JOURNAL
For Those of You Nearby: Today -- see a large, high-definition “portrait” of the handsome Stephen Taber we know and love – and try to balance munchies and wine while you’re doing it.
That is, try to stop by at our “Beautiful Brooklin” Photography Exhibit Reception between 3:30 and 5:30 p.m. at the Brooklin Inn. (Brooklin, Maine)
Bald Eagles are flourishing, especially along the coast of Maine. They've been off the endangered list since 2007, but our national symbol remains protected from human harm and interference by federal law.
However, some people are questioning whether that protection should be lessened in light of the growing number of Bald Eagles that are preying upon other sea birds (not to mention free range chickens).
Nonetheless, we suspect that most people who have had the thrill of seeing a magnificent Bald Eagle dive at close to 100 miles per hour want to keep that protection in place for a while. (Brooklin, Maine)
In Hancock County
May is the month to love and honor those who gave others life (Mother’s Day) and those who risked their own (Memorial Day).
It’s also the time to enjoy the reappearance here of new lives and lifestyles in the form of birds, boats, and buds. Among the first birds to arrive here in May are the Tree Swallows, Red-Winged Blackbirds, and Ospreys.
May also is the month when our resident male Wild Turkeys get into the act by recreating themselves as other-worldly creatures that puff up to twice their size and slowly strut to get female attention.
The doors of boat houses are thrown open and the smaller boats brought outside and cleaned in May.
Moorings are anchored and checked and smaller boats backed into Eggemoggin Reach.
The coastal schooners begin to take tourists here in May.
Stephen Taber (1871)
In the bud and bloom department, the May gardens are simply outrageous with color.
At the end of May, the renewal is still in process: Wild grasses in the fields have not yet grown high; wildflowers there have not yet reached profusion, and leaves on the deciduous trees are only a hint of the dense canopy that they soon will form.
For larger versions of the above images, as well as additional images of moments in May that we want to remember, click on the link below. (We recommend that your initial viewing be in full-screen mode, which can be achieved by clicking on the Slideshow [>] icon above the featured image in the gallery to which the link will take you.) Here’s the link to the full tour of May in Down East Maine:
https://leightons.smugmug.com/US-States/Maine/Out/2017-in-Maine/May-Postcards-From-Maine/
Cheers,
Barbara and Dick
Star Flowers are rising now in the mossy areas of the woods, including many “Lucky Stars” or “7-7s” – star flower plants that have seven leaves and a seven-petalled flower.
Soon, we’ll have May Apples in the same areas; but, of course, Maine May Apples usually don’t come until June. (Brooklin, Maine)
Winston Churchill once described Russia as a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Here we have a dilemma, wrapped in a controversy, inside a trap. Beavers are dilemmas to many wildlife lovers here.
The animals are attracted to rural ponds that catch rain run-off and provide an extra resource for fire truck pumpers where there are no hydrants. If only beavers would act like muskrats in the ponds. But, most beavers seem unable to leave alone any culvert that channels water under unpaved country roads; they industriously damn the culverts and flood the roads.
In less sensitive times, this furry fellow would have been part of someone’s outrageous hat by now. Today, however, he is trapped humanely and chauffeured to a wetland paradise. (Brooklin, Maine)
The native Abenaki people named our narrow peninsula “Naskeag,” meaning “the end,” a term that has more than one connotation for us today.
We want to think about and honor American veterans, past and present. We drive down the peninsula on Naskeag Road, which ends at Naskeag Harbor.
The Harbor is where a Revolutionary War skirmish took place in 1778 and was later memorialized as The Battle of Naskeag; it will be our second stop.
We stop first about a mile before the Harbor at a picturesque place that has meant an ending for area residents for many years: historic Naskeag Cemetery, which is the smaller of the Town’s two public cemeteries. We walk under the old wooden arch, between two flowering crabapple trees in peak bloom.
Birds are singing as we enter the white-picket-fenced grounds, but no one else is there. We see among the many stones 21 sites that are adorned by staked American flags waiving in the breeze, calling attention to the veterans buried below them.
The most prominent of these is the Reed burial area, the only one enclosed in a pen. It contains the gravestone of William Reed, a Captain who served in the Revolutionary War. He died and was buried here in 1790, three years after the Constitution of the United States was signed.
We're drawn to a burial area that's far from prominent. In fact, it's almost hidden and would be hard to notice if there were no flag flying there. It's in perhaps the most beautiful part of the Cemetery, under a flowering crabapple tree that's scattering its blossoms onto the flat marker sunk into the grass.
Here lies Virgil N. Gray who was a private in World War I. He died at the age of 70 and was buried here in 1961.
We guess that Virgil would like his spot.
Elsewhere, the grave stones indicate that there are other veterans here of World Wars I and II and the Korea action. No veteran of the American Civil War was indicated, which is a bit surprising, given Maine’s significant contribution to that most deadly war for Americans.
Going from stone to stone, we try to conjure the spirits of these dead veterans, but we can’t. However, there may be a clue here. They or their loved ones ordered that their military service be inscribed permanently over their final resting places.
That’s pride in service; a conviction that they did something important in the military, which is a complicated way of saying that they felt patriotic. In today’s era, which is rife with expressions of false patriotism and cynicism for the real thing, that’s a refreshing thought.
As we leave Naskeag Cemetery, the crabapple blossom petals are spiraling down and apricot-pink blooms are peaking on a big flowering quince near Captain Reed’s marker. The birds never stopped singing while we were there.
(Brooklin, Maine)
It’s the last Sunday in May and we’ve awakened within a glorious natural cathedral.
The wild grasses and sedges are turning from brown to lush green on the slopes of North Field; in Great Cove beyond the field, the tide is low, reflecting Babson Island and giving us twice as much of her beauty; several rough brushstrokes of cloud are giving depth and character to the blue sky over Deer Isle on the horizon; it’s cool, but not cold.
Sublime. (Brooklin, Maine)
Flowering Quince, an ornamental bush that is highly regarded in Japan, is now in full bloom here. This bush (Chaenomeles), with its unusual apricot-pink Quince flowers, is not to be confused with the Quince Tree (Cydonia oblonga), which bears edible, pear-like fruit.
Flowering Quince is among our first Spring bloomers, providing much-needed sustenance to the early bees and other early nectar-eating pollinators. (Brooklin, Maine)
There are 18 types of sandpipers that scamper along the coasts of North America, 15 of which vacation in Maine. Some have impressive names, such as the Greater Yellowlegs, Semipalmated, Ruddy Turnstone, Buff-Breasted, and Solitary Sandpipers. But, that’s not so for the hard-working piper in the image below.
She and her mate, unfortunately, were baptized as Least Sandpipers by the ornithological priests. Yes, she and her type are the smallest shorebirds in the world at six inches in length. But, why identify them by the disparaging adjective Least when Diminutive would be more accurate? How would you like to be classified as among the Least Human? (Brooklin, Maine)
Our Spring is different; it comes late and short here. We’ve already gotten dandelions, of course, but we’re still waiting for the star flowers to bloom in the mossy woods. Nonetheless, our Spring sights now include mooring mushrooms blooming once again at the woods’ edge – a sure sign of unique beauty to come.
This variety of mushroom is a several-hundred-pound anchor with a large chain to which a heavy rope is attached, to which a lighter rope and a bright mooring buoy are attached. These stems are being prepared to submerge in Great Cove, where graceful sailboats will be attracted to the colorful, bobbing buoys like hummingbirds to honeysuckle. (Brooklin, Maine)
It’s good to be back. The image below is part of the “Beautiful Brooklin” show of high-definition photographs that will open at the Brooklin Inn with a reception on June 3 (3:30-5:30 p.m.). The photograph was taken at The Lookout Inn on Flye Point.
It’s titled “Gone” because it evokes the ghost of a person who, shortly before she died, would sit for hours watching a familiar scene that had remained essentially the same for centuries. She could feel and see small changes being made in her moment. (Brooklin, Maine)
In the Right Place will be suspended for about two weeks while we’re traveling.
In the meantime, pull up a chair and watch how quickly the 12-foot tide comes in at Center Harbor. (Brooklin, Maine)
(Issued May 13, 2017) You’d think our Male Wild Turkeys would get exhausted from putting on seemingly endless performances of The Strut. These faux peacocks actually are performing an engineering and chemical feat.
They’re flexing an interconnected series of muscles in their skin to erect imbedded body and tail feathers – try to picture a pumped up body builder flexing in unison his trapezius, triceps, biceps and latissimus dorsi muscles; now attach feathers to him that can billow into three times his body size, then ask him to repeat the pose hundreds of times a day for weeks. The Toms also are simultaneously contracting blood vessels in their heads to change skin color and lengthen their snoods. All for “love” (attracting hens) and “hate” (warning away other Toms). (Brooklin, Maine)
You know that “The Season” is starting here in Sailing Country when boathouse doors are left open, as if to encourage the spring light to gently awaken the hibernating inhabitants.
The most eager sailors are getting their boats into Eggemoggin Reach before Memorial Day.
Vessels are being returned to the water daily
The great majority of boats will be happily in their element by July 4.
Getting the boats into the water is just the prelude to getting them in sailing shape, which can be a complicated process.
Slowly, one by one, our sailing harbors are filling with hulls and masts -- things are beginning to look normal again.
Center Harbor, home of the Brooklin Boatyard, is shown here. Soon, Great Cove, home of the WoodenBoat School, will be receiving the School's fleet and other boats that moor there. (Brooklin, Maine)
The White-Tailed Deer are starting to molt. Their heavy grayish overcoats are being replaced by lighter reddish-brown sports clothes.
While this is happening, however, the deer look like they’ve been attacked by a mad barber. (Brooklin, Maine)
Abundant rain has turned parts of the woods into gentle bogs, where the Skunk Cabbages take sweeping bows after performing their magic trick of arising out of dark waters.
These are wildflower plants named after their reaction to being hurt: When their leaves are crushed, they emit a foul odor that wards off humans and many other mammals. But bees, butterflies, and other pollinators love them.
Some gardeners plant Skunk Cabbages at strategic points within their gardens to repel squirrels and raccoons and attract bees and butterflies.
We have the Eastern Skunk Cabbage, which emerges out of purple husks (spathes); the Western version grows out of yellow husks. (Brooklin, Maine)
Greater Yellowlegs Sandpipers are back, cursing the world loudly, running awkwardly after small fish in the shallows, and constantly bobbing their too-small heads like penitents. Their name begs the questions: “Greater than what?” and “Who gets to give weird common names to birds, anyway?”
The American and International Ornithologists Unions create and issue lists of bird names based on bird structure, appearance, DNA, and other traits. It’s a mysterious process that has named a bird with no trace of red on its belly a Red-Bellied Woodpecker.
The name of our Greater Yellowlegs here is more logical: It’s larger than the similar Lesser Yellowlegs. Bird common names may vary with the language; their Latin scientific names are unvarying. However, few people will shout, “Look! There’s a Tringa melanoleuca!!”(Brooklin, Maine)
Many of the fern fiddleheads in the bogs are now harvestable delicacies. Some are just emerging and will be ready in a few days. Fiddleheads are the tops of ferns just before they unspool into lacy plants. All fiddleheads have toxins, but some have a tolerable amount if cooked well.
Around here, the Ostrich Fern fiddleheads are preferred for the table; Bracken and some other fiddleheads are too toxic to eat. Safe fiddleheads are eaten hot, with hollandaise, butter, garlic, vinegar, lemon or other sauce; they’re also eaten cold (after being cooked) in salads with any dressing. (Brooklin, Maine)
As this is being written, the sun is trying to fight through clouds and fog, and it’s hard to tell who’s winning the bout. It all started Wednesday, May 3, when this image was taken. The clouds collected and curtained off a beautiful morning that day.
Since then, we’ve mostly had overcast, drenching rain, and fog – until the sun picked another fight this morning. We’re rooting for the sun, but the smart meteorology money is on continued dreary weather for a few days. We’ve decided to make believe that it’s May 3. (Brooklin, Maine)
This is No. 136 in our Abstract Reality Series, another example of Mother Nature’s talent in composing beach art from flotsam. In the real world, however, it’s a lost bait bag that has washed up on sea weed.
These bags are stuffed with herring (or another bait, such as pogies/menhaden). The filled bags are put into a trap or hung over the side of a boat to attract lobster, crab, or fish. Their bright colors make them easier to see. (Brooklin, Maine)
