In the Right Place: Transformation

A breath-taking change in Great Cove takes place in early October: the boats are brought ashore, most moorings and their mushroom anchors are pulled up, and the WoodenBoat School pier float is beached. The Cove then seems lonely – the way a house can seem lonely when the children go away.

However, we soon realize that there has been a fair exchange: the complex beauty of an active harbor (think of a smaller scale J.M.W. Turner canvas) has become the simple beauty of an ever-changing sea with ever-changing wildlife (think of a larger scale version of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Pond).

Below is an image of the area of between the WBS pier and Babson Island, taken on September 13, along with a few other late September scenes of the Cove:

Here’s what the same area between the pier and Babson Island looked like on October 4:

In the interim, visiting vessels departed for home ports and storage; WBS vessels were ferried ashore and driven to their winter quarters; and, anchors and moorings were pulled out of the Cove, cleaned with fresh water, and hung up to dry.

To be sure, some people around here will sail well into October, but each day their number lessens, especially those who are sailing small vessels. The nearby Brooklin Boatyard small boat shed is almost full already.

We’re entering another, exciting cycle.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: A Buzz

Last night’s winds dropped a lot of – but not nearly all -- wild apples here. (By “wild” we mean those from the many unattended apple trees.)

The fruit is a good winter food source for a wide spectrum of wildlife – bear, moose, deer, raccoons, wild turkeys, gulls, and many songbirds.

The only problem is that dropped apples can ferment and make animals drunk – we’ve seen wild turkeys wobble, fall over, and get up seemingly giggling. A few years ago, a big, apple-eating bull moose got drunk and held part of Anchorage, Alaska, at bay; the local newspaper named him “Buzzwinkle.” (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Waiting

Here we come across an apparently well-used and well-kept wooden boat that has been left untethered on Great Cove’s pebbly shore. Its master is not to be seen. We’re alone now and can admire its utilitarian grace without anyone wondering why we’re staring at a stationary boat.

She reminds us of a handsome hunting dog that is at “stay” in an uncomfortable place, eagerly awaiting her next command. By the way, there are few fine-sand beaches in this area of Maine; we mostly have large pink granite ledges; stubbly pebble-and-rock landings, and beach grass stands. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Being Blue

We’re seeing more Blue Jays here than last year. One bird expert attributes this to a local increase in acorns.

These birds do not appear blue due to their pigmentation; they’re blue to us due to the refraction of light by the structure of their feathers. That is, if you ground the feathers of a Blue Jay, you’d get a dull pile of brown, not one of sparkling blue. As to the “Jay” part of its name, some research finds that it’s a carryover from “Jai,” the Old French name for “gay” or “merry” given to some birds that the English later called “Jays.” (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: No Haunting

It’s time to buy a pumpkin and carve a Jack O’ Lantern out of it to keep away the witches and ghosts, which was the historical “reasoning” behind hanging Jack O’ Lanterns on houses and huts. It has always worked for us.

By the way, in days of yore, a “jack-o’-lantern” and “will-of-the-wisp” were the English names for any unknown light that appeared over British peat moors. (Brooklin, Maine)

Postcards From Maine: The September Collection

September is the month in which we reluctantly let go of Summer and eagerly welcome Fall. It’s the month when chilly dawns are frequent.

The fields turn in September and need to be mowed, if they weren’t cut in August.

The mixed conifer-deciduous woods show more light as some of the leaves begin to fall

Streams and coves become favorite haunts and the sunsets and evening afterglows over the waters can be dramatic.

September mornings can be foggy in Great Cove, as the schooners come and go, but the fog usually burns off.

The Red Squirrels and Chipmunks are busy collecting food, even a rare white (pigment-deficient) Chipmunk. Green Frogs still laze in mid-September, but most are in hibernation by the end of the month.

The Spring fawns are active and quite large by September.

September is when many birds prepare to migrate or actually do migrate south. Many Wood Ducks are not going anywhere for a while; they’re in various stages of molt.Some Double-Crested Cormorants have started the trip, others still patrol the Cove at full throttle.

September is the month when you see both Monarch Butterflies and the Monarch Caterpillars from which more Monarchs would come.

Of course, September is the month that gardens erupt with the beauty of late-summer flowers.

Toward the end of September, Viburnums and a number other bushes start to blush deeply in anticipation of Fall’s arrival.

For larger versions of the above images, as well as many additional images of special moments in September, 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 for more:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/US-States/Maine/Out/2017-in-Maine/September-Postcards-From-Maine/

In the Right Place: A Viking Thing

Here, in the morning fog, is a curiosity from Norway that has been in and out of Great Cove for most of the Summer. She’s Flekkerøy, 40-foot former Norwegian harbor pilot boat built in 1936 that made a dramatic first appearance in the Cove.

She came in during a storm in December of 2015 and anchored in the sheltering lee of Babson Island. Her two-person crew, Klara Emmerfors (Swedish) and Bjørnar Berg (Norwegian), had taken the “Viking Route” here:  Norway to Iceland, to Greenland, to Labrador and then through the Canadian Maritimes to Down East Maine. Apparently, a book is in the offing. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Last Chances

This is the best time to see the best flowers at one of the best gardens. We're in beautiful Thuya Garden, overlooking Northeast Harbor on Maine’s Mount Desert Island. The English-style Garden will be officially open daily through October, but the historic Thuya Lodge will close for the season next week. (The garden area is accessible through paths and side gates all year.)

The tourists are now at a minimum and the late summer blossoms are at their maximum – especially the specimen Dahlias.

The granite-ledged hillside trails now offer uncrowded views of the sparkling Harbor through the many White Cedar Trees (Thuya occidentalis) for which the Garden was named.

Butterflies are still everywhere, including Monarchs and Painted Ladies.

The Lodge was constructed over several years for Joseph H. Curtis, a Boston landscape architect; it was completed in 1916. It is a small, simple building with a fine library of esoteric garden and landscape titles on the second-floor. It has no spectacular view, but it does have character.

The Garden, built mostly in an orchard near the Lodge, came much later. It was designed and built by Charles K. Savage, a Northeast Harbor civic leader, during the years 1956-1961. The Garden was influenced by the works of legendary landscape architect Beatrix Farrand and contains many plants bought from her when, in her eighties, she had to sell off her famous garden in nearby Bar Harbor.

(Northeast Harbor, Maine)

For larger versions of the above images, as well as additional images of Thuya Garden in the Fall, 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 for more:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/US-States/Maine/Out/2017-in-Maine/Thuya-Garden/

In the Right Place: Staying Home

We’ve been monitoring this White-Tailed Deer fawn and four others since they appeared on and near our property in the Spring.

The fawns still travel with their mothers, and we’re apparently within their ranges. The summer home ranges of Maine White-Tails are small: usually 500-to-600 acres (0.78-to-0.93 square miles), according to state data.

When we started monitoring the local fawns in the Spring, there were three singles and a set of twins. Four of the five are doing well, which is a high survival rate. One of the singles was taken by a coyote, judging by what we found in June. (Don’t ask.)

These three images were taken September 25, 2017.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: More Seldom-Asked Questions

Can mushrooms cry? Some mushrooms weep as well as professional mourners. One is the Red-Belted Polypore (Fomitopsis pinicola), shown here, which mostly grows on decaying trees.

Why the tears? Experts have a number of theories, but we’ve seen no definitive conclusion. Dr. David Porter, our favorite Maine mushroom maven, theorizes that spore-producing tissues of Red-Belted Polypores harden when a new pore layer is grown; as they harden, moisture is squeezed out of them. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Brilliance

It’s 9:14 p.m. last night and the brilliant moon is dominating the semi-clear sky. She’s relatively close to the sun and 251,015 miles away from us, and  sailing fast to the northwest –  over Eggemoggin Reach, Penobscot Bay, and beyond.

She’s in her Waxing Crescent veils of shadow, exposing 26 percent of herself as part of her First Phase reappearance dance after her New Moon seclusion. Tonight, she’ll expose more; Wednesday night, her First Quarter, she’ll unveil enough to allow 54 percent of her to be illuminated – for those who can get above the clouds. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: More Seldom-Asked Questions

Do Mallards smile? Yes, they can’t help it; they’re born with a smile. Nonetheless, we like to think that this female Mallard is smiling because she’s pleased with her ability to create a perfect bosom wave.

The hearty “QUACK-QUACK” we hear in movies and other portrayals of a duck call are those of the female Mallard. Curiously, the female Mallard’s loud quacking is different from the calls of other ducks, including those of Male Mallards, which call with raspy “Kweks” and “Yeebs.” (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Last Zinnia

This was a Zinnia in her prime almost two weeks ago. She’s now struggling and will continue to do so until the first frost takes her; but, as with most of us, she would rather be remembered at her peak. Tuck away the memory of her youthful beauty for winter musings.

By the way, Zinnias are Mexican in origin and were named by Swedish Botanist-Taxonomist Carl Linnaeus (1707-1778) in honor of his contemporary, the German Botanist and Anatomist Johann Gottfried Zinn (1727-1759). (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Uniqueness

Marsden Hartley’s Maine is at Colby College’s Museum of Art through November 12, 2017, after a successful run in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Breuer galleries.  It’s worth a trip to Waterville, if you’re interested in unique interpretations of Maine and some unusual brush work. Non-flash photography is allowed. This one is Hartley’s Mount Katahdin, Autumn, No. 2 (1939-40):

The Met’s handsome and informative (but expensive) show catalog book also is worth the price or worth waiting in line for at libraries that have it (including Brooklin’s Friend Memorial Library).

Hartley was born in Lewiston, Maine, in 1877 and died in Ellsworth in 1944. He promoted himself as “The Painter from Maine” to revive his career, which had peaked in Europe, but had to be discontinued because of World War I.  

His moody and abstracted views of Maine in the show run from childish, to stunning, to homo-erotic. Of particular interest to us were his Cézanne-influenced series on Maine’s Mount Katahdin during the seasons.  (Waterville, Maine)

In the Right Place: Taste

Muskrats, such as this neighbor transporting a water lily breakfast, are powerful swimmers with webbed hind feet and side-swishing flattened tails; they even can swim backwards and hold their breath up to 20 minutes.

They once were hunted widely for their soft fur and purported rabbit-like taste. (Our old edition of Joy of Cooking says that, to serve two people, “Skin and remove all fat from hams of 6 muskrats … sauté until golden … [s]erve with Creamed Celery.” It doesn’t mention how to get the muskrats.) Muskrats get their name from the strong scent that they use to mark their territory and their rat-like looks. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Good Endings

Yesterday was a dreary gray thing that drizzled from time to time, but never had the energy to deliver helpful rain or pleasing sun – until late afternoon.

In the afternoon, the lowering sun successfully won several battles with the overcast and broke through here and there. The wind rose and silver light poured obliquely through the clouds, spreading over the surface of Great Cove like fast-moving rivers of diamonds. Sailors dashed for their boats to be an active part of a good sunset.  (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Mum's the Word

Chrysanthemums, the ancient symbols of joy and happiness, are appearing on porches and elsewhere here.

The flowers originated in China, where their leaves are steamed for vegetable dishes; the plant also is used there for a healthy tea. In Japan, the flower is the symbol of the monarchy and appears on Japanese passports. Here, it is one of the first signs that we’re getting the Fall feeling. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Encounters of the Maine Kind

We’re walking beside, and sometimes in, the water’s edge in fog-bound Great Cove. The air is still and the patches of sea that are visible are silvered mirrors. The quiet seems to have slowed time. Suddenly, there’s a whuff-whuff sound above us and we become frighteningly aware that something big and alive is there and closing fast. We instinctively duck.

A first-year Herring Gull strafes us and flies out low over the Cove, the air from each wing beat ruffling its own reflection there. The youngster keeps going and disappears. We can’t see its face, but like to think that it’s smiling. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Last Dinners

Secret snacking is still going on in the remnants of the garden, but not for long. Here, the gourmet tasting a colorful canapé appears to be a Two-Striped Grasshopper or perhaps a Red-Legged Locust.

“Locusts,” of course, actually are grasshoppers of the short-antennae variety. A curious thing about grasshoppers is that they have their ears in their bellies (abdomens). (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Lasting Beauty

The appearance of Alera in Great Cove this week provoked thoughts about the special qualities that create lasting beauty, whether natural, human-made, or a combination of both.

Some lasting beauty is without physical shape (e.g., Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony). Some is two-dimensional (e.g., da Vinci’s Mona Lisa) and some three-dimensional (e.g., Michelangelo’s David). Some three-dimensional beauty is solidly stationary (e.g., Palladio’s Villa La Rotonda) and some combines complex movements and sounds (e.g., Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet ballet).

And then there is Alera. She’s 113 years old. To see her gracefulness in her natural element – beating into the wind; her canvas and rigging humming; her bow wave hissing – is to see a performance by a thing of lasting beauty that was created by a genius.

She was designed by Nathanael (Nat) Greene Herreshoff, the Michelangelo of sailboat naval architects. Alera, launched in 1904, was the first of his famous New York Yacht Club 30-foot racers, hence the “NY1” proudly displayed on her sail. (Brooklin, Maine)