In the Right Place: Good and Evil Beauty

We’re having beautiful bumper crops of winterberries (the good galaxy of friendly red planets) and Asian bittersweet (the evil empire that invades and kills its neighbors). Here you see a winterberry galaxy alone and at peace, ready to serve hungry birds and small mammals:

Below, tou see an ongoing massacre of bittersweet vine invaders strangling their hosts:

Note that the red bittersweet seed pods (“arils”) have emerged from their yellow husks (“capsules”) and are ready to be eaten by hungry birds that will disperse the seed widely, complete with fertilizer:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 3, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Swelled Head Department

A flock of about 30 bufflehead ducks has been flying into Great Cove to play and hunt daily, usually between mid-tide and high tide. They’re North America’s smallest (and cutest, I think) diving ducks. They’re a little more than a foot long and reportedly weigh about a pound.

Buffleheads get their name from the swelled shape of their heads, which are somewhat similarly shaped to those of American buffalos (bison). Males sport white hoods and lower bodies; females wear a white cheek streak and mostly brown, gray, and black bodies:

These little ducks often hunt in groups, with one or two remaining on the surface while the others dive for food. They move quickly from spot to spot looking for food. In the winter, buffleheads reportedly eat mostly small fish, clams, mussels, crabs, snails, and a few aquatic plants. They nest in late winter and early spring, usually in abandoned woodpecker cavities. (Images taken October 24 and November 2, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Blue Sky Moon

November debuted with a special performance yesterday afternoon: she sailed this ovoid moon over us through clear, blue, and windy heavens. Although more than 230,500 miles above, you could see the craters on our ancient companion’s face with the naked eye during daylight:

Technically, the moon was in one of its waxing gibbous phases, meaning that its illuminated side was more than 50 percent full and increasing (waxing) in size, while its shape was hunched or humpback (gibbous).

It will be fully illuminated November 5 and traditionally known then as the Beaver Full Moon. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 1, 2025.)

October Postcards From Down East Maine

October in Down East Maine is a a colorful interlude between the green and gold summer and the gray and white winter. It’s the last chance to see some favorite flora and fauna and other phenomena. It’s also the time to put on warmer clothes, to eat heartier foods, to see redder sunsets in earlier darkness, and, at the end, to celebrate the rising of the spirits of Halloween.

As usual, we’ll begin our “Wish-You-Were-Here” postcards with the four iconic views of coastal Maine that we record every month: the view of Mount Desert Island from Brooklin’s Amen Ridge; the “Harbor House” overlooking Brooklin’s Naskeag Harbor; the old red boat house in Blue Hill’s Conary Cove, and the view of that near-mountain called Blue Hill from across Blue Hill Bay:

To those four national; favorites we add four local October favorites: a land view of the south face of Blue Hill; the floats and pier at the renowned Brooklin Boat Yard; the leaf-shedding Camperdown elm in the Brooklin Cemetery, and the Baptist Church beside a rising country road in North Sedgwick:

October is when the leaves of our flora give a glowing last hurrah in multiple shades of red, orange, yellow, purple, green, and bronze:

It’s a time of profusion for wild fruits and berries and cool weather fungi. Among the most interesting are the ancient, abandoned apple trees that drop their fruit in fallow fields:

There are also the differing forms of October fruit clustures offered by wild mountain ash, weeping crabapple, beautiful but invasive Asian bittersweet, and winterberry.

On the ground, the warm colored false chanterelles and squirrel-nibbled Russula mushrooms arise from the earth overnight like magic.

Our woods were dry and the ponds low this October because we’ve been in a severe drought that presents wildfire dangers. Nonetheless, wallking among the tall trees and viewing the ponds always is a visual and aromatic pleasure:

Of course the garden flora goes the way of all flora in October and provides interesting images. Here we see an out-the-window collection of trees and bushes; the last poppy and mini-sunflower; light rain in the bird bath, and store-bought fall flowers:

In the furry fall fauna category, our white-tailed deer grew into their gray winter coats and a pesky bachelor beaver (whom we’ve named Bernie) decided to build a house (and beaver ballroom, it looks like) in one of our ponds:

As for feathered fauna, we’re on the Atlantic Flyway and see many migrants on their way south in October, including wedges of Canada geese on the wing. On the ground, resident wild turkeys, both adults and first-year youngsters, are easier to see in the fall-mowed fields.

Resident downy woodpeckers carve out their individual winter shelters in October; resident herring gulls rest as much as possible, as usual; greater yellow legs sandpipers pause to peck through rockweed on their way south, and winter resident bufflehead ducks move in:

We should mention that October is the last month that we see bumblebees and monarch butterflies in action:

October also is a time of change on the waterfront. Many of the coastal lobster fishermen start to bring in their traps during the month because that fishing season ends for most of them in the fall. Recreational boats also are brought up “on the hard” during the month and can create traffic jams in the process.

Below are the last two boats of 2025 moored in Great Cove: EO, the 12 1/2-foot sailboat and LUCILLE, the refurbished lobster boat. They were brought out of the water in late October. Also below you’ll see VULCAN, the moorings boat, replacing summer ball mooring buoys with more ice-friendly winter stick buoys.

Of course, October ends on Halloween when the spirits are supposed to arise and join us. But those spirits and their wizards always come here a few days early to enjoy Vacationland and its bounty:

The guords above remind us that October also is the beginning of stew season and the time for other hearty foods, including lasanga. Tomatoes and squash fresh from the vines and a wide variety of fall apples were in ample supply here, ready for the picking in orchards and stores.

By a quirk in the calendar, this October’s full moon was both the Harvest Moon and the Hunters’ Moon. It rose molten red in the twilight and turned to pewter once it sailed high above our gritty atmosphere:

Finally, we leave you with an October sundown over Great Cove. As our view of the sun becomes more southerly, the sunsets get more and more spectacular, making up for the loss of color elsewhere. That’s always something to look forward to in winter.

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during October of 2025.)

In the Right Place: Happy Halloween!

May today’s rising spirits all be pleasing sights for you.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on October 17 and 18, 2025.)

In the Right Place: From “Skeinny” to “Plump”

Here you see a skein of Canada Geese resuming their flight south over Great Cove last week. They spent the morning resting near the now-vacant WoodenBoat School docking float:

Once the Cove is mostly devoid of its considerable summer and fall boating activity, it becomes a popular stopover on the Atlantic Flyway for birds headed south from Canada and for winter resident waterfowl. (LUCILLE, a smart-looking reconstituted lobster boat that is/was the last boat in the Cove, is scheduled to be taken out early today.)

Curiously, groups of Canada geese are called different things depending on where they congregate and the predilections of observers. When flying in a V-formation or in a knotted group, the geese usually are known as a “skein.” When in that characteristic V-formation, they also can be called a “wedge” or “team.” When collected as a feathered flotilla in the water, Canada geese are known (inexplicably) as a “plump,” and, when grouped on the ground, they’re a “gaggle.” 

As global warming does its thing, more Canada geese are establishing year-long residences in some parts of Maine. However, I’m not aware of any of these brave souls overwintering in our part of Down East. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 24, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Stacking Up to Wind Down

Stacks of lobster traps are reappearing in Naskeag Harbor like the beginning of Lego® constructions. The inshore lobster season is winding down and many of our lobster fishermen are starting to bring in their lobster traps to trailer them to storage. It’s all part of a yearly cycle.

As I understand it, the lobsters are undergoing their winter migration into deeper, offshore waters, where they’ll be trapped by fewer winter fishermen using larger vessels. The season for soft-shell “shedder” lobsters peaks in the summer. Late summer and fall are when most of the lobsters grow into their new shells, which harden. The colder water reportedly causes the lobster meat to firm up and fill out its newly-enlarged shell, producing what many consider to be the best (and somewhat more expensive) “hard-shell lobsters.”

As for the lobster boats, many of our coastal fishermen will be cleaning them up and converting them into scallop-dragging vessels that will start dredging for those delicious mollusks in December. A mast and boom will be added to the boat for the “drag” (the metal, wood, and rope dredging purse net), and probably a wooden “shelling house” to shelter crew members who are shucking the scallops out of shells during the winter.  

A relatively few fishermen will also be diving in underwater gear for the mollusks this winter, hand-harvesting the pricier “divers’ scallops.” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 27, 2025.)

In the Right Place: When Differing Views Are Both Right

Above is a favorite view of Blue Hill as she presides over a high-tiding Blue Hill Bay. Below you’ll see this near-mountain over the shoulders of a seemingly surprised stable:

Both images were taken during Saturday afternoon’s beautiful cloud regatta. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on October 25, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Form and Function

Here you see two mature female wild turkeys, and, below, you’ll see one of their immature offspring that was born in May or June and won’t mature until it reaches 17 or 18 months in age.

These birds are part of several rafters of mature females that like to roam with their young and feed in our fields and woods. (They all apparently also love the excitement of hearing automobile brakes when scurrying across cross our roads unexpectedly.)

Female turkeys often look drab as they drift across the horizon pecking away at bugs and seeds. But they’re not. They have the same beautiful primary feathers as males, but we only see those feathers well when the birds (rarely) fly or when they flex their wings momentarily.  They also have iridescent breast feathers that can sparkle and flare like a green-, blue-, and red-jeweled vest, if the sunlight is right.

One curious thing about mature female wild turkeys is that they’re simply called by their functional name, “hens.” Yet, the mature males are called Toms, the immature males are Jakes, and the immature females are Jennies. (The very young are all functionally “poults.”) No one seems to know why the mature females never picked up a human nickname.

Come to think of it, using common human names to differentiate the sex and age of animals is a tricky business. For one example, domestic cats have been divided into Toms and Mollies (and queens for mother cats), but domestic dogs are all dogs.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 23 and 26, 2025.)

In the Right Place: High-Class Regatta

Yesterday was one of those quintessential Maine fall days on the coast– cool and clear with cumulus clouds holding a high-class sailing regatta in the blue sky over Blue Hill Bay. As the clouds sailed by, their billowed reflections tacked into Conary Cove to honor the old red boathouse:

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on October 25, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Life with Bernie, IV

Here you see Bernie in the late afternoon shadows earlier this week, eating his evening meal on top of what is becoming his new residence in one of our ponds:

I’m finding out that sharing your property with a claim-jumping American beaver can be hard on the possessive ego. As many of you know, Bernie arrived in late September and immediately started toppling trees and damming up a stream to create what now is a new body of water that we call Bernie’s Pond.

He arrived here alone and apparently is still alone. Which is good. The hope has been that he is one of those crotchety bachelor beavers who prefer to live alone and avoid ostentatious displays of destruction and construction.  However, it is now clear that Bernie has decided to build a grand residence here. Which is not good. It’s neither neoclassical nor modern in design and, frankly, it’s an ugly mess at this point that makes me worry about what it portends:

I’m worried that Bernie might yearn for an eager beaver mate, many beaver kits, and (in my nightmares) maybe a beaver ballroom. If so, I’ll be trying to figure out how to convince the beaver division of ICE to deport Bernie and his kin to the North Woods – if I can overcome the guilt created by realizing that he’s just doing what evolutionary destiny says beavers must do, which is not inherently bad and can be beneficial in many situations.

In the meantime, while I wait for something along the lines of divine inspiration if not intervention, I’m at least learning a lot of interesting things about beavers. For example, look closely at the first photograph again:

Those “hand-paws” are one of the secrets to his kind’s “success” in avoiding extinction. Beavers have very dexterous, yet strong, hand-like front paws that they use for digging, building, carrying, foraging, eating, and grooming. Unlike their large, webbed hind feet used for swimming and sitting, their unwebbed forepaws allow for manipulation of objects and other complex tasks, including sitting upright on hind feet and tail on land and eating a vegetarian delicacy like we eat corn on the cob. 

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 22, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Please Be Careful

Here you see Wednesday’s fog and rain harassing Blue Hill Bay and the near-mountain called Blue Hill, itself. Although the rain was intense at times, it was not nearly sufficient to help Maine’s extreme and severe drought areas. See the latest U.S. Drought Monitor map:

That weekly federal report, issued yesterday, stated in part: “The most widespread area of Severe to Extreme Drought (D2-D3) [in the 12 Northeastern-most states] persisted across Maine and northern New England ….” The danger of devastating wildfires persists here. Please be careful out there with combustibles, folks. (Photo taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on October 22, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Retch-Free Fruit

Maybe somebody can help me identify this attractive bush/small tree that is growing in the wild fringes of a field among conifers and a few scrub trees and bushes:

If I’m reading Newcomb’s Guide correctly, it’s not chokeberry or chokecherry. An AI identity search agrees and suggests that it might be an Asiatic weeping crabapple tree that was seeded by a bird that had been visiting local gardens.

The bush/tree is about 10 feet tall. Its red fruits are profuse and small, mostly less than ½” in diameter. Those fruits are solid like an apple and bitter, but not gag-inducing, and they droop gracefully on slim stems that usually are less than 2 inches long.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 22, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Working Waterfront Report

Above you see the Fishing Vessel CAPTAIN MORGAN coming home to Naskeag Harbor yesterday after hauling lobster traps in coastal waters all morning. Below you’ll see F.V. s JUDITH ANN and DEAR ABBIE: at rest in the Harbor last week:

One veteran Captain says that this year’s prices have been fair, but not great, and the season has been “decent.” Published reports indicate that boat prices for Maine lobster are being influenced by reduced catches and an increase in the annual average price paid to fishermen, among other things. While daily prices fluctuate based on factors such shell type and season, historical trends suggest that 2025 will be a profitable year for fishermen, although nothing like the record-breaking 2021 harvest and market. 

Despite relatively good conditions now, recent surveys and forums indicate that the fishermen have many concerns about the future, including the trend of cost increases for bait, fuel, gear, boats, and other necessities, as well as potential increases in environmental and conservation regulations that could require major and costly changes in fishing practices. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 17 and 21, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Upside Downy

This downy woodpecker has been excavating that cavity in the birch tree for several days, and I’m wondering about the little guy. (The six-to-seven-inch downies are the smallest woodpeckers in North America, and only the males have red nape patches.)

My initial, unthinking reaction was that he had gone crazy and was creating a breeding and birthing nest in the fall instead of the spring. (It doesn’t seem unreasonable to wonder whether a creature that bangs his face against hard surfaces most of the day might go a little crazy every now and then.)

But no, this little guy isn’t crazy. He’s almost certainly creating a winter roosting shelter for himself. After the breeding season, downies part from their mates and usually occupy or create individual roosting holes for warmth and protection during the cold and snowy weather. (See also the image in the Comment space.)

Of course, the cynical among us might see the symbolism in considering this bird a downy real estate speculator. The affordable housing (habitat) crisis has spread from (and by) humans to many species. (Images taken October 19, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Don’t Worry About Kelce

Here you see Conary Cove in Blue Hill Bay at about low tide:

The average high tide here is about 10.5 feet. That is, if Travis Kelce decided to leave Taylor Swift’s side to see how it feels to wiggle his toes in the mud at low tide here, his head would be more than four feet under water at high tide. But, don’t worry about six-foot Kelce, the tide is not swift -- it takes about six hours and 12.5 minutes for the water in this Cove to go from low to high tide.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on October 17, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Life with Bernie, III

Bernie is still here – and he’s a dynamo. This American beaver has taken down 16 trees since he arrived last month and cut them into pieces for various uses. Fortunately, they were in dense growth surrounding a boggy area. He created a new pond, which remains full of water, but does not appear to be a flood threat. At least, yet.

In the above image, you see Bernie eating his dinner one evening last week. The entrée then apparently was a delicious, fresh speckled alder tree chunky and salad. He ate it with a grinding-crunching sound similar, at times, to the sound of a fresh celery stalk being chewed steadily.

He felled that alder the night before and dragged parts of it into that area, a pond that’s adjacent to the one he created. He’s apparently building a winter residence in the original pond. I hope it will be a one-bedroom apartment and not a luxury beaver condo for a colony. I also hope that he’s not thinking of trying to make the two adjacent ponds into one pond by flooding the dirt road between them. Some of his work:

The mud-and-wood dam that he created to form a nearby body of water that we call Bernie’s Pond is a work in progress that is a little more than three feet high and about seven or eight feet long. Bernie’s Pond actually is a visual improvement over the run-off gulley that he started with:

As far as I can tell, Bernie remains a one-man wrecking crew. The hope is that he’s one of those crotchety “bachelor beavers,” and just wants to create a livable small territory that’s defensible against other beavers and his primary predators. (Around here, mature beavers are preyed upon mostly by coyotes, black bears, and humans.)

If Bernie remains a bachelor, we probably will be able to work out an accommodation with him. If he wants a large family and large watery territory, we’ll likely have to make some tough decisions about trapping and transporting him and his kin.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, October 15 and 18, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Smaller But Lighter

The Salt Pond blueberry barrens were in a good mood yesterday afternoon. And, as often is the case, that good mood was contagious. There was a slight bite to the bracing breeze, the sky was vastly blue with clouds that mimicked the glacier-strewn rocks below, and the blueberry leaves were a warming and reassuring red.

Those who climb the worn, crusty trails to the bluff overlooking the Pond there can learn, if the conditions are right, that feeling small and insignificant at times is a necessary realization. Most of us need to be put in our place every now and then, and this is a great place to have that happen.

I almost always come away from there feeling smaller but lighter.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on October 17, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Embers and Wine

This fall the toothed leaves on our doublefile viburnums seem especially striking. Maybe it’s the drought. When backlit by a lowered October sun, the leaves glow like embers, as you see here. On cloudy days, they look like they’ve been dipped in a rich Burgundy wine and left to dry:

The doublefile viburnum (Viburnum plicatum) is known for its distinctive horizontal branches that are covered in lacecap-style flower clusters in the spring, full of berries loved by the birds in late summer and early autumn, and decorated with colorful hanging, ovate leaves in the fall and early winter.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 5, 2025.)

In the Right Place: American Neoclassical

Here you see a Baptist church that was built in 1845 and, I believe, still is attended by a congregation. It seems typical of many of the 19th Century rural New England churches that were built in what is now called the Vernacular Greek Revival style. Their new, hard-working congregations could not afford (and did not want) a grand Greek Revival building of the type going up in wealthy areas in the quickly-expanding United States.

That is, this church is Vernacular (of a localized style) because it is close to a road, made mostly of wood, and painted white in imitation of marble. It has a Greco-Roman triangular temple front (pediment), as did many real Greek Revival buildings, but no marble or stone columns to hold the pediment up – just wooden impressions of plain Doric columns (pilasters). It has a multi-stage belfry, but maybe no bell. (Some Vernaculars used stucco and/or brick, according to the literature and what I have seen.)

Nonetheless, who would want a large Greek Revival edifice in this setting? This apparently well-maintained church seems appropriate and inviting for a local congregation. It sits there in quiet brightness by a rising rural road in the shelter of tall trees – not proud, but certainly not shy. (Image taken in North Sedgwick, Maine, on October 11, 2025.) Click on the image to enlarge it.