In the Right Place: A Down East Summer Day

Yesterday was one of those Summer days that we try to remember in February, but never can quite conjure back the feeling of being out in it when our senses came alive. Here are some reminders, all from yesterday.

A briny breeze thrills our bare skin and drives a large herd of cumulus clouds northwest. Temperatures are in the low 70s (F) in the morning and peak at 79 in the afternoon.

It’s a fine day for a race for those so inclined.

It’s also a good time to walk the spicy-scented fields, where Queen Anne’s Lace, Goldenrod, and drying wild grasses poignantly foretell the end of Summer.

The mixed woods remain – for a short while – shaded by the leaves of birch, maple, and other deciduous trees that grow among the tall spruce and fir. There’s a slight scent of balsam here.

Monarch Butterflies are storing up energy for their impending migration south, a hopeful sign; Wood Duck are hiding while in molt, humbled by their loss of magnificence and inability to fly well.

In Summer gardens, the primary colors are fading and the fall whites are emerging, including those of the Hydrangea blossoms.

(Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Eyes Don't Have It

As summer flowers begin to bend and fade, Black-Eyed Susans continue to stand proudly radiant.

The origin of their name apparently is the ballad “Sweet William’s Farewell to Black-Eyed Susan.” It was written about 1720 by English poet John Gay. The dramatic farewell occurs when Susan appears by surprise on William’s warship before he sails off to battle.

Of course, neither Susan nor any other human ever had black eyes. But, Susan may have had dark brown ones, as does this misnamed flower.

There are 30 species of Black-Eyed Susans, all native to North America and part of the Rudbeckia genus; the one shown above is R. fulgida var sullivantii. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Keeping the Doctor Away

It looks like we’ll soon be having a bumper crop of wild apples. (By “wild,” we mean the apples that drop from the many abandoned-and-no-longer-cultivated apple trees growing here.)

These apples can play a critical part in wildlife preparing for and surviving the winter: bear getting ready to hibernate, deer filling out new coats for winter, fox, coyote, rabbits, and small rodents. They’re part of the fall and winter diets of crows, catbirds, seagulls, and many more birds.

Most of the wild apples taken by humans around here seem to be pressed into cider. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Least Shall Inherit the Obscurity

This is the Least Sandpiper, the smallest shorebird in the world. It’s lucky to reach six inches in length.

These Pipers tend to travel in small flocks that put on close-formation aerobatic performances over the water.

The Least Sandpiper often is not noticed on shore because of its size and its habit of not spending time at the water’s edge during low tide; it usually is feeding for insects among the seaweed up at the high tide line, where its markings are good camouflage.

By the way, one of the collective names for any group of Sandpipers is a “contradiction,” as in “There’s a contradiction of Least Sandpipers!” Why that odd name was chosen and by whom seems to be a mystery.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: A Thorny Subject

Black Raspberries are now coming into their own in the wild brambles here. Unfortunately, the ripe one in this image is no longer with us. (It was delicious.)

There’s a quick way to tell a Black Raspberry from a Blackberry: pull the berry off the bush stem and look at the bottom of the fruit. If the berry is hollow, it’s a Black Raspberry; if there is a white stem core that plugs up the middle of the berry, it’s a Blackberry. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: In Real Time

Great Cove’s waters in the early morning are a rippling darkness, more easily heard than seen. A wooded ridge blocks the sun from reaching the Cove at true dawn. The first sign of dawn comes to its waters as a reflection: a glow in the sky above the ridge.

The Cove then accepts that early light into its own, rolling reflection, all the while waiting for the sun to show itself. There may be an allegory on the perception of reality here. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Moorage à Trois

When it gets a bit boring for one or two people living on their moored sailboat, they can tether up with like-minded sailors and visit or even party. Tethered sea-households are especially recommended for partying people – rowing under the influence to your boat, especially on a dark and windy night, is not a great idea.

Above, we have an interesting composition in Great Cove: a tethered threesome on the gray morning-after, with the ketch Angelique and schooner Stephen Taber (right) behind them. The afternoon after this image was taken, all boats had gone their separate ways. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Adaptation

Double-Crested Cormorants are perhaps the most skilled fishing birds in the country. They dive deep and long for fish and eels, swiftly prowling the murkiness with crackling blue eyes, their muscular legs pumping big webbed feet simultaneously.  

But, they have a related quirk that puzzles people: they spend significant time doing what looks like praying to the sun with outstretched wings.

It was once thought that a lack of preening oil created a need to air out their wet feathers. But, recent research shows that, unlike most other birds, Cormorants’ outer feathers are designed (“morphologically adapted”) to absorb water and repel air bubbles. This adaptation significantly reduces the problem of buoyancy underwater.

Thus, Cormorant feathers get wetter than those of other water birds and need to be warmed and air-blown. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Measuring Up

Low tide can be dramatic, especially in areas such as ours where the tides rise and fall more than a few feet. Our daily tides this week will rise and fall an average of a little more than 12 feet, according to the tide tables; individual tides may be significantly higher, depending on a host of variables.

Here we see the mouth of Patten Stream at near-low tide, rushing down boulders and past green macroalgae that were well under water hours ago. During high tides, there is no steep fall of the Stream: its sweet waters flow out almost directly into the salty tidal waters of Patten Bay. The difference probably is most perceptible to the thousands of Alewives (fish) and Elvers (young eels) that swim up this stream during their migration seasons. (Surry, Maine)

In the Right Place: Getting High

Where do you look at shorebirds? Along the shore, of course. But, if you get that funny feeling that someone or something is looking at you, search the overhanging pine trees for shore birds.

It wouldn’t be unusual for you to find a Great Blue Heron giving you the evil eye for disturbing its siesta. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Invasions We Have Known

Two invaders are fighting a war to the death at our pond: Purple Loosestrife (Lythrom salicaria) and common Cattails (Typha latifolia). The former is an aggressive wetland plant originally from Asia and Europe, the latter an almost uncontrollable native of North America’s marshes.

Ironically, Purple Loosestrife was introduced in many parts of this country for erosion control, but now most jurisdictions consider it to be a noxious invader. One reason for the success of this purple menace is that, unlike Cattails, it sports beautiful flowers that are very attractive to bees, other pollinators, and many humans. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Basic Needs

Great Cove is awakening slowly in the early-morning fog.

The quiet is profound. We try to breathe the silence in deeply, becoming aware that we crave it. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: An August Moment

It’s morning in Great Cove. The wind from the southwest is too light to chafe the sea, but it is enough to bring all vessels to its attention.

WoodenBoat School students are being ferried to their small sailboats on a School skiff; soon, they’ll raise sails and hunt for wind. A yawl boat on the Mary Day is being hoisted up while the schooner’s tarpaulin is coming down; the 125-foot windjammer’s own sails will be raised one by one next and she’ll sweep out into Eggemoggin Reach. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Who Goes There?

American Crows operate an early-warning system to protect their gatherings while they forage. They post sentinels and revolve these guards to make sure everyone is fed.

The collective noun for a gathering of these birds is a “murder of crows,” a term that has been attributed to the influence of folk tales. In one tale, the reason that crows gather together is to decide whether to put one of their kin to death for violating a crow rule; in many other tales, crows and ravens are omens of an impending death.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Tow, Tow, Tow Your Boat

All rowboats are not created equal. Some never are dragged across a beach or left moored in the water.

This rowing shell has been towed to Great Cove, where it will be backed gently into the briny. Once afloat and manned (or womanned), it will cut through the water fast and gracefully. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Piping Up

We’ll probably never make the varsity birdwatching team.  After many years trying, we still can’t tell most Sandpipers apart.

Varsity birders see a brown blur and say: “Look – medium size, no clear wing stripe, slightly curved beak, greenish legs – it’s a Pectoral Sandpiper!” Our usual method of identification is to take as many photos of the blur as we can and then compare them to the Sandpipers in Peterson and Sibley – which often don’t completely match our photos.

Applying our method, we think that the birds that you see here might be Pectoral Sandpipers. These birds get their name from the male’s attempts to impress the ladies by flexing his pectoral muscles to puff out his chest and body. Take a look at the Lothario in the image directly above.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Salty Dog

We have here a moment in which a good-looking dog of uncertain shepherd lineage has just stepped out of a bath in Great Cove and suddenly realizes that we are watching him. He gives us his best what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at? stare before trotting off.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Deadly Speed

The sleek Peregrine Falcon arguably is the fastest bird in the world. It dives for prey at 200 miles per hour or more, often using its clenched foot to stun, kill, or break the wing of a duck or other medium-sized bird in flight.

This falcon likes to capture its wounded prey in the air, but will let an injured heavy target fall to the ground for the coup de grace.

Falcons have been held in awe throughout history and deified in ancient religions. For example, the Egyptian god Horus often was depicted as having a falcon’s head. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Odd Couple

Two Maine-based celebrities spent Sunday night together in Great Cove and went their separate ways yesterday: the 122-foot luxury yacht Atlantide out of Blue Hill and the 130-foot windjammer Angelique out of Camden.

Looks can be deceiving with these two. Angelique was designed as a 19th Century English Channel gaff topsail ketch, but she was built here for tourists in 1980.

Atlantide was designed as a personal motor yacht (with auxiliary sails) for Sir William Burton and built in England in 1930; she saw naval service in the evacuation of Dunkirk in World War II.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: More Rarely Asked Questions

Why did they name a weed after Joe Pye – and who is he, anyway? Joe-Pye Weed is now budding here and some of the plants have started to blossom early. Soon, many of our fallow fields will be covered with the plants’ purple haze, which butterflies and bees seem to prefer to garden fare.

The origin of the plant's name is a subject of debate, but virtually all researchers state that the major probability is that it refers to a Colonial-era Native American medicine man in Massachusetts named Joe Pye. Joe was known for using poultices of the plant to treat fevers, especially typhoid. The less popular theory is that the plant’s name is a corruption or phonetic spelling of Jopi, a Native American word for typhoid. (Brooklin, Maine)