Postcards From Maine: February Remembered

In Hancock County, Maine

February usually is when we relieve our growing winter boredom with reassuring thoughts of spring.  This year, however, things were not that simple.  We experienced such a weather smorgasbord in February that we were a bit distracted by competing thoughts of increasing climate instability.

Fortunately, we had a healthy share of blue skies over the fields,woods, and waters. But, we had snow, including a storm that blanketed the landscape in 11 inches of crunchiness, which turned to ice. Then, there was fog and sea smoke that made it impossible to see that landscape. And, we had rain and wind that washed the snow and ice away, including a thunder and lightning howler that attacked out of the Atlantic with tree-toppling gusts of  up to 50 miles per hour. 

The February precipitation turned larger streams into torrents, the moon and other factors caused extraordinarily high and low tides, and some mysterious intruder whirled Mother Nature's thermostat wildly -- our temperatures during February ranged from below zero (with winds making it feel colder) to almost 60 degrees Fahrenheit (with hiking making it feel warmer).

The Romans named this month after Februa, the bright festival for purification by water. On the other hand, before adoption of the Roman name, the Old English name for the month was Solmonath (“mud month”).  It occurs to us now that these are not inconsistent concepts.

February’s calendar, itself, is season-conscious. It contains Groundhog Day, brought originally to this country by German immigrants who had the curious notion that hedgehogs could predict the end of winter weather and the more curious notion that groundhogs could do as well as hedgehogs in that regard. This year (and often), February contains Ash Wednesday, the day that begins the countdown to Easter for many Western Christians. For Saxons, that time of the year was the time to celebrate Eastra, the rejuvenating goddess of spring. At the end of February this year (and every other fourth year), there’s a Leap Day added to the month to re-synchronize our seasonal gears with our imperfect Gregorian solar calendar.

Perhaps the most popular day of February is an adaptation of the Roman spring festival of Lupercalia. According to some histories, that celebration was renamed by early Christians in honor of a saint who was martyred by the Romans for performing banned marriages. The saint was Valentinus, whom many lovers -- married and not -- now honor unconsciously with hearts and flowers.

On the coast here, February also is a time to watch the antics of Common Eiders before they soon return to the open North Atlantic.  They’re the largest ducks native to North America and hundreds, sometimes thousands, of them seek winter shelter in our bays.  (The simplistic, but preferred, descriptor for such congregations of these and other ducks is a “paddling.”)

The male Common Eider is rogue-like in appearance, except for one silly feature.  He sports a white cape over black wings and black lower body.  He also wears a hooded black mask, below which is his large bill.  That bill is the silly feature -- it looks like a nose wrapped in a hot dog bun. Nonetheless, these Common Eider drakes and their handsome auburn hens are impressive flyers that can reach speeds of up to 70 miles per hour.  Unfortunately, many of them need more training in the landing department.  They sometimes perform Kamikaze landings when they get over their crowded paddling: they just curve their wings into air brakes and let gravity do what gravity does -- including causing crash-landings onto their wildly scattering relatives.

While in their paddling, Common Eiders dive for crustaceans and mussels, crushing and tearing the former with their powerful bills and swallowing the latter whole to be digested later with the help of unimaginable stomach juices. 

Speaking of shellfish, February often is the time when some scallop fishermen choose to scuba dive for the delicious mollusks in difficult areas that cannot be dredged.  Fortunately for us, one of those brave souls is neighbor Dave Tarr, who dives for these delicacies off his scalloping and lobstering boat, Tarr Baby.  That’s often a 50-foot dive into coffee-black depths that sometimes are below freezing. A few hours after Dave’s icy dive, however, we also dive -- into a sizzling dinner of the freshest and sweetest sautéed scallops ever eaten. (Now that's a meal that can cause us to postpone worrying about climate change until at least after desert.)

If you want to take the whole 60-second virtual tour of moments that we'll use to remember February, click the link below.  We recommend that your initial screening be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the Slideshow button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Postcards-From-Maine-Feb/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

The Storming Snow and Shining Dawn

In Hancock County, Maine

We don't remember snowstorms well.  We think that we do; but, when it snows again, we realize that our memory is a leaking bucket.  Small, wonderful sensations eventually dry up there and must be restored in real time. 

The tingling feeling of being alive in a snow storm while Mother Nature celebrates with crystal confetti is especially difficult to remember over time. 

We invite you to join us visually on a short walk in a snowstorm.  We hope that it revitalizes your winter senses, especially your awareness of the splendid vividness that falling snow can bring to familiar things that never were fully appreciated.   

You're also invited to share the wonderful sensation of awakening early on a fine day after an 11-inch snowstorm.  This is when the dawn light gradually turns pale fields into a brightness that would be too intense to bear were it not for the soothing blue sky and the dark spruces looking like chocolate sundaes dolloped with great gobs of whipped cream.   

We’re compelled to go out again, this time into the sunshine.  But we go where few humans will go in this cold, short-lived fairyland.  We visit tall trees wearing snow-striped pants, meandering streams glistening within snowy banks, bright red winterberries peeking out of their encrusted bushes, the graceful sweeps of snow on cove shores, and more.

For additional images that may evoke forgotten (or unknown) winter sensations, click on the link below for about a one-minute virtual tour.  As usual, we recommend that your initial tour be in Slideshow mode to see the images in full screen.  Here’s the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/A-Down-East-Snow-Storm/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dic

Patience Is a Laughing Matter in Maine

In Ellsworth, Maine

Some people “from away” have trouble imagining what we in Down East Maine possibly could do during cold and snowy winter evenings; some don’t have that trouble – they imagine us shivering around wood stoves in dark rooms.  These people apparently are not aware of the rich tradition here of community art and education.

This week’s Hancock County newspaper, The Ellsworth American, lists in small type two pages of area events, ranging from a lecture on Snowy Owl migration; to classical and popular music; to art workshops; to community theater presentations of contemporary authors, Shakespeare, and Gilbert and Sullivan, plus much more.   The quality of many of these presentations often is extraordinary.  For example, see the December 14 Post on The Bagaduce Chorale, below.

We attended a particularly robust production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience yesterday afternoon/evening at Ellsworth’s Grand Theater; the performance will be repeated next Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  We recommend it .  Some may be tempted to  take a libretto – this is Gilbert and Sullivan, after all, where the audience is machine-gunned by clever words.   But, in good productions such as this, reading the words means missing some of the over-the-top actions and expressions of the players.

The Maidens

Patience is a zesty, sometimes hilarious, 19th Century operetta (also called Bunthorne’s Bride) that eviscerates the false poets and foppish aesthetes of the Victorian era – and, if you listen closely, even those of today.  This is the 40th annual production of the authors' works by The Gilbert & Sullivan Society of Maine. 

Reginald Bunthorne

Most of the Society players have significant experience, but also have “day jobs” or are retired.  For example, the plastic-faced Roland Dube masterfully plays Reginald Bunthorne, the “fleshy” and conniving “poet” at the center of Patience.  Mr. Dube has been playing a wide variety of community theatre for 33 years, and also is a mathematics teacher in a Bangor elementary school. 

Patience

The attractive Molly Abrams delivers a wonderful Patience, the sought-after but “lowly” milkmaid.  Ms. Abrams is a classically trained bel canto who recently graduated from the University of Maine at Orono; she’s already made a number of significant appearances in this country and Europe and, judging by her beautiful voice, has a bright future. 

There also are cast members who have retired from their day jobs, but have never retired from the music world.  For example, neighbor David Porter, who plays one of the maiden-seeking Dragoons in Patience, was a professor at the University of Georgia (as was his singing wife, Jean); David also gives community lectures on mushrooms and other fungi. 

We can’t wait for next year’s production by The Gilbert & Sullivan Society of Maine (which plays primarily in Hancock County): The Pirates of Penzance.

The Dragoons

For the wonderful cast of Patience and those of you who are Gilbert and Sullivan devotees, below is a link to images of many of the scenes in Patience, which we recommend be played in Slideshow mode.  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Gilbert-Sullivans-Patience/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Postcards From Maine: January Remembered

In Hancock County, Maine

Some romantics like to believe that the Romans named January after Janus, the mythical two-headed god of beginnings, transitions, and ends, whose name is derived from the Latin word for “door.”  Most experts, however, say that the month was named after the warlike goddess of the Roman Empire, Juno, the mythical mother of Mars and Vulcan.  Being more romantic than expert, we like to think conceptually of January as the optimists' entrance into the yearly cycle -- a time of renewal and hope.

Our new year’s optimism can be vastly increased when the cycle begins with a beautiful snowstorm that has the sense to stop just after it has healed the landscape’s scars under about six inches of purity.   

We got only one of these lovely storms in January, and it was not until mid-month.  For some of us, its beauty was tempered a bit by increasing anxiety over our warming (and less stable) climate.  The new year's first real snow was delayed by temperatures approaching 50 degrees in early January; moreover the snow was melted in about a week by the return of unseasonably warm weather.  "Balmy" January days have their benefits, especially in terms of outdoor work; but, they don't "feel right" in a place where the air is expected to be cold enough to sharpen the mind and clarify the eye. 

We did have several cuttingly-cold days with angry winds that attacked out of the north.  They frenzied the usually calm cove waters, disrupted electric power, and reminded us that Mother Nature can throw a wicked tantrum. 

Nonetheless, our few days of good January snow did create an opportunity for those of us who try to de-clutter our lives with a little natural solitude: walking a snowy trail deep into tall woods; listening to the crunch of our boots while they make the only human tracks for acres; then, standing absolutely still, absorbing the forest's profound silence.

Or not.  We also can be walking in those very same woods in January and have our hearts stopped when the ground beside us erupts explosively in loud whooshes and high-pitched shrieks.  As we catch our breath, the nestled wild turkeys that we almost stepped on helicopter in every direction.

The January woods also can resonate with the mechanical snarls of chain saws and other machinery that work the frozen trails.  The snow-covered hills in towns can echo the laughs and screams of children sledding down hills.  In cold country such as this, there also usually are plenty of inside activities, especially musical presentations, lectures, and local ice hockey games. 

Due to January's unusually mild interludes,  lake ice in this area apparently was not thick enough to safely support ice fishing.  If and when it is, we also may hear another "natural" local phenomenon:  loud music coming from portable shelters out on a frozen lake, where  the spirits may be conjured by certain beverages and trout may be pulled out of a dark hole. 

Perhaps best of all for those who are visually oriented is the low, sometimes syrupy, late light of January that can transform familiar sights into something bordering on splendid.  The sun's most dramatic gesture, however, is when, while departing our rocky shores, it runs a lingering finger down the sea's blushing face.

If you want to take the whole 90-second virtual tour of moments that we'll use to remember January, click the link below.  We recommend that your initial screening be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/JanuaryRemembered/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Return of the Vikings

In Brooklin, Maine

It was a cold, windy, and wet evening at the end of December when thecutter Flekkerøy slipped mysteriously through the dark into Great Cove to wait out a winter storm.  We never actually saw the sailboat’s crew, but neighbor Jon Wilson contacted them by radio and found out that Klara Emmerfors and Bjørnar Berg were comfortable below deck; they had left their home port in Norway last summer and were on the way to celebrate the New Year with Klara’s sister, who was flying in from Europe for a rendezvous in nearby Rockland, Maine.  (See posting of December 29, below.)

When the storm was gone, so was the Flekkerøy, but the possibility of a return visit to meet some Brooklinites was left open.   Last Friday, on a very cold afternoon that preceded a snow storm, the Great Cove residents’ electronic jungle drums came alive: “Flekkerøy is coming into the Cove”; “… just in time for the storm.”  The young Scandinavian adventurers (now known affectionately around here as “the Vikings”) had returned unannounced. 

On Sunday, Klara and Bjørnar rowed their graceful dinghy through whitecaps and came ashore just below the WoodenBoat School boat house.  (Seeing a small wooden boat tied up to the snow-covered walkway there in January was a pleasing incongruity.)  The Vikings breakfasted with Jon and his wife, Sherry Streeter, who both arranged a short-notice welcoming pot luck dinner for them. 

Sherry and Jon graciously hosted the dinner last night, where we learned the rest of the story.  Bjørnar is Norwegian, Klara is Swedish.  Their 40-foot cutter is a 1936 former Norwegian harbor pilot boat built for heavy-duty seafaring.  They took the “Viking route” here:  Norway to Iceland, to Greenland, to Labrador and then through the Canadian Maritimes to Down East Maine.    

When they could, Klara and Bjørnar sailed Flekkerøy and didn’t use the motor.  They went through “a big storm” between Iceland and Greenland, but never felt that they were in real trouble.  They have had no problems buying diesel fuel and food along the way, but getting enough potable water sometimes has been a challenge.  Their diesel heater kept the cabin cozy in the coldest times.  Klara’s sister celebrated New Year’s on board the Flekkerøy, where she stayed for a cold week.  

The Vikings have no specific plans for returning to Norway any time soon.  They intend to sail around the New England coast and stop into Boston and Mystic,  if the harbors there aren’t completely iced in.  Other than that, they’ll wait for inspiration to decide where to make their next landing.

For a few more images of Klara, Bjørnar, and  Flekkerøy, , click the following link:

 https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/The-Vikings-Return/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Winds, Skidders, and Forwarders

In Brooklin, Maine

The first winter storm of the new year hit us with sheering rain and screaming winds on Sunday, January 10th.  It swooped in over the dark Atlantic Ocean from the southwest, hitting Naskeag Peninsula with repeated haymaker gusts that reached 60 miles an hour, according to some reports.

At about 5:30 p.m. that Sunday -- just as the Green Bay Packers were reversing momentum on the Washington Redskins -- TVs and lights suddenly went dark on the Peninsula and elsewhere along the Down East coast.  The power lines had been compromised, probably by large spruces and balsam firs being blown down. 

In about 15 seconds, our all-house (12 kw) generator kicked in, electrically respirating us so that we could – strangely – watch football in FedEx Stadium from the middle of a storm in Maine, with the sound of a groaning generator as background.   (It should be pointed out that many Mainers, by choice or circumstance, don’t have generators and are usually quite comfortable hunkering down in bad weather within the warmth of a wood stove and the light of kerosene lamps, candles, and/or flashlights.)

Although the football game was a good one, other sounds and sights made for an edgy Sunday night in our tree-bordered, largely-glass house.  From what little we could see, our big spruces and firs were being bowed in the gusts.  What we heard from them was not encouraging:  every now and then, there was a wrenching of twisted wood, like the sound of a celery stalk being ripped aggressively from its heart; following that, there sometimes was a crashing “whump.”    

When Monday dawned, our generator was still groaning, ripped branches were everywhere, and four 60-to-80-foot conifers were down within 50 feet of the house, one across our driveway.  Many other big trees suffered the same fate on our property and on the rest of the Peninsula.  Our house remained under the intensive care of the generator until the wee hours of Tuesday, but the blow-downs got immediate attention. 

This takes us to the “Skidders and Forwarders” part of this story, which is interesting in its own light.  We’ve had “woodscapers” on hand almost every business day for the past three months and likely will have them here at least through January.  We’re in the middle of a woods program overseen by neighbor forester Si Balch and implemented by Dave Ireland’s Woodland Restoration, Inc., out of Seal Cove, Maine.  They’ve been thinning our trees and bushes and creating a few trails. 

On that Monday morning, one of the woodscapers quickly de-limbed the nearby downed trees with one of his chain saws, cut them into 12-and-a-half foot logs for the mill, and hauled them away to join others in one of the log piles around the property. 

We’ve been doing “low-impact tree harvesting,” which requires either the use of horses or special mechanized equipment.  We chose the latter, which can be fascinating if you’re interested in utilitarian devices. 

Many landowners on and near the Maine coast no longer use their woods as a cash crop to be clear-cut twice a century by commercial loggers.  Those clear-cutters use heavy tractors (“skidders”) to drag groups of cabled logs through the woods, turning the forest floor into something that looks like a bombing target until the wild raspberries eventually come to begin the healing process. 

Low-impact harvesting is good for landowners who want to have their cake and eat it too; that is, for those who want to keep a functional forest that will attract wildlife and provide human pleasure, yet also want to remove trees to sell, foster better growth, or merely for aesthetic reasons.  Woodscapers now can use special equipment that can remove individual specimens with minimal harm to other trees and forest floors.   (Of course, many landowners here -- including conservation trusts -- may prefer to just leave their woods alone, allowing trees to live, drop, and rot as Mother Nature deems fit.)

Skidder

Now to the interesting part:  the three low-impact vehicles that are working our woods, which are remarkable things.   (Coincidentally, all were made by companies headquartered in Quebec, Canada.)  The hardest working vehicle here is a small (2,770-pound) Forcat 2000 skidder made by Berfor, a division of RadTechnologies.  It travels and spins on 10-inch-wide tracks and has only a 2.3-pound-per-square-inch ground impact, which arguably is better than a 1,600-pound draft horse with all its impact concentrated through four legs.  The Forcat can be used as a cable-winching logger that drags trunks through the woods, but we’re not doing that here.

Forwarder

The skidder here usually pulls one of two wheeled “forwarders” (also known as log loaders), which are made by The Anderson Group.  These forwarders contain hydraulic grapples that can swing 360 degrees to pick up logs and brush and drop them into their iron-cradled beds.  The extraordinarily maneuverable smaller forwarder has a load capacity of 10,000 pounds; the larger one has a 32,000-pound capacity.

The skidder and smaller forwarder were enough to handle the blow-downs near our house, although several trips were made that Monday morning.  They continue to do their mighty work each day as we wonder when the second winter storm will arrive.

If you want to see a few more images on these subjects, click on the following link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/5-Back-Road/Winter-Storms-January-1011-201/i-gSkDfCZ

Cheers,

Barbara and Dic

Postcards from Maine: December Remembered

In Hancock County, Maine

We didn’t have a snow storm here until December 29 – almost the New Year.  Prior to that, we had a Carolina December, including a sunny Christmas Day in the 60s.  A balmy December has its conveniences, but it just didn’t seem right. 

Nonetheless, December was well worth remembering.  We had the usual spectacular winter sunsets over Eggemoggin Reach. 

Christmas wreaths were hung on houses and barns when we expected to see them, helping to create a holiday spirit and contribute to Maine’s economy.  (Maine is the leading state in producing balsam fir wreaths.)

Holiday lights and seasonal oddities also appeared in timely fashion on lawns, homes, and even in the fields.  Some were elegant, including the ever-changing banners displayed by our neighbor Judith Fuller at the end of her wooded driveway for the benefit of travelers on Naskeag Point Road.

Speaking of travelers, the Common Eiders returned on schedule in December.  These are North America’s largest ducks and thousands of them left the open Atlantic and came into local bays to avoid an open water winter.  It’s not unusual to see paddlings of hundreds of Eiders floating, feeding, or flying near a pond or stream outflow where ice won’t form.  (We also had a surprise visit to Great Cove from a hardy couple on a sailboat trip from Norway; this was the subject of our prior posting below.)

Most boats here have been hauled out of the cold waters.  December was the month that many lobster boats finished their season and became landmarks -- looming large on frames in driveways and back yards, their colored lobster traps neatly stacked nearby. 

December also is the traditional time here for work in the woods when the ground is supposed to be frozen and the bugs are dead.  Well, the scheduled tree and brush cutting and burning was begun on time, but the ground was not nearly frozen for most of the month.  Woodsmen needed tracked vehicles to avoid doing too much damage to wet land.

On the other hand, December’s unseasonal warmth and wetness added a beauty to the winter woods.  Streams leapt and chortled, reflective vernal pools formed, and mosses and lichens produced pockets of brilliant green luminescence that was buried in the snow when it finally came.

The snow that finally blanketed the fields and woods has returned us to some seasonal sense, perhaps presaging a “normal” New Year, whatever that is these days.

We have more images of December that we’ve chosen to refresh our recollections later.  If you want to see them, click the link below.  We recommend that your initial screening be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Remembering-December/

Here's wishing everyone a Happy New Year,

Barbara and Dick

The Curious Incident of the Cutter in the Night

At Great Cove, Brooklin, Maine

Sherlock Holmes was not the only one to experience and solve a mystery involving a curious incident in the nighttime.

On the cold and rainy night of December 27, we looked out our window and saw two lights moving slowly in the middle of Great Cove, where the wind was about 15 knots, judging by the pervasive whitecaps.  One of those lights was white and well above the other, which was green.  We later learned from our neighborhood Cove group emailings that some of our neighbors on the Cove also were watching at this time.  We all got out our binoculars and spotting scopes to try to pierce the gloom.

We discovered to our surprise that a two-person crew in oil slicks was anchoring a cutter of about 40 feet in length (give or take five feet).  The sea was very choppy, the rain was shearing in, and the temperature was descending from 20 degrees.  We had seen her mast top and starboard navigation running lights.  Something very unusual was happening. 

Soon, the boat’s lights went out and all was blackness as only blackness can be on a rainy winter night in Great Cove.  Were they bunking down?  Were they in trouble?  Was there to be a clandestine meeting with another vessel?  Who were they?  It seemed unlikely that anyone from around here would be sailing on a freezing December night.

The next morning dawned partly sunny, but cold.  The cutter was still there and several of us went to the shore independently to photograph her.  The boat had a strange pennant, similar to the Norwegian flag, but was too far out to decipher its foreign-looking name.  Neighbor Dollie Gansz identified the pennant as one from a Norwegian Yacht Club. 

The boat’s dinghy was on deck, but no one was topside.  Concern was expressed about the condition of the crew and inquiries were made as to how to get a boat out there to check on them.  (Most of the boats around here are hardscaped in storage or driveways.)

Neighbor Jon Wilson emailed the Sail Cutter Club Colin Archer, headquartered in Norway, asking about the boat and attaching a photograph.  He got a quick response, indicating that the cutter was the Flekkerøy, a member of the club and a traditional Norwegian pilot boat.  The club vice president knew and identified the man and woman who were on board.  The Flekkerøy  left Norway this summer, visited Iceland, went through a sea storm on the way to Greenland, and then proceeded to Labrador, before coming down here.

With this information, Jon was able to radio the Flekkerøy while she sat in the Cove with the weather getting nasty again.  The friendly two-person crew spoke English and said that things were “very comfortable below.”   Once the weather cleared, they intended to head for nearby Rockland, Maine, to celebrate New Year’s Eve with the woman’s sister.  After that, they had no solid plans and were not especially intending to head south for warmer climes.

They had hoped to leave for Rockland today, but we got our first snowstorm last night and this morning, followed by sleeting rain.  While ice began to form on the Cove, these courageous cold world wanderers decided to stay comfy below for a while longer.   Maybe they’ll get out tomorrow.

Jon invited the two sailors to return to Great Cove, where we all hope to meet them in the New Year and celebrate their adventures.  They didn’t say no.

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

The Sounds of Winter

In Blue Hill, Maine

The beauty of December on the Blue Hill Peninsula is a secret that is well kept by those who would rather not spend this special time with hordes of strangers.  The beauty is not only in the sights of a rocky coastline and timbered hills in the often golden winter light.  It’s also in the sounds that can be heard here. 

It’s the Christmas and winter solstice season – the historic time in Western cultures for music that ranges from the silly to the sublime. And, this area has a strong heritage of musical excellence, with no shortage of accomplished singers and other musicians.  This evening, some of those musicians will treat us to the sublime.

The Bagaduce Chorale

We’re packed into the First Congregational Church on Tenney Hill to hear one of the three performances of the winter program of The Bagaduce Chorale, which is named after a nearby river.  The regionally renowned Chorale has almost 100 audition-tested singers who perform only two programs a year, one in winter and other in spring.  Much of the rest of the time, the Chorale rehearses. 

Bronwyn Kortge

The Chorale Director is Bronwyn Kortge, one of the most animated and engaging conductors you’ll ever see. The Chorale's piano accompanist is the accomplished Douglas Beck.  Other accompanists are added as a program requires.

The two-and-one-half-hour program mostly contains contemporary choral works.  It begins with six movingly beautiful pieces that glorify love and peace in the broadest sense: Festival Gloria by Craig Courtney (2014); Winter’s Peace by John Purify (2012); Sanctus by Randall Johnson (2011); Serenity by Ola Gjeilo (2012); Christus Natus Est by Cecilia McDowall (2002-2003), and This Christmastide by Donald Fraser with lyrics by Jane McCulloch (1988).

Men Only Sing

After an intermission, there is an audience sing-along, which Ms. Kortge begins with a performance reminiscent of the old Victor Borge comedy/music routines. 

Facing the audience, Ms. Kortge takes on the persona of a football referee.  When she wants the audience, alone, to sing part of a piece, she crouches and juts out both her arms straight toward the attendees; when she wants the Chorale to sing alone, it’s one arm shot backward behind her, pointing to the Chorale while still facing the audience; for women only, it’s a dainty primping of the hair; for men only, it’s an Arnold Schwarzenegger biceps flex with both arms swiftly curled up to make muscles.  Thus, while we laugh, Ms. Kortge energetically directs everyone in the room in a uniquely rollicking version of Twelve Days of Christmas.  Then, everyone together sings moving versions of Silent Night and Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

Next is the principal work of the program:  Stella Natalis (Birth Star) by Karl Jenkins with some lyrics by his wife, Carol Barratt (2009).  This 12-movement piece celebrates winter, the sleeping child, peace, and thanksgiving in varying rhythms and texts. In addition to Ms. Barratt's lyrics, the texts contain poetry, parts of the Old Testament, references to Hindu gods, and even Zulu words. 

Stella is held together by intricate and wide-ranging soprano passages, sung beautifully by Anne Leonardi-Merchant, an accomplished Maine soloist.  It’s also peppered with very difficult trumpet and cornet trills and fanfares, played with great authority by William Whitener, co-principal trumpeter of the Bangor Symphony.  Some movements are filled with war-like percussion, led resoundingly by Lynette Woods on tympani.  Throughout, the voices of the Chorale surge in and out, sometimes a soothing incoming tide, sometimes a crashing surf of words and sentiments.

After Stella Natalis’s final “Amen,” the Chorale gets a rousing, standing ovation.  Prior members of the group are then invited to join the Chorale in singing Peter Lutkin's benediction, The Lord Bless and Keep You (1900), as a parting hymn before we go out into a starry night.

You can see more images of The Bagaduce Chorale’s excellent winter performance by clicking the link below:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Bagaduce-Chorale-Christmas/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Postcards From Maine: November Remembered

In Hancock County, Maine (Except as Noted)

November began and ended with anachronisms.  November 1st reached an unseasonable 60 degrees (F) in plentiful sun.  This apparently confused a number of insects and animals into thinking spring had sprung. 

Spotted Salamander

That day, among other sightings, we saw a Spotted Salamander taking a daytime crawl over a nearby mossy bog. This nocturnal amphibian should have been hibernating or at least waiting until dark to venture forth in late autumn.

If we were Roman centurions who associated salamanders with fire, we might have been pleased to think that we had seen an omen for a warm November.   And, we would have been correct:  This year's November here was unusually mild, unlike last year’s, which was a snow-filled howler.

1930 Model A Ford

On the sunny but chilly last day of November, we were walking on a lane that curves through the woods near where we saw the salamander.  The landscape along this lane is almost timeless.  There is nothing there that will go out of style; it could have been any number of country roads 100 years or more ago – or at least 85 years ago. 

We heard a sound unlike the sounds we usually hear in the November woods and then, around a curve, came a beautifully restored 1930 Model A Ford, looking like it belonged here.  It did.  It was driven by Richard Hero, one of our ridge neighbors, who was making sure that his magnificent vehicle kept running.    

Between the beginning and end of November, three traditional events occur.  First, of course, is Thanksgiving.  Up here, it not only is a reminder of our blessings and a time for turkey dinners, it's a time to debate whether the reintroduction of Wild Turkeys in Maine in the 1970s has been too successful or whether that numerous bird should replace the Black-Capped Chickadee as the state bird.

Wild Turkeys are the largest game birds in North America; hunting them is supposed to be the major control against their overpopulation, but the birds seem to be winning. 

Which brings us to the second traditional November event in Maine:  Deer Season, which is taken seriously up here.  It is not unusual to go to the local general store for groceries and see dead bucks awaiting state tagging in the beds of hunters' pickup trucks.  (Notice to those with sensitivities about this:  one of the images in the gallery that is linked below is of this common November sight.)

The third traditional event is apple pressing for cider-making.  This year has been an extraordinarily good one for producing apples on cultivated and the many wild apple trees, perhaps because of the warmer temperatures following a hard winter last year.  Although most of the leaves of these trees have dropped, many of the apples are holding on to their branches desperately, creating an impressionistic effect.

Finally, we should note that, in Maine, November usually is the beginning of spectacular cold month sunsets.  The month did not fail us this year.

Sunset Over the Reach

(By the way, we probably should have titled this Journal entry "Postcards Mostly From Maine."  We made three significant out-of-state trips in November, each of which is a separate Virtual Tour in the Journal.  One image from each of these trips has been included in this collection of November moments that we want to remember.)

You can see all of the images of our November moments by clicking the link below.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Postcards-November/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Wingin' in the Rain

In Hartford County, Maryland, on November 14, 2015

We’re shivering in sleet and rain as we stand below a decrepit dam in a desolate area, peering over a chest-high chain link fence; twenty-five feet from us, sharing that fence, sit six Black Vultures, which apparently are trying to set the Guinness Book record for group defecation.  Otherwise, it's a fine day. 

The Bald Eagles are feeding!  They swoop in and out of the dank shadows like avenging harpies, slowly beating their massive wings in the heavy air.  It’s a dream scene:  slow motion beauty and grace within a nightmarish landscape.

We’re watching from the downriver side of the Conowingo Hydroelectric Dam, which spans the Susquehanna River near the Maryland-Pennsylvania border.  Scores of migrating Bald Eagles lay over here in November and December because the pickings are easy.  The turbines in the dam periodically draw down water from the upriver side, then spout it out downriver -- full of dizzy and dead fish over which the eagles fight. 

The Bald Eagles are the stars here, dominating Great Blue Herons, Sea Gulls, and a large colony of Black Vultures.  There’s not much else worth seeing.  Massive electricity towers and their sagging power lines are above us, the water below is gray and full of slag rock, and the 1928 dam is mostly a wall of cement sluices with a mechanical and administrative area that is topped with rusting electrical equipment.  Nonetheless, it’s Eagle Eden.

You can see a few more images of these birds by clicking the link below.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Birds/Wingin-in-the-Rain/i-FTJvzQz

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Picasso at Play

In New York City on November 16, 2015

It’s almost too much for human eyes, not to mention feet.  We’re at the Museum of Modern Art’s Picasso Sculpture exhibition, a massive, mind-altering collection that probably never will be shown again.  Many of these works were never exhibited by Pablo Picasso when he was alive.  But he comes alive again in this exhibit, which is extraordinarily well arranged.  It's in 11 chronologically-sequenced galleries on the revamped fourth floor, where many of the approximately 140 pieces are positioned to allow a 360-degree view. 

Little Girl Jumping Rope (Center) and She-Goat

This body of work not only spans more than six decades (1902 through 1964), it consists of art made from an incredible array of materials and found objects:  Bronze, plaster, wood, iron, sheet metal, clay, ceramics, pebbles, bicycle seats and handlebars, gas stove parts, sprinkler cans, children’s toys, forks and spoons, hardware, and more.  These often are ingeniously applied to create beauty, grotesqueness, humor, lasciviousness, and just plain clever zaniness.

The exhibition begins with Picasso’s early works and first cubist sculptures done in Barcelona and Paris during the period 1902-1909.  Among the pieces of this time is his 1909 Head of a Woman that presaged his cubist period.

After putting aside sculpting for several years, Picasso experimented with cubist sculpting during the period 1912-1915.  At this time, he explored developing hybrid sculpted art that puzzled people – “Do you hang it on the wall or place it on a pedestal?”  One of these was his sheet metal Guitar, done in 1914. 

Woman in the Garden

There was another sculpting hiatus after that until Picasso was requested to submit a monument for the tomb of the poet Guillaume Apollinaire.  He worked on several potential monuments from 1927 into1931, experimenting with salvaged metal.  These are some of his most abstract pieces and all were rejected as being too radical for the tomb.  One of these was his 1930 Woman in the Garden.

In 1930, Picasso purchased the Chateau de Boisgeloup, which had enough room for his first sculpture studio.  During the years 1930-1932, he produced there a number of surrealistic white plaster pieces, many of them overtly erotic with noses, eyes, and mouths in the shape of male and female sexual organs.  His 1931 Bust of a Woman exemplified the period.

Picasso began experimenting with imprinting plaster sculptures with everyday objects in his Boisgeloup sculpture studio during the years 1933-1937.  One was his 1933 Head of a Warrior whose eyes began as tennis balls.

Bull's Head

During the war years, 1939-1945, Picasso was adjudged by the Nazis to be a “degenerate” and condemned to stay in Paris, where his art was prohibited.  He secretly produced a number of pieces and his sense of humor never left him.  His 1942 Bull’s Head, for example, consisted of a head fashioned from a bronzed leather bicycle seat with handlebar horns.

Bottle: Kneeling Woman

Paris and Picasso were liberated in 1944 and the artist set up a residence and studio in Vallauris on the French Riviera.  There, during the period 1945-1953, he tested the limits of ceramic vessels and assemblages.  One of the pieces of the time was his 1950 bottle titled Kneeling Woman.

During the years 1952-1958, Picasso was a parent of two children, Claude and Paloma, who influenced his work at Vallauris and later at a new residence outside Cannes. Incredibly, one of Claude’s toy cars can be seen as a plausible face in his 1951-52 Baboon and Young bronze.  The ingenious use of found objects also is shown by his playful 1958 Bird, which is painted scrap wood, with screw eyes and fork feet.

Head of a Woman

The exhibit ends with the decade 1954-1964, Picasso’s final sculpturally-productive period.  It’s in MOMA’s light-filled Gallery 11, where his sheet metal sculptures (some large) seem to be made of paper and floating on air.  His 1962 Head of a Woman is one of these.

For those few who are intrepid enough to take a virtual tour via our more than 100 images from the Picasso Sculpture exhibit, here’s a link to start touring:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/NewYork/Picasso-at-Play/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Full Military Honors for One of the Few

In Arlington National Cemetery, November 13, 2015

 (© 2015 R J Leighton)

Our vehicle procession is led up a winding lane between two fields of white headstones gleaming in the sun.  We stop below the "transfer point," emerge into the cool autumn morning, and hear music.  We walk toward it.  A U.S. Marine Corps marching band in dress red uniforms is playing martial music, their instruments flaring sunlight; a platoon of Marine riflemen in dress blues is arrayed beside the band, flags flying.  One of their few has gone. 

We're on these hallowed grounds to help honor Donald Hugh Green, a friendly and humorous hero who died in April at the age of 85.  The scene should be breath-taking for any historically-conscious American.  For Don's family and those of us who were his friends and colleagues, the feelings at this point and later in the ceremony cannot be described adequately in words.  But, we can use words to remember why we're here, at least from the perspective of one friend and colleague of more than 20 years.

Three things seemed to matter most to Don:  his family, being a Marine (he thought that there is no such thing as a former Marine), and using his exceptional skills as a lawyer to assist others, especially to teach less experienced lawyers.

As for family, Don considered Carol, his wife of more than 50 years, to be his best friend.  He never tired of talking about their escapades together.  When Carol died fairly recently, Don was devastated.  He also was vocally proud of his children: Michael, Meg, Matthew, and Mark.  They gave Carol and Don 11 grandchildren.

In his early years, Don was a smart New Jersey boy who went to Syracuse University and then to Harvard Law School.  Upon graduating from Harvard Law, he did one of those bold, unexpected things that would characterize his zestful life:  he became a Marine Officer.  He did his tour, mostly on tanks, and (to the amazement of many who found out later) acted as a boxing coach.  He left active duty as a Captain, but that was just the beginning of his military years. 

A significant part of Don's ensuing years was devoted to the Marine Corps Reserves.  There, he did exceptionally meritorious and original work developing ethical principles for the International Law of War.  For this, Don received the coveted Legion of Merit, the highest non-combat-related decoration of the U.S. Armed Forces.  (It's one of two medals issued as neck ware, the other being the Medal of Honor.)  When his 30 years as a Marine officially ended, Don was a full Colonel in the Reserves.

During his Reserve duty, Don was practicing law at the U.S. Department of Justice and, later, in private practice.  He became a very successful trial attorney, arbitrator, and mediator.  He also somehow found time to teach less experienced lawyers.  He was a brilliant teacher who could mix technical expertise, skill, discipline, and humor into hands-on gospel.  Don co-founded and co-led one of the most popular and acclaimed programs of the National Institute for Trial Advocacy.  In that program, he helped improve the skills and attitudes of many thousands of trial lawyers and bestowed on most of them their first “oorah.”   

 (© 2015 R J Leighton)

Don's extraordinary life should be recognized in an extraordinary way, and that is what is now beginning at the transfer point.  He is receiving full military honors.  As the music plays and hand salutes are presented, a rectangular urn of Don's cremated remains is transferred slowly and reverently to a flag-wrapped coffin in the bed of a caisson. 

The horses that will pull the caisson are ridden and led by horsemen from the Army's Old Guard (3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment), Arlington Cemetery's prestigious Honor Guard.  Behind the caisson is a dark, riderless horse with empty reversed boots in the stirrups,  the traditional symbolization of a fallen leader looking back at his troops one last time.  (The riderless horse appears only in Army and Marine ceremonies and only for officers of the rank of Colonel or above, including the Commander in Chief.)

Once the urn is transferred, the Marines move out into the vehicle lane; their red band column turning into blue as the platoon follows.  The flag-draped caisson  creaks to a start behind the marching Marines, followed by the riderless horse.  Behind that dark horse, members of Don's family walk, as do some of the other attendees.  Following us in a line of vehicles are the rest of the attendees.  We all wind our way up the lane past headstones on our left and right.

After about 500 yards, the band and platoon veer right, up a bricked walkway that bisects grave sites, then the Marines veer again onto the grass furrows between the graves.  There they halt.  The caisson and the rest of us stop at the base of the walkway.  Don's urn is reverently removed from the caisson and marched up the walkway to a canopied sitting area for the family.    About 100 feet from that area stands a firing party of seven Marine riflemen and their non-commissioned-officer-in-charge.  Behind that party is a columbarium, one of Arlington's nine walls of urn vaults.

After Don's family is seated, a Navy Chaplain greets them and delivers a short memorial message, followed by six Marines performing an elaborate, silent ceremony in which the urn’s covering flag is stretched and folded into a triangle. 

 (© 2015 R J Leighton)

Orders are heard from the NCO in charge of the firing party in the field.  Seven rifles are raised chest-high, fired with a loud “crack,” and returned to port arms; then again, then once more.  (The historic origin of this is the three volleys that were fired to signal the end of a temporary truce for removing the fallen from a battlefield.)    

During the sudden quiet that follows, a trumpeter marches out of the band formation and stands alone amid the white headstones.  He turns toward Don's family and raises the trumpet to his lips.  And then "Taps" floats over the cemetery – low, slow, heart-chilling, heart-warming.

As the notes fade, a Marine Colonel gives Don’s oldest son the triangulated flag and has a few private words with the family, as does the Chaplain.  It is done.

Semper Fi, Don.

[For those who want to share their thoughts and memories about Don, military honors, or any other appropriate subject, there is a comment button below.  For those who want to see more images of the ceremony, click this link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Cemetaries/Full-Military-Honors-for-One/i-zGQfSqd

We recommend that the images be viewed initially in full-screen mode; this can be accomplished by clicking on the Slideshow button at the top right of the featured (largest) image that you will see when the linked photo gallery opens.]

~ Barbara and Dick

Postcards From Maine: Remembering October

In Hancock County, Maine

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

October's touch turns historic trees into burning beacons and kindles the leaves in our woods into smoldering reds, yellows, and golds.  Then, as if to prevent us from taking her beauty for granted, October storms out, scattering the leafy embers with her chilly winds.

Wonderful as she is, October leaves us with increasingly vague memories of what it was like to see roads lined with impenetrable walls of greenery and to walk in the shady woods under a rustling leaf canopy.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

That’s why we’re sending you and ourselves October “postcards,” delivered via the link below.  These are images that we’ll use later to bring back our memories of October’s special times.  We hope to remember the following, among other experiences in the month:

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

>Being engulfed by the low afternoon light as it honey-coats the landscape;

>Finding macabre Halloween displays that would startle Maine's Stephen King;

>Exploring the mysteries of fungi with the Mushroom Maven, David Porter;

>Walking over blueberry fields as they blush a deep scarlet;

>Saying goodbye to the creatures that left us or went into hibernation during one of October’s changing moods – including our colony of wood ducks, dragonflies and butterflies, frogs, and toads;

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

>Saying hello to warblers from Canada on their way south and greeting new winter residents, including outrageously coiffed Hooded Mergansers;

>Saying hello to warblers from Canada on their way south and greeting new winter residents, including outrageously coiffed male Hooded Mergansers;

>Seeing many, but not all, "lobstermen" (male and female) haul up their traps and buoys for the season; and,

>Standing in a darkening field as atmospheric winds and the setting sun whip the clouds into strawberry gelato. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

You can join us on the virtual version of Remembering  October  by clicking the link below to see the images, which can viewed in less than 60 seconds.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Postcards-From-Maine-Rememberi/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Raptormania: The Big and Small of It

In Hancock County, Maine

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Imagine that you’re traveling down a country road in your Subaru Outback and a drunken Bald Eagle swerves into your lane, smacking dead center into your windshield.  Just before your heart attack, you’d experience a total eclipse of the windshield, with primary feathers left over on each side of the car.  Stated another way, our national symbol has a wingspan of between seven and eight feet and doesn’t maneuver well. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

If, on the other hand, a tipsy Merlin swerved into your lane, it probably would do a quick roll around the Subaru’s right side, and might even fly through your open passenger window to attack you.  The last thing that you’d see before your heart attack would be a blur containing masked eyes, sharp beak, and extended talons.  Stated another way, this falcon, once called a Pigeon Hawk, is fast, fierce, and small; it has a wingspan of between 21 and 27 inches.   (Merlins often attack first and ask questions later with regard to anything that moves conspicuously while they hunt – they reportedly even chase moving automobiles and trains.

The Bald Eagle and Merlin represent virtually the polar-ends of the Raptor sizing spectrum here.  They both have hooked talons and hooked beaks designed to hold and tear their prey, as do hawks, kites, owls, and other Raptors.  (The term Raptor is derived from the Latin word for one who seizes and harms or robs by force.)  In terms of size (the best way to start identifying a bird), the uncommon Golden Eagle sometimes is a bit larger than its bald cousin; the American Kestrel, a falcon once called a Sparrow Hawk, is somewhat smaller than its Merlin cousin. Other than Raptors’ hooks fore and aft, the Bald Eagle and Merlin are remarkably different. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

One of the more remarkable characteristics of the Bald Eagle is that it takes about five years for it to grow into its name and develop its strikingly good adult looks – bright white head and tail, golden beak, topaz yellow eyes.  The juvenile Bald Eagle, even when as large as an adult, is an unexceptional black-beaked brown thing that is splattered with white streaks and spots; it has dull brown eyes. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

The Bald Eagle apparently prefers not to exert itself unless necessary, even at mealtime.  It is quite happy eating road kill and other carrion.  Its favorite fish appears to be the already-dead variety that floats slowly, although it will circle down and try to catch unsuspecting live fish and eels -- often missing the prey.  This Eagle also will take injured water fowl and gulls, but does not do well catching uninjured birds.    

The Merlin is not a lazy, soaring bird.  With rapid beats of its wings, it conducts horizontal, high-speed attacks on its favorite zigzagging prey – other birds.  It has one of the highest successful kill rates, usually catching its shrieking prey in midair.  (This may not be a sight for teaching young children about the joys of birding.)

The Merlin is beautiful from the beginning.  As do other falcons, it sports a mustache that droops down each side of its bill, masked eyes, brightly-streaked chest, and boldly-barred tail.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

You can see a few more recent images of Bald Eagles and a Merlin by clicking the link below.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Birds/Raptormania-The-Large-and-Smal/i-zqczt8q

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Answering Questions:  Yes, there will be images of Maine’s fall colors in the end-of-month Postcards From Maine Virtual Tour.

The Hornet That Is Not

In Brooklin, Maine

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

If you’re brave enough to get very close, you’ll discover that the Bald-Faced Hornet (Dolichovespula maculate) does indeed have no hair on its skull-like face.  However, that does not make this ornery insect a hornet.  The only hornet we have in this country is the European Hornet (Vespa crabro), which was introduced here accidentally, much to the chagrin of the many insects it eats – including wasps.

Speaking of which, that is what the Bald-Faced Hornet is:  a common wasp.  Of course, there are only about five non- entomologists who would care what this insect was named or who otherwise would go to any trouble to try to sort out the differences among bees, wasps, and hornets.  What is more important to most people is knowing whether the insects buzzing nearby are thinking of attacking.  And, in the case of Bald-Faced Hornets, these insects are known for repeatedly stinging people who get close to their nest; their stings actually have killed some people who are allergic to the venom.

Which brings us to the inspiration for this esoteric piece.  Barbara discovered a large, still-active nest of Bald-Faced Hornets within a winterberry bush along the edge of a path on which we often walk.  Such nests usually die out by September.  As of this dappled October morning, however, our BFH nest was a veritable O’Hare of incoming and outgoing flights.   

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Bald-Faced Hornet nests are shaped like an upside-down pear.  They’re made from wood pulverized into paper by the wasps, which have an artistic talent for swirling the nest’s outside texture into attractive oyster-shell-like designs.  Our nest is about two feet long and about a foot at its widest point.   Such nests have been estimated to house anywhere from 200 to 400 BFHs.

Active Bald-Faced Hornet nests contain impregnated queens who will leave when the colony is dying from one or more freezes.  These queens will spend the winter locally (under bark, in rock crevices, etc.) and emerge in the spring to start a nest and colony.  The colony will consist primarily of worker females, but will include some male drones that can impregnate the queen and potential queens.  The drones can’t sting; the females can and will use their weapon to kill other insects for the colony’s food, including their cousins, the Yellow Jackets.  When other insects are diminishing in the fall, foraging Bald-Faced Hornets will bring back nectar.  These workers are about one-half to five-eighths of an inch long; queens are about three-quarters of an inch long.

For the three or so other non-entomologists who might be interested in knowing some of the differences among bees, wasps, and hornets, here’s the apparent essence:

>Bees:  most are hairy, good-natured pollinaters that eat nectar.  If the circumstances make them feel obliged do sting people, their singers and part of their stomachs are impaled in the victim and the bees die.  But, when they sting other insects (which is why they have stingers), this does not happen.

>Wasps:  most have little or no hair and are aggressive near their nests or food; they eat insects and some eat food waste (especially sugary substances).  They can sting repeatedly without harming themselves and some (including the Bald-Faced Hornet) can bite as well as sting.

>Hornets:  these are large wasps that are distinguished by their wider heads and larger abdomens behind the narrow  wasp waist.  They have some hair and will sting repeatedly when provoked.  Their preferred food is insects.

If you haven’t had enough, you can view a few more images of our Bald-Faced Hornets and their nest by clicking on this link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/InsectsandSpiders/BaldFaced-Hornets/i-sdPpJST

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Postcards From Maine: Remembering September

In Hancock County, Maine

Mother Nature reaches the prime of her annual life in early September here.  You have to be pretty far gone not to feel alive on a good early September day in Maine.  But there’s always a turning point in September when we find with surprise that Mother Nature is starting to show her age.  It’s the time that we suddenly realize that the wonderful summer – and all that it represents -- has abandoned us with just a few already-fading memories.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

To slow this loss, we’re sending you and ourselves September “postcards,” delivered by the link below.  These are images of just a few of the small moments in the month that we’ll use in the winter months to tease our memories into remembering the larger picture.  The September that we want to remember includes, among many others, the following experiences that we invite you to enjoy vicariously if you wish:

     ->Smelling freshly-mowed grasses and wildflowers blended with the tangy scent of sea air as our north field is mowed.

     -> Sneaking up on a flotilla of male Wood Ducks while they apparently were discussing whether to migrate (some do, some don’t) and the fact that faces of some of them already have lost their dramatic war paint and returned to winter gray.  (This is their so-called eclipse phase;  Mother Nature’s one consolation is to allow these males to retain their startling Maraschino cherry eyes.)

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

     -> Gazing through the branches of unattended apple trees festooned with thousands of apples, most of which will fall and rot and add a sweetness to salty coastal winds.    

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

     -> Enjoying the graceful energy of sailing craft of all sizes, even little boats swinging in the current at their moorings; then, poignantly watching them being mechanically plucked from their liquid environment and stacked in boathouses like specimens in museum storage or shrink-wrapped like mummies. 

     -> Watching the emergence of fresh fall flowers, including graceful Fall Dandelions (Leontodon autumnalis) that appear on long legs and take over the job of buttercups, sprinkling the browning fields with fresh yellow dabs.  (These are not to be confused with their poor relation, the lawn-killing Common Dandelion [Taraxacum officinale].)

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

     -> Looking up in darkness as our earth passes between the sun and the moon and produces a red cast on the full moon; this is a rare Super Blood Moon Eclipse that only can happen when the full moon is closest to us.  (This last happened in 1982 and won’t happen again until 2033.)

You can join us on the virtual version of Remembering  September  by clicking the link below to see the images, which can viewed in about 30 seconds.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Postcards-From-Maine/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

September Schooner Watch

In Brooklin, Maine

You can learn a lot about Brooklin from a single fact:  there are three active harbors within a few miles of each other in this tiny town.  Naskeag Harbor, sheltered by Harbor Island, is primarily a harbor for working lobster and mussel boats.  Center Harbor, sheltered by Chatto Island, is the home of the famous Brooklin Boat Yard as well as the site for the Center Harbor Yacht Club, both of which are primarily for sail boat lovers.  Great Cove, sheltered by Babson and Little Babson Islands, is the home of the renowned Wooden Boat School, which teaches courses in boat building and handling and has a large pier and boat house that are the focal points of the harbor.

Today, by very popular request, we’re focusing on a phenomenon that occurs in Great Cove.  But, to avoid a common misconception of those who have never visited here, we first confess that the Cove is not Great in the sense of being large among coves, as a Great Dane is among dogs.  We don’t know why it was called Great in the first place; but, for many, Great Cove easily qualifies for the exclamation, “What a great cove!” 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Now, for our phenomenon:  Great Cove, small as it is, is a hub for schooners.  We’ll see 12 that dropped anchor here just in the first three weeks of September.  

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Part of the attraction is that Wooden Boat School hosts schooner sail-ins and offers passengers opportunities to explore the lovely campus, watch classes, shop in a gift store, and enjoy other amenities.  Another part is Great Cove’s classic Maine beauty and its opportunity to host a lobster or clam bake on the beaches and ledges of Babson Island, a tree-and fern-filled uninhabited Island that is part of an environmental trust.    

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

So, in response to the pleadings of some of our avid windjammer watchers, we’re sharing our September schooner sightings.  Here, in alphabetical order, are the names of the schooners that we’re admiring and a few facts about the times of their origin (all ports in Maine):

• American Eagle, hailing from Rockland, is 90 feet in overall length (counting bow sprit).  She was launched in 1930 when Herbert Hoover was President of the United States and the Mickey Mouse comic strip first appeared.
• Angelique, from Camden, is 130 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1980 when Jimmy Carter was President and the U.S. severed relations with Iran due to hostage-taking.
• Grace Baily, from Camden, is 123 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1882 when Chester Arthur was President and Jesse James was killed by a shot in the back of the head.
• Heritage, from Rockland, is 145 feet long overall..  She was launched in 1983 when Ronald Reagan was President and McDonald’s introduced the Chicken McNugget.
• Isaac H. Evans, from Rockland, is 99 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1886 when Grover Cleveland was President and Coca Cola was first advertised.
• J&E Riggin, from Rockport, is 120 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1927 when Calvin Coolidge was President and the Academy Awards were founded.
• Lewis R. French, form Camden, is 101 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1871 when the President was Ulysses Grant and the first major league baseball game was played.
• Mary Day, from Camden, is 125 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1962 when John Kennedy was President and Bob Dylan released his first album.
• Mercantile, from Camden, is 115 long overall.  She was launched in 1916 when Woodrow Wilson was President and Pancho Villa invaded New Mexico.
• Stephen Taber, from Camden, is 115 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1971 when Richard Nixon was President and Disney World opened in Florida.
• Vela, from Sedgwick, is 90 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1996 when Bill Clinton was President and the first production electric car was introduced by General Motors.
• Victory Chimes, from Rockland, is 170 feet long overall.  She was launched in 1900 when William McKinley was President and the first zeppelin flight took place in Germany.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

You can join us on the virtual version of our September schooner watch by clicking the link below to see the 42 images, which can viewed in less than 60 seconds.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link to join us in September schooner watching:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Windjammers-and-Other-Boats/WBS-Sail-In-2015/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Losing the Sun

In Belfast, Maine

(© 2010 R J Leighton)

We board the schooner Timberwind on a golden afternoon of what has been a beautiful day.  The graceful windjammer is a true Mainer:  she was built here in 1931, never left the state, and now mostly does short day cruises in Down East.  She’s 96 feet in overall length and no longer has a motor; her yawl boat pushes her in and out of Belfast Harbor before she sets sail. 

We’re beginning a two-hour “Sunset Sail” in Belfast Bay and, through a quirk of luck, we’re the only passengers on the schooner this afternoon.  We're greeted by the congenial crew and the knowledgeable Captain, Lance Meadows, as well as the Captain’s friendly wife, Liz, who works the sails and ropes as hard as anyone.  On deck, we can appreciate the polished woodwork details and the care taken with the ropes, including a fine Flemish curl figure eight.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

We cast off at five p.m. and are pushed slowly out of the Harbor.  On the way, we’re passed by the Tide N’ Knots, a Belfast lobster boat going out with its two-person, two-gender crew.  The Tide’s “lobstermen” are dressed in summer business attire:  tee shirts and water-proof fishing bibs and braces (rubberized overalls and suspenders); whether pants are worn under the bibs in summer reportedly is a matter of personal taste here.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

The motor on the yawl boat pushing us is turned off in the outer Bay.  We decline the offer to help the athletic crew in jumping the halyards to raise the sails by hand.  It’s tough work that needs strength and coordination of the type that we have long lost.  Soon, the sails are up and we find good wind.  The music of sailing starts with notes from creaking wood, stretching ropes and canvas, and gurgling water being cleaved by the bow. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

It's getting on the cold side of chilly here in the September wind and everyone dons jackets.  Perhaps the cold air is why we see few recreational boats out at dusk.  But we do see a pretty Friendship Sloop that changes course to greet us; her passengers take photographs of our vintage schooner while we do the same to the vintage sloop. 

Soon, the sky begins to blush with hints of pink.  We’re silently heading for an infinite horizon where sea meets wind-streaked evening clouds. 

The sky and water get darker and the sun becomes a flare, sending out streams of light through the clouds racing over the ridge to our west.  A sun beam swims out to us in the blackening Bay. 

Although it feels like the sun is leaving us, we realize that it is we who are leaving our mother star and we bid her a fond adieu – until we meet again.   The feeling is primal if you’re in the right mood – and we are. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

You can join us on the virtual version of our Sunset Sail by clicking the link below to see the images, which can viewed in about 30 seconds.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-frame slideshow.  (To make that happen, click on the SLIDESHOW button above the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Windjammers-and-Other-Boats/Sunset-Cruise-on-the-Timberwin/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

"A True Down to Earth Country Fair"

In Blue Hill, Maine

We’re at the annual Blue Hill Fair, a tradition in these parts since 1891 and the inspiration for the fair scenes in E.B. White’s classic Charlotte’s Web.  The Official Blue Hill Fair Website describes this event as “a true down to earth country fair.”   And that it is; the dress code apparently is jeans, T-shirt, and a smile.  The day is sunny and warm, but not hot; the sky is glaringly blue. The heavy perfume of carnival food is in the air, occasionally lightly salted by a breeze wafting from nearby Blue Hill Bay.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Our first competitive event is the Horse Pull, one of the more popular contests.  The Pull has its origins in tough work that horses did before combustible “horsepower.”  Basically, two horses in tandem are driven by a person using the reins while walking behind or beside them; the horses must pull a sled of concrete blocks back and forth between lines in the Pull Ring for a set time. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

The team that travels the farthest within that period wins the blue ribbon for its class.  The classes are determined by the weights on the sled:  3000, 3200, and 4700 pounds.  The straining horses dig in, kick up clumps of dirt and clouds of dust, travel a short distance, and are stopped periodically for rests before continuing.  These animals are magnificent, muscular specimens that are as calm as meditating monks a few minutes after their tough workout.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Before our next competition, we take in a high-energy free show by Team Rock, which is self-described as “a martial arts-concrete-breaking-Christian-ministry.”  (Yes, you read that right, but they left their gospel home today.)  Team Rock spends a lot of time defying gravity with kicking leaps and gymnastic flips.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

The next prize event involves massive animals that we don't want to see try to leap or flip.  It’s the Oxen Scooting Contest, which is patterned after the historical and difficult work done with oxen in the forests.  Two yoked oxen are hitched to a sled and guided through an irregular course with “Gees,” “Haws,” and the occasional tap of an ox rod.   The team that is fastest within its poundage class gets the blue ribbon.

We drop by another free event billed as “The Red Trouser Show,” which has nothing to do with selling golfing attire.  Two young men wearing red pants juggle flaming batons and steel knives, perform some acrobatics, tell a few jokes, and hang off a ladder as an encore.  Then they ask for donations in return for them signing a poster of themselves.  We see no takers and move on to the livestock area to view the four-horned “Devil Sheep” and other live attractions. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

It's now late afternoon and we're at the shaded Racetrack watching another of the most popular prize events:  Antique Tractor Pulling.  The tractors pull a mechanized sled that gradually increases its own torqued resistance, thereby increasing the weight of the load and sometimes making the tractors rear up like a horse.  The tractors are divided into classes by poundage and the one that goes the farthest within its class gets a blue ribbon.

As the sun goes down, the bright sky is subdued by a royal blue dome that increasingly darkens.  The magic moment arrives when the gaudy lights of the Fair’s amusements dominate the scene, flashing bright patterns and casting colorful moving shadows.  The rides and midway are now crowded; there’s shrieking coming from lighted contraptions that spin and twist and there’s laughter from the midway, where families and friends are walking and talking in the warm night.  This is how summer should end.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

You can join us on a virtual tour of the Blue Hill Fair by clicking the link below to see the postcard images, which can viewed in about 90 seconds.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be a full-screen Slideshow.  (Click “SLIDESHOW” above the featured image; press Esc on your keyboard to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/The-Blue-Hill-Fair/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick