We arrived in plenty of time and discovered that we could take the 11 o’clock train instead of the noon one.

The other options for getting to the revered mountaintop are to drive up the private road, pay to ride up in a van, or walk up and back via the Appalachian Trail. My wife ruled out the first two, and our age and physical shape ruled out the other.

After receiving the rules for riding the railway, we boarded our car with the biodiesel engine at the rear to push us up the mountain. We followed two other such “trains” up the tracks.

The seats were slanting forward rather than at a 45-degree angle, which was uncomfortable at first. That soon changed as we chugged forward, and our seats felt comfortable as they adjusted to the mountain’s steep incline.

The fastest we clackety-clacked up the cog rails was five miles per hour. So, it took nearly an hour to get to the top.

When we left the station, we could see the mountain’s top with passing clouds. When we arrived atop Mt. Washington, we were in the clouds with only occasional views and a few hints of sunshine.

We had 50 minutes to eat lunch, which we took along, and to explore the historic mountaintop. Sudden bursts of sunshine interrupted my snack lunch. I rushed outside to capture whatever I could see. The view west was a wall of gray.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

I could see east and north, however. I saw the Appalachian Trail, which winds up and down the mountain. Cairns marked its path instead of white blazes on trees. A few hikers trekked amid the cloudy mist.

Having been to that area seven years ago, I could identify the Wildcat Ski area and the scenic New Hampshire Route 16 that runs from Gorham south through Pinkham Notch and down the valley to Conway.

So, the $100-a-piece ride wasn’t a complete bust. However, in the hour it took to return to the base station, the sky had cleared. Mt. Washington stood as handsome as ever above all the other presidential peaks.

Proof we made it to the top. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

In Search of Mountain Laurel

Mountain Laurel blossoms. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I went for the birds and the blossoms, but forgot about the bugs. They didn’t deter me, however.

My neighbor had told me that the Mountain Laurel bushes were blooming at various locations in Shenandoah National Park, just a short drive from my home. The laurel blooms from late May into mid-June, depending on elevation.

Of course, I had to see for myself. I fixed a hiker’s lunch, packed my binoculars, camera, and a couple of jackets, and headed out. It’s often 10 degrees or more cooler in the mountains than in the Shenandoah Valley, where I live.

I didn’t need to bother with the jackets. The temperature was 70 degrees when I arrived, and it was humid, with little to no breeze. It was 79 when I left.

A small black bear cub greeted me not long after I entered the park. Fortunately, it scampered back off the old stone wall away from the road and into the forest.

I soon reached my first destination. Just a short distance off Skyline Drive, I reached the Appalachian Trail, which crossed a fire road. I didn’t see any Mountain Laurel, but songbirds were plentiful. So were the knats and mosquitoes.

A male Eastern Towhee. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I strolled along the AT, swatting at the pesky bugs and trying to locate the many warblers I was hearing and recording on my smartphone’s birding app. Singing its unmistakable “drink your tea” melody, a male Eastern Towhee posed for a photo on a limb hanging right over the trail.

I met a lone through-hiker from South Carolina. She hoped to reach Mt. Kadadhin in Maine by mid-September. She told me she had passed many stands of Mountain Laurel on her hike so far, which began at the Appalachian Trail’s traditional starting point, Springer Mountain, in Georgia.

She headed north while I retraced my steps to my vehicle. The birdsong was terrific, but the forest’s full foliage made it challenging for this old guy to spot the warblers as they flitted from one branch to another, munching on their insect smorgasbord.

Besides, my main goal was to photograph the blooming Mountain Laurel. I followed my neighbor’s directions to another section of the AT, where the Mountain Laurel was so prolific that it formed a floral tunnel.

The laurels were in all stages of blooming, from tight pink buds to hexagonal flowers in full bloom. In places, the sun filtered through the forest canopy, highlighting the beauty before me.

The laurel blooms offered no fragrance, and I never saw an insect of any kind on any of the hundreds of blossoms. There was a good reason for that. As pretty as the prized flowers are, they are poisonous to any living creature. Every part of the plant is toxic.

So, if someone offers you Mountain Laurel honey, politely decline. Merely enjoy the flowers with their evergreen leaves. If you go, make sure you take your favorite bug spray.

Mountain Laurel grows along the Skyline Drive in several locations. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Shenandoah National Park: Before and After the Peak Leaf Colors

Nature’s beauty reigned even after the peak colors had faded. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Fall is a great time to hike, bird, and shoot photos. Shenandoah National Park is my go-to place to combine all three hobbies in one trip.

However, I have learned to avoid the peak color time due to crowds. People from around the world visit the park to admire its autumn glory, which means traffic is also at its peak on the iconic Skyline Drive.

By mid-morning, lines of vehicles form at entrance stations. Overlook parking spaces fill up quickly, forcing people to park along the busy roadway. The same is true for trailhead parking lots.

Before the peak of leaf colors.

So, I chose to catch the leaf colors before and after the peak. The park is still busy, but it is tolerable, and I am satisfied with a stirring hike filled with picturesque views, unexpected wildlife, and migrating birds.

In the mountains, altitude affects the coloring as much as sunshine, cooler nighttime temperatures, and morning frosts. So, the trees might be dull or even bare at the hike’s beginning, and a half mile down the trail, a blaze of color brightens the way.

After the peak. Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Though I have missed the height of the turning leaves, I enjoy the before-and-after with equal zeal. It’s fun to note the differences I discover and meet friendly folks along the way. The park’s beauty has energized them, too.

Besides, I admired nature’s colorful summit in other locales in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley. It is the perfect place to enjoy hiking, birding, and photography all in one joyous day trip.

A view west into the Shenandoah Valley. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Celebrating National Park Week

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

This is National Park Week in the United States. In celebration of our 63 beautiful national parks, this is the first of a series of photos I have taken in Shenandoah National Park.

Shenandoah National Park has a storied and somewhat troublesome history, given how farmers and their hired hands were removed from the park before it was developed starting in late 1935.

Though the land was rugged and steep in many places, over 2,000 folks lived, farmed, and worked on the 198,000 acres that became the first national park in the eastern part of the U.S. Landowners were paid an assessed rate for their property, which the federal government purchased via eminent domain.

Of course, many of the people were tenants who cared for the land, while the property owners lived in the Shenandoah Valley or elsewhere. The tenants received nothing for their inconvenience. Consequently, some of their descendants still have grudges against the government.

Nevertheless, Shenandoah National Park is a popular place to visit since millions of people live within a day’s drive. Plus, the Appalachian Trail (AT) stretches 101 miles through the park, drawing day and overnight hikers. The AT weaves along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains, crossing the Skyline Drive several times.

I enjoy day hikes in the park, which often involve hiking sections of the AT to spur trails that lead to waterfalls, rigorous climbs, and scenic overlooks. I especially appreciate the flora and fauna that I encounter.

This photo, taken in late May 2018, represents the lusciousness of the park’s greenery, from ground cover to towering trees. The photo was not altered to enhance the green.

Tomorrow, I’ll post what I saw to the left of where this photo was taken.

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

Back Out on the Trail

Crossing the Mill Prong on the Mill Prong Trail, Shenandoah National Park.

It had been too long. I missed hiking regularly.

I had several excuses as to why I hadn’t hiked: I was traveling; the weather was too hot and humid; it was too rainy; I had family obligations. I could list more, but you likely don’t want to hear them.

So, I gladly agreed to lead a group when an opportunity to hike came along. A friend and several of her female friends hike local trails weekly. The Mill Prong Trail in Shenandoah National Park was on their radar, but they were unfamiliar with it. My friend knew I had hiked it.

I chauvinistically asked if men were allowed in their hiking entourage, and I was quickly admonished. They wanted to hike and wanted me to lead the way.

The Mill Prong is a side trail that juts off the Appalachian Trail (AT) at mile marker 53 on Skyline Drive in the park. The trail leads to the Rapidan Camp, the summer home of President Herbert Hoover and First Lady Lou Henry Hoover.

My trail app on my iPhone listed it as a moderately strenuous 3.7-mile hike round trip. We wouldn’t be going that far. Since all in our group were in their 70s, our goal was to hike to the intersection with the Mill Prong Horse Trail. That is exactly one mile.

This day was much cooler than the previous weeks of hot, sticky, and sometimes wet days in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. When we arrived at the parking lot where the AT crosses Skyline Drive, my van’s thermometer read 60 degrees. It was perfect hiking weather.

To access Mill Prong Trail, you must walk across the roadway and then a short distance on the AT. Soon you’re at the Mill Prong Trailhead.

I had told the ladies that this wasn’t the most scenic hike. They were more concerned with the trail’s difficulty and elevation gains. Having hiked it previously, I knew that the Mill Prong was a comparatively gradual decline to the horse trail. We had no intention of going to Rapidan Camp. A two-mile roundtrip hike down and back would suffice.

The Mill Prong Trail has two stream crossings. Trail-keepers conveniently placed large rocks for hikers to successfully cross both without getting wet. That is, as long as you don’t slip and fall. I was the only one who did.

The trek down the Mill Prong trail was similar to my earlier experience. The walk was eerily quiet. I only heard a lone Downy Woodpecker along the mostly dirt path down and back. We saw no other hikers until a young woman passed us as we were nearly finished, and she was just starting.

We took our time, enjoying nature’s stillness, the verdant forest floor carpeted with ferns, grasses, and wildflowers. We respectfully observed the colorful fungus and the four-foot northern water snake soaking in the morning sun on a large moss-covered rock in the middle of the trickling stream.

We took a break just after passing the horse trail, precisely one mile from the trailhead. We ate our snacks, inspected the snake, kept our distance, and hydrated.

Then it was time to head back up the gradual incline. The trail effortlessly wound its way past outcroppings, back across the two forks of the Mill Prong, shaded all the way by a mixed hardwood forest. It was already shedding some of its leaves.

Just before we reached the intersection with the AT, birds and pollinators began to appear. Jewelweed bloomed everywhere, especially in a triangle between the AT and Skyline Drive. Hummingbirds zipped left and right, and a few Monarchs and Tiger Swallowtails flitted here and there.

Despite our tired old bones, smiles dominated. It was a perfect ending to just the kind of hike the ladies like to take. Me, too.

A Day With My Grandson

Grandson Davis enjoyed the view from the overlook deck at Seneca Rocks, West Virginia.

Weather nut that I am, I check the forecast regularly. Monday looked to be decent weather for hiking. Cooler temperatures in the higher elevations and no rain. That would work out just fine for several reasons.

Our daughter and her husband had left the previous Sunday to take our oldest grandchild to his college orientation in Richmond, Virginia. Of course, the university had nearly four days of activities for the new students and their parents.

That left the middle grandchild, Davis, and our only granddaughter, Maren, to check on. With them both being responsible teenagers, that didn’t require much.

With school out for the summer, Maren loves to help Nana with puzzles, baking, and other hands-on chores. She also mows our lawn. That left Davis and me to find trouble together.

Since we both like to hike, we visited Spruce Knob, the highest point in West Virginia. It’s an hour and a half drive for us. We left mid-morning, but Davis didn’t take long to nod. How he could snooze in all that hilly, twisting driving I was doing, I don’t know. He woke as I slowed to photograph a Ruffed Grouse strutting its stuff on the Forest Service road near the mountain top.

After taking a few snapshots of this often elusive bird, we were soon in the parking lot. Other than a Forest Service employee, we had the place to ourselves. However, we hadn’t even started on the trail when I realized I had forgotten the insect repellent. Fat flies buzzed nearby, but none landed on us the entire time we were there.

Spruce Knob affords beautiful views on a clear day like today. Only a few puffy clouds formed over distant mountain ranges to the west. The air was a pleasant 66 degrees with little humidity and no haze to obscure our views.

We walked the loop trail that leads from the parking lot and back. The scent of the spruce filled the air. Wildflowers and birdsongs were abundant. We basked in both.

I know I slowed Davis down by constantly pausing to photograph wildflowers, birds, and butterflies. Trooper that he is, Davis didn’t complain.

I wanted Davis to enjoy this trip. It was one he was supposed to do at the end of the school year with several students and six teachers. The trip was canceled at the last minute when three teachers came down with Covid-19. In the end, all six were sick.

They were to camp out and visit Spruce Knob, Seneca Rocks, and Dolly Sods. All were in the same geographic area of the old folded mountains and valleys.

So, while Nana and Maren were enjoying each other’s company, and Davis’s brother and parents were occupied with college orientation, Davis and I explored some of the wilds and wonders of West Virginia.

We studied the large piles of giant rocks along the path and at the slope of the mountain, long ago rounded by millenniums of erosion from wind, water, ice, and snow. The teacher in me quizzed Davis about how the rocks got where they did. He graciously played along with my lame attempts.

We saw migrant birds and birds that should be migrants but reside here year-round. Dark-eyed Juncos commonly nest in Canadian provinces. The exception is the Appalachian Mountains.

Because these beautiful ridges hold the same habitat and provide the necessary nutrients, the birds live here and farther up the Appalachian range into New England. Davis wanted to know why the other Junocs migrated when the birds we saw stayed. I hope he seeks a better answer than I gave him.

We enjoyed the views east and west and headed to Seneca Rocks, where we would eat our brown bag lunches. When we arrived at the valley picnic grounds, it was 82 degrees and humid.

From there, we could clearly see the face of the vertical rocks jutting straight up. Eons ago, they had been parallel until the collision of continents forced them to fracture and face the sky.

Unfortunately, no rock climbers could be seen. The day was likely too hot for such strenuous activity.

We gathered our things and headed up. The trailhead started at the North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac River. The bridge that crosses it goes by the same cumbersome name.

Davis was eager to let his long legs glide him up the well-maintained trail. My old weathered ones weren’t so cooperative. The first third of the path is the steepest. We rested according to my needs. Davis never complained or barged ahead.

We passed other hikers on their way down, and other younger hikers passed us on the way up. I noticed some of them didn’t have hiking shoes or water. We later trekked by some of those same hikers, now fatigued. We reached the top more than an hour after we had started.

The trail leads to an overlook platform that provides gorgeous views of the mountain ridge west of German Valley that the river continues to carve out. We rested and talked with other hikers who soon reached the summit.

Going down took half the time. Davis wondered about going on to Dolly Sods up the road a piece. I wisely said we would save that adventure for another outing. We still had that long drive home.

Adventures like these are the reason we moved from Ohio’s Amish country to Virginia. Now, with the birth of our fourth grandchild in Rochester, New York, we have additional opportunities to watch our grandchildren grow.

Grandson Teddy was born on May 14.

Bluebells on the Bluebell Trail

Virginia Bluebells beautified the space between the Bluebell Trail and the South Forth of the Shenandoah River in Shenandoah River State Park.

Friends told me that the Virginia Bluebells were at peak bloom along the Bluebell Trail in Shenandoah River State Park. I had to go see for myself.

The weather was perfect. Sunny skies and warm temperatures dominated the day. Both had been recent rarities in the Shenandoah Valley.

So, off I went, down what the Confederates called the Middle Road, to Timberville. From there, I took U.S. 211 east through New Market, up and across the Massanutten Mountain Range, and around the quaint town of Luray to U.S. 340.

A dozen miles later, I entered the park to find the empty entrance station. Due to staffing shortages, it’s an honor system to enter. You grab an envelope, place $10 in it, and deposit the fee into the slot. Hang the receipt from your rearview mirror, and you’re good to go.

And what a splendid day it was. First, I stopped at Cullers Overlook for a fantastic view of the South Fork of the Shenandoah River, snaking its way north. Only a few more miles, and it converges with its twin, the North Fork of the Shenandoah River, at Front Royal. The majestic and historic Shenandoah River flows north to meet the Potomac River at Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia.

The South Fork of the Shenandoah River from Cullers Overlook, Shenandoah River State Park, Bentonville, Virginia.

As glorious as that view was, I didn’t linger long. I wanted to see the Bluebells. It was all downhill from there to the trailhead a half-mile away.

With camera and binoculars in hand, I eagerly set out on the mile-long trail. A swarm of insects greeted me only a few steps onto the earthen path. I had forgotten to pack the bug spray, so I raised my tolerance level and soldiered on.

Soon I began to pass folks who had a head start on me. They assured me that I couldn’t miss the lovely flowers as they headed to their vehicles. They were right.

Once the trail straightened out, patches large and small of Virginia Bluebells spread across the forest floor like a blue and green carpet. They even lined the riverbank much of the time.

I had an ample selection of flower photo ops. Since I also enjoy birds, calls from high above told me that warblers and other songbirds were foraging for insects among the emerging leaves.

The hungry little birds moved fast and furious, fueling up for their continued flight north. To my surprise, my attention focused on more obvious winged creatures.

Several butterflies flitted all around the trees and flowers in irregular patterns. I soon learned to stay still and let the beautiful insects come to me. Several were puddling on the path wear they found damp spots. They extracted nutrients from the moistened soil. A few stayed in place long enough for me to get a few decent shots.

Of course, I kept passing other hikers, and a few bikers who surprised me from behind. The butterflies flew but often returned within camera range.

I didn’t see as many birds as I had hoped, but I counted the trip a success. Communing intimately with nature tends to fill you with joy and appreciation. By the time I left, my cup overflowed