In the Right Place: Thriving

Much-needed rain is sweeping down much too hard as we try to see Naskeag Harbor yesterday morning. We might as well be in a car wash.

However, on the way home, we put down the car window to see some of our feathered neighbors that are having a stormy breakfast al fresco.

Wild Turkeys were extirpated in Maine in the 1880s, but were reintroduced as full-time residents in 1978. Since then, they’ve thrived here under conditions that sometimes are extreme. (When we hear that someone is a “Tough Old Bird,” we try to imagine that person with wattles and a snood.)

Nonetheless, our masochistic garden welcomes the storm as it beats down the flowers and grasses and obscures the view of Great Cove.:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Eden Revisited

It’s yesterday. We’re walking along the edge of a field that we haven’t visited for months, but we’re making our usual mistake: we’re not looking up. We soon realize this, scan the trees, and – much to our pleasure – we see that the wild apple trees are full of good-sized fruit that was not there the last time we passed this way.

By “wild” we mean apples trees that are abandoned. Most of their apples will be eaten by the wildlife -- bear, deer, raccoons, wild turkeys, gulls, and many songbirds.

This fruit originally was fisherman food here. The first Maine apple trees reportedly were brought to Maine in the 16th Century by European fisherman who planted them on the sea islands where the men camped. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Mob

We’re in a clearing and hear the piercing cries of an Osprey: “Cheereek!-Cheereek!-Cheereek!” We look up: no high-soaring Osprey. We look in the nearby trees: no roosting Osprey. The cries persist. There’s movement in a treetop more than a quarter of a mile away. With our long lens, we barely see a defiant Osprey being “mobbed” by at least eight Crows.

This is unusual, at least for us. In our experience, the customary targets of Crow-mobbing are Owls, Hawks, and Eagles. Those raptors kill Crows and mobbing is thought to be a preventative group defense against such attacks. Ospreys, on the other hand, usually eat only fish unless there’s a fish famine, which doesn’t occur here.

Also, those distant Crows don’t seem agitated.  They fly in, calmly sit near the Osprey and silently edge even closer along limbs, giving the fish-eater cold stares.

The cursing Osprey refuses to be flushed. After at least a 20-minute performance of Osprey invective, the Crows fly off, seemingly satisfied; the Osprey calmly starts to preen itself, and we move on.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: A Good Start

The temperature is somewhere between cool and cold at about 6 a.m. this morning. We’re waiting for the sun to climb over the spruce trees and find us, but we can’t stop shivering. It makes us realize that we’ll have to let go of some of our summer ways -- the only thing between our chest and the chill is our thin, short-sleeved shirt. The sun suddenly finds us! We forget about our body; this is a time to try to feel with our eyes.

We see gleaming. It’s a familiar Sweet Pea vine that has begun its morning prayers to the sun; it holds its aged, veiny leaves open in seeming faithful worship and frail dependence. We gasp and wonder why we’ve never noticed this before. We’re off to a good start. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XV

The Knitting Seafarers purled into Great Cove again on Tuesday (September 4) and plaited out the next morning.  

We’re of course talking about one of the unusual (but apparently very popular) cruises on the historic J.&E. Riggin. During such occasional cruises, enthusiasts simultaneously knit and sail the Down East coast.

To some, sailing and knitting on a Schooner built in 1927 apparently is as natural a combination as peanut butter and jelly. lthough we initially thought that it might be more like ketchup on ice cream, we realized two things. First, knitting is a time-honored craft and, in the hands of some, an art. Second, doing just about anything when sailing Eggemoggin Reach is a good thing.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In teh Right Place: Tiny Travelers

We thought that our Twelve-Spotted Skimmers had left us, then the handsome fellow below showed up Tuesday, September 4. (We know that this is an adult male because it has both brown and white spots; females and young males only have white spots. )

There is an ever-widening investigation by scientists and volunteers to determine which dragonflies migrate and which end their lives in the cold of the North. Twelve-Spots have been sighted within swarms of migrating dragonflies moving southward along the Atlantic coast; Twelve-Spots also usually become evident in the South later than other dragonflies, which is another indication that they might be migrators.

For comparison to the male above, here's an older image of a female Twelve-Spot and a Common Green Darner – a known migrant:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Stuck

We’re monitoring two flightless male Wood Ducks in a nearby marsh pond. They’re flightless because they’re in a severe molt called their “eclipse phase.”

We know where we can look for them without alarming the shy birds. Sometimes we see both together, sometimes only one. Most of the time, we see neither. But, we see enough of them to conclude that they are having a safe summer. If a racoon or other predator doesn’t get them, they should be back in full dress uniform this fall.

Many birds have significant molts, but those of male Wood Ducks seem more severe due to the contrast between their buzz-cut molt and their full-plumaged beauty. Compare this year’s summer molting drake (image taken September 4, 2018), above, with last year’s fall-plumaged one (taken October 11, 2017), below:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XIV

The 170-foot Schooner Victory Chimes sailed into foggy Great Cove Monday afternoon (September 4); she sailed out in a fair wind and under sunny skies yesterday morning. She's shown below coming in through the fog; her departure is shown further below after a little history.:

 Launched in 1900, this three-masted schooner plied the Chesapeake and Delaware Bay areas as the Edwin & Maude until 1954, when she came to Maine. Once here, she was renamed the Victory Chimes in honor of a Canadian schooner of that name that had been launched on Armistice Day in 1918.

During the late 1980s, she was bought and restored by Domino's Pizza and named Domino Effect. In 1990, this National Historic Landmark was purchased again, renamed Victory Chimes, and put to work as a Coastal Cruiser hailing out of Rockland, Maine.

She's shown above as the sun found her yesterday, anchored calmly with her aft sail up as a stay and her passengers ashore exploring the WoodenBoat School campus.  After her passengers returned, she raised sail and spun toward us.

Unlike previous visits, there was a fair wind that allowed this motorless Coaster to put up a plenty of canvas and depart without a boost from her powerful yawl boat. 

She headed southwest out of the Cove into a hazy Eggemoggin Reach.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: A Difficult Sport

Leprechaun hunting season up here begins September 1 and ends November 30. It coincides with the fall mushroom (some say toadstool) season. The Maine limit on taking Leprechauns is one adult male per year, which the State is thinking of raising because we have too many Leprechauns due to a lack of natural predators.

It’s a difficult sport, Leprechaun hunting. Only those without fault can see them. (We’re told by a neighbor that there’s a magnificent Leprechaun specimen sitting between the two mushroom stalks in the image above.)

Everyone can see the signs of Leprechaun activity, however, one of which is a mushroom toppled at a Leprechaun party. We believe, by the way, that these images may be of Short-Stalked Suillus Mushrooms (Suillus brevipes), a favorite Leprechaun hiding place. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Places: Fruits

It’s Labor Day, one of our more unusual holidays. This originally was a day for protesting 60- and 70-hour work weeks. In 1894, it was declared a federal holiday in honor of American workers, many of whom never got the day off. In time, however, Labor Day seemed to become better known as the last unofficial day of summer, a day to relax. That brings us to the image below, which was taken here Saturday (September 1).

It’s shows a very relaxed sailor in a handmade wooden boat of vintage American design. That boat and the joy it brings is a reminder of an age when very hard-working and very talented people built and sailed vessels and undertook other types of difficult work that contributed to the exceptionalism of America. We like to think that we’re still benefitting from the fruits of that hard work. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Pecking Order

We witnessed an unusual event yesterday in a dark patch of woods: two female Pileated Woodpeckers were chasing each other, circle-climbing the same tree, and attacking each other. It didn’t look like play. Probably was just a political squabble.

These are our largest Woodpeckers – about 16.5 inches long – assuming that the larger Ivory-Billed Woodpecker is extinct.

“Pileated” means “crested” or “capped.” Pileateds mate for life, but there was no male in sight or hearing distance. (The male’s territorial challenge is a loud, maniacal laugh.)

(Brooklin, Maine)

August Postcards From Maine

Our August sun seems to rise over Great Cove slower than other months so that we can savor the best of times. Our August woods and fields seem to sing "Summertime, Summertime!" Our August skies seem to remind us to use August fully and well; change is about to happen.

We can learn from the wildlife: August is a time that they seem to live to the fullest. The yearling buck proudly displays his first real antlers; Goldfinches, Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds,  and Red Squirrels gorge themselves; Painted Turtles bask during the month's easy days. This August, the Monarch Butterflies returned in good numbers and bred well -- a beautiful encouragement.

Dogs and Cats work hard at their summer jobs in August here. They retrieve valuable sticks, serve as all-seeing boat lookouts, and  -- in the case of Jethro, the popular Harbor Cat -- diligently guard the Harbor Boathouse.

August also is a good time to watch Schooners perform in Great Cove. The big vessels come and go, often parading silently, sometimes giving us an encore magic act in which they appear and disappear.

But, August in Great Cove is not just for big Schooners. In fact, it's mostly a place where colorful small boats sail in sun and fog, sit patiently on their reflections, or become floating classrooms for the sailors who attend the Cove's famous WoodenBoat School.

August also is a time to walk the Maine woods and fields and to appreciate wild pond flora and fauna. It's for picking ripened Blackberries and popping them into your mouth when there is no hygiene-minded person around; for Black-Eyed Susans to try to soak up all our sun; for remembering not to pick the pretty purple Bull Thistle; for Queen Anne's Lace and Goldenrod to become poignant reminders that fall is on the way; for fading wild Fragrant Water Lilies to offer their last nectar to passing Honeybees, and for multi-colored fungi to suddenly appear like little lights in darkening woods.

We began these Postcards with the sun rising over the sea and we finish after the sun has disappeared into the sea. It will be dark within two minutes, but we'll leave a light on for you.

(All images taken in Down East Maine during August 2018.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XIII

This is the Stephen Taber bearing down on us during a prior summer’s day:

All the following images of her were taken here yesterday in Great Cove,  where she sheltered for a few hours during a rain squall.

The 110-foot Taber was built in 1871 and is a National Historic Landmark that now hails from Rockland, Maine. As with many 19th Century cargo cruisers, the Taber was built with a flat bottom to “ground out” and discharge her cargo without the need for a pier.

She does have a centerboard to lower during cruising but has no motor; her motorized yawlboat pushes her in light air.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Boning Up

Antlers in the deer family (White-Tailed Deer, Moose, Elk, etc.) are like cars: new models are issued annually. This White-Tail yearlingis proudly showing off his first real “rack,” a 2018 sports model that is small and still covered with “velvet.” Deer antlers are made of bone that is fed by blood within that hairy velvet; the bone starts to grow in the early spring and is among the fastest-growing tissue in the animal kingdom.

Most bucks, young and old, are reclusive when their antlers are growing and full of sensitive nerves. By September, however, their racks usually have turned to hard bone and we see more bucks in the open; we also see scars on the trees where they have rubbed their velvet off.  Most antlers here will be shed by February. They are the only mammal bone structure that regenerates itself annually.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Basking and Piling

What’s more boring than watching Painted Turtles dry?

Perhaps watching them grow by replacing shell plates (“scutes”).

As for drying, why do Painted Turtles bask and why do some, but not all, pile on each other when doing so? It seems settled that they use thermal rays to help regulate their temperatures. However, some scientists theorize that Painted Turtles also must bask to obtain needed vitamin D and/or to kill parasites.

This does not explain why some Painted Turtles allow others to pile on them and block part of their needed sunlight. Others appear to avoid piling by basking vertically:

But many join a turtle scrum, and there is no consensus as to why. Some scientists think that turtle piling is a defense against predators (more eyes and ears), but others claim that piling makes them more vulnerable. Some think that the pile is the result of competition for the best basking spot. Others think that it might be a social function.

There’s so much that we don’t know about the world around us. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Salty Dogs

It’s not unusual for boats around here to have four-legged crew members. Most are dogs, rarely there’s a cat, and more rarely there are both. Thus, we’re not surprised to see a considerable amount of advice on the Internet as to how to handle a canine sailor when at sea.

This includes what to do if Fang or Fluffy slips or jumps overboard, which apparently happens more that one would think. Getting a wet, rapidly peddling dog back into a boat, especially in a choppy (or worse) sea, can be very difficult and dangerous.

Necessity being the mother of invention, there are now canine life vests that supply added pet buoyancy and have handles that can be grasped or hooked. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Sailsmanship

You may not believe this, but it’s true: the J.&E. Riggin was in Great Cove yesterday during another of its four-day “Knitting Getaways.”

The schooner’s website claims that KG passengers learn “how to intuitively create a top down sock the way our foremothers did it.” Mim Bird, an expert knitter, is on board to instruct. At first, we thought that it was profane to populate this 1927 windjammer, a National Historic Landmark, with sock stitchers.

But, then we met some of the happy passengers (male and female), as they came ashore yesterday for a little exploration:

It appears that knitting while sailing along the beautiful coast of Maine on a 120-foot, spoon-bowed, historic schooner is a bucket list trip for some.

(Brooklin, Maine) [The sailing image of the Riggin is from a prior summer; others are from yesterday morning.]

In the Right Place: Yet Another Warning

At least 114 dead and dying seals have been reported found in Maine so far this August, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Experts from the Marine Animal Lifeline and NOAA are studying the disturbing situation, which has recurred from time to time since 2003.

Most of this month’s discoveries have been Harbor Seals found south of Rockland; avian flu and distemper have been found in a good number of these. Researchers at the Shaw Institute in Blue Hill blame manmade, immune-suppressant toxins, such as PCBs (polychlorinated biphenyls).

These toxins reportedly are widespread in our waters and make sea mammals dangerously susceptible to diseases. Apparently, many of our seals are inundated with these toxic time bombs, even though they may look as healthy as our local seals shown here.

Reports of dead or dying seals seen south of Rockland should be made to Marine Animal Lifeline at 207-851-6625. Those seen north of Rockland should be reported to Allied Whale at 207-288-5644. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XII

This is the Bonnie Lynn becalmed in Great Cove yesterday morning waiting for a fair wind that didn’t come.

She’s a 1998 modified version of a Trade Rover Schooner, the late-20th Century working sail vessels designed by Merritt Walter.

Bonnie is 72 feet long overall and has Brigantine-like rigging that can accommodate a square sail on the foremast. She’s equipped with a 220 horsepower diesel engine and has a steel hull.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Department of Defense

Most American Crows here are still maintaining family territories that they defend against other crows. Unlike most birds, Crow youngsters often stay with their parents to defend the territory and help raise the next brood.

Soon, the Crow atomic family territoriality will disappear and those birds that don’t migrate will congregate. Many inland Crows will come to the coast in late summer and fall, seemingly sensing that impenetrable snow will not cover food-rich tidal zones.

The wintering Crow families will create roosting areas and huddle there during the cold nights. Why? The leading theory is that Crows sense their increased vulnerability in leafless trees.

Their primary predators (other than humans) are Great Horned Owls and other large raptors. Owls can see and attack Crows better during winter nights. The more Crow eyes and sharp beaks available, the better that species can warn and defend itself in winter. (Brooklin, Maine)