After an early morning lab test at the local hospital, I drove a couple of miles to a favorite lake that often affords decent birding. I found the bird I hoped would be there, a lone Sandhill Crane, plus I got a bonus.
The small lake lay east and west, with an opening to the east where the spillway falls into a natural ravine. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Shenandoah National Park are visible in the far distance.
As I began my search for the crane, the sun broke through a layer of low clouds. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t last long, but the mauve and orange caught my eye. It was a stunning but subtle scene.
Sunrise at Lake Shenandoah, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Once I found the bird and pointed it out to a trio of young birders, I headed home. I kept my eye on the sky in hopes of an even prettier sunset.
With high broken clouds, I decided to visit Silver Lake in the quaint town of Dayton, just a few miles from my home. I arrived with the sun still hanging low in the southwest.
At first, I wasn’t impressed. I was fearful that the clouds that often congregate over the Allegheny Mountains to the west in the evenings might spoil any chance of a nice sunset. However, I have learned to be patient after years of chasing sunrises and sunsets.
That’s been even more true here in the Shenandoah Valley. With mountain ranges to the east and west of the county, the sun takes its time to paint the sky. That’s exactly what happened.
Things were still dull in the west, but I looked behind me, and the clouds in the eastern sky blushed in warm tones. I drove to the other side of the lake to capture the reflections.
The old mill
When I arrived
Colors in the east
The south bank
The reds begin
Across the lake
The farm
The long view
Silhouettes
The reds peak
I no sooner arrived there when the western horizon burst with fiery hues. I returned to my original spot and snapped away.
I was most grateful for nature’s wondrous morning and evening displays that day. It pays to keep an eye on the sky.
Daffodils at the arboretum. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh.
My wife and I recently celebrated our 52nd anniversary. We did so quietly.
Initially, we considered driving to Washington, D.C., to view the cherry blossoms at their peak. We had never done that, and living only two hours away, we could easily view the iconic flowers and be home before dark. We weighed our options and decided instead to stay close to home, which was my wife’s preference.
That decision paid dividends we didn’t expect. First, we slept in, which is not our routine. We usually awaken at first light. It felt good to start our big day well-rested.
After a quiet, light breakfast, we continued with a habit we started during the pandemic. We played cards and drank our morning decaf coffee. With the temperature hovering slightly above freezing, we were in no hurry to head outside for a few local adventures.
Traffic was light for the 10-minute drive downtown for an early lunch at a favorite restaurant. Since it was a Monday and not yet noon, there was no wait. We enjoyed our meals and the quiet atmosphere. They even had gluten-free bread for my brisket sandwich. It was nice to sit in the serenity of the ordinarily bustling restaurant. Our waitress even took her time bringing the check.
After lunch, we drove to a local arboretum and strolled around the artificial pond. Both buttery yellow and white daffodils colored the forested hillside surrounding the murky pond. Some flowers were already fading, while others were beginning to bud.
The aptly named star magnolias were also losing their luster. We admired some snappy-looking white and orange daffodils and various wildflowers beginning to grace the forest floor.
A young man approached us as we sniffed the blooms. He was the new marketing person for the arboretum, and we enjoyed an extended conversation with him about photography. My constant snapping of the shutter gave me away.
By then, the sun had taken the chill out of the air. That meant one thing: ice cream. We drove to a local ice cream parlor in a neighboring town. A kid’s cup is suitable for us now. My wife was more adventurous and ordered a caramel salted chocolate chunk while I stuck with my tried and true chocolate. We chose a table outside where my wife sat in the shade while I preferred the sun on my back.
On the way home, we stopped at another smaller arboretum at the north end of the small town. The place is more park than a botanical garden. A small, tree-lined stream called Cooks Creek winds lazily through a green space. Cooks Creek Arboretum is sandwiched between a hillside condo complex and a farmer’s still-fallow field stretching up to a big red barn.
Once the flock of pesky common grackles flew off, we heard a barred owl calling softly from inside an owl box fastened to a giant sycamore on the creek’s bank. The harmony of the owl’s twittering and the silvery gurgling of the stream brought a smile to both of us.
Ring-necked DucksSilver Lake MillThe old waterwheel
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
With the return of the noisy grackles, we detoured to Silver Lake to check for migrating waterfowl. A quartet of ring-necked ducks floated and dived, floated and dived on the shallow lake’s surface. The lake’s Civil War-era mill attracts people far and wide.
Shortly after we arrived back home, the doorbell rang. A young woman handed my wife a bouquet from her sister and her husband, who live in Ohio. We appreciated their kind and loving gesture.
We snacked for supper, and after sunset, I drove to a high point in the countryside to take photos of three planets. Venus shown bright in the night sky, but I couldn’t find the conjunction of Saturn and Mars near the horizon. An invisible haze hung over the Allegheny Mountains, obscuring any starry beauty.
When I returned home, another kind of darkness fell. We learned of the horrific mass shooting at the Covenant School in Nashville. The sad news snapped us out of our anniversary bliss into the reality of today’s life in the United States. Our peaceful, quiet, and enjoyable anniversary day with my loving wife ended with a tearful thud.
I frequent Silver Lake in Dayton, Virginia for a number of reasons. Birding and taking sunsets top the list.
I never know what I will find. Sometimes the sunsets are a bust. Sometimes few birds are present, not counting the ubiquitous resident Mallards.
Like most photographers, I look around for unexpected scenes. I couldn’t miss this one.
The clouds over the mountains to the west had moved east. Consequently, the sun sank behind the Allegheny Mountains without much color or fanfare.
The day’s last rays tinted the remanent clouds that lingered over the nearly still lake. This mirror-image perspective spoke volumes without saying a word.
Roadkill Crossing 
You must be logged in to post a comment.