In the Right Place: Frozen

Yesterday, I was on one creaky knee admiring Lady’s Slippers blooms in the darker woods. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement of a large thing about 25 feet to my side. This is not what an old man with a bad leg wants to see in these woods, where the possibilities are 50-50 for something of that size: either a deer (no problem) or a black bear (a potential significant problem if it or I panic).

It turned out to be this big-eyed doe who went into her “frozen” mode, in which she thinks I can’t see her if she doesn’t move. I “shot” her and she melted away. By the way, note that she’s wearing her summer coat, which is lighter in color and weight than her winter coat. She looks a little scrawny to me, but there seems to be plenty for her to eat around here. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Fire

Green Arrow Arum (Peltandra virginica) plants in our local ponds and other freshwater wetlands are coming along well, as you can see from this image taken yesterday. Soon, many of these leaves will reach about 30 inches with about 8-inch wide “arrow heads” that are heavy enough to bend the stalks gracefully over the pond.

This plant, also known as Tuckahoe, produces fruits that ducks, muskrats, and other marsh creatures eat, but humans are advised not to taste any part of the plant. The family name “arum” is thought to derive from the Arab term for “fire” and reflects the sensation you’ll have in your mouth if you chew this plant. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: When Bigger Is Better

Waves of warblers are now flitting among the emerging leaves and, as usual, driving us crazy. Identifying these confusingly-named beauties is difficult for us. Here we have a Common Yellowthroat Warbler, which is not to be confused with the different Yellow-Throated Warbler.

In fact, this is a male Common Yellowthroat, which is not to be confused with the female of the species. The female does not wear a mask, but loves them – she reportedly chooses a mate based on the size of his mask. Here she is:

Common Yellowthroats are our only warblers that stay low and make their nests in reedy marshes, which is where the female’s drabness comes in handy. Except for the male’s constant singing, they’re easily missed by those who always look up in the treetops for warblers.

(Brooklin, Maine)

May Postcards From Maine

May here was a weather mixing bowl of sun, fog, rain, and even snow flurries, but mostly it was a month of glorious sun. Nonetheless, we didn’t see many leaves until near the end of the month.

Along the shore, some fishing vessels were coming back to the water from their winter vacations “on the hard,” while others were getting reconfigured from scalloping to lobstering and loading their traps. Here we see vessels from neighboring Blue Hill, our own Naskeag Harbor, and Stonington across Penobscot Bay.

While the covid-19 virus kept many human visitors away, we had plenty of returning visitors from other members of the animal kingdom. As for the feathered ones, we’re monitoring a returning pair of ospreys, which appear ready to hatch one or more eggs in June; tiny spring warblers, including the embarrassingly named yellow-rumped warblers, found their way back. They were among many winged returnees, including flocks of aggressive grackles that drove our recently-awakened painted turtles crazy.

Of course, other residents awoke from their winter’s seclusions and hibernations, including our groundhogs, muskrats, and chipmunks.

In the woods and marsh ponds, wild plants grew exponentially: skunk cabbage at the beginning of the month consisted of purple spathes and leaves trying to emerge; at the end of the month, they were in almost full leaf. arrow arum and water lily pads were out by the end of the month, and ferns had progressed from being entombed to fiddleheads.

Of course, May also is about blossoming flowers. In terms of trees, among our most spectacular are flowering crabapple, apple, plum, shadblow and red maple.

On the ground, lupine pods start to arise and bejewel themselves in May; dandelions blow their horns everywhere, quince helps early pollinators, and tulips appear initially as spears.

The two most famous days in May evoke differing senses: Mother’s Day love is celebrated with a banner on Brooklin’s Naskeag Road and Memorial Day is celebrated with the American Flag on veterans’ graves in our Town’s cemetery.

Finally, we leave you with May’s spectacular moon. The full May moon is known as the Flower Moon, because it arrives with the flowers. Just before it became full, it appeared during the day over our budding trees. The full May moon arose red, seemingly angry, and distorted in our atmosphere; it then transformed into platinum as it ascended into space.

(Brooklin, Maine. All images here were taken in Down East Maine during May 2020.)

In the Right Place: Ardent

On her first day of maturity, yesterday, this voluptuous Hibiscus blossom attracted the ardent attention of a sunbeam and we were fortunate to be there.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Thwack

We were supposed to go Bald Eagle “shooting” at a friend’s “special place” early yesterday morning, now that these birds are doing a lot of diving on migrating alewives. But, the fog was so intense (as it is today) that the plan was abandoned. So, we’re posting images of diving eagles from the many in our archives.

Bald Eagles perform several distinctive dives. The most impressive to us is when they are soaring in circles high above a river or other water and spot their prey. They then bank severely, spiral down fast in smaller and smaller circles.

They then pull up to skim the surface of the last few feet of water, thrust their talons straight out at the last moment, and pluck the prey with a splashy “thwack”:

During such dives, they can reach 100 miles per hour and, if you’re close enough, you might hear their killing whistle – the wind whipping through wing and leg “chaps” feathers. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Galaxy

Our woods are getting darker as the deciduous tree leaves fill in the canopy spaces between the spruce and balsam fir treetops. The stars of Starflower plants (Trientalis borealis Raf.) are now rising to light these late May shadows. They’re mostly white and tiny, about ¼- to ½- inch in diameter on slight stalks that usually are less than 2 inches long.

Yesterday, we saw this flowering Starflower plant with some others that had recently offered up flowers. Soon, the shadowed woods floor will become a vernal galaxy of their stars. By mid-summer, the stars will have accomplished their purpose of attracting pollinators and become shooting stars that wilt and disappear. Only the herbs' leaves and flowers’ stalks will remain for a while, then also disappear before the frost. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Dry

In the Right Place: Dry

The morning fog here has not burned off yet and looks like it may not burn off until late in the day, if then. We’ve had morning fog since Tuesday (May 26), when these images of Naskeag Harbor were taken:

Fog is fine, especially for those of us who marvel over the lights and colors that change our perspectives of interesting places. However, we don’t need fog now; we need rain and plenty of it. We’re well below average in the precipitation charts. The woods and fields are dry and the few small showers predicted in the next 10 days won’t correct the situation. The last thing we need this summer is a drought on top of the plague. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Pollinator Paradise

Common Flowering Quince (Chaenomeles japonica) is now in full bloom, providing needed nectar to early pollinators, as you may infer from this image taken yesterday:

It’s one of three species of flowering quince plants that originated in Asia and is highly regarded in Japan for bonsai culturing.

The flowering varieties are not to be confused with the fruit-bearing Quince Tree (Cydonia oblonga). (Brooklin, Maine) See another image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: A Squirrel By Any Other Name

You’ve heard of Punxsutawney Phil, the shadow watcher; but, have you heard of Naskeag Nate, the tide watcher? This is Nate on Sunday (May 24):

Unusually for most of his kind, he was enjoying himself at the shore. He ate a large portion of vegetation there, then climbed up to the top of a 15-foot granite pier pylon to take a sunbath and scan Great Cove:

Most people would call Phil and Nate “Groundhogs,” a name that has nothing to do with their looks or genes; it reportedly was given to them because of their extraordinary burrowing ability. Many also would call them Woodchucks, a name that has nothing to do with wood or the chucking thereof. It was an attempt by our European settlers – who had never seen a Groundhog in Europe – to pronounce the Algonquin Tribe’s word for the animal, “Wuchak,” meaning digger.

That’s not all: some people call these rodents “Whistle-Pigs,” due to their high-pitched call; or “Land Beavers,” due to their looks (if you ignore their hairy little tails), or even “Mouse Bears,” because they sit up on their haunches like a tiny bear. But, in the end, Nate and Phil and their kind are just the largest ground squirrels in Maine; and, yes, they climb trees and swim.

However, as with all squirrels who have to live near humans, all is not furry fun with Groundhogs. They can gorge on crops and garden vegetables and dig massive tunnels that are not friendly to tractor axles. Our State allows hunters to shoot Groundhogs on sight anytime on non-posted land. (Brooklin, Maine) For a few more images, click here:

In the Right Place: Dignity

Today is Memorial Day, the most profound of our military recognition days. It’s the day that we’re supposed to come together in a national remembrance of those who died while serving in the United States Armed Services.

However, as our country evolves, it seems to get harder and harder to come together over any principle, no less one that requires putting patriotism above politics and risking personal safety. We suspect that having safe fun on the unofficial first day of summer is foremost in many people’s minds today. And so be it.

Nonetheless, we visit cemeteries on Memorial Day weekend. They’re good places for old people to ponder life, death, altruism, and the speed with which civilization changes right around you.

In our two local cemeteries, American flags dignify the graves of those who served in the military, whether or not they died in service. The image above is from the Brooklin Cemetery; the one below is from the Naskeag Cemetery.

(Brooklin, Maine; images taken yesterday)

In the Right Place: Marks

Historically, a “landmark” is a conspicuous and recognizable object that guides and often pleases a traveler in the hard world, while a “seamark” is the same for travelers in the wet world, except it also often signals danger. In this context, consider Sun’s Up, the flashy little lobster boat with the big forward sheer:

She’s part of the wet world, but also something that many drivers on the hard world's Route 175 eagerly look for when they come to Conary Cove in Blue Hill. (Blue Hill, Maine; image taken May 22)

In the Right Place: Regal

This image, taken yesterday, is the Skunk Cabbage plant in our bog that we’ve been monitoring two or three times a week. It’s growing well:

You may remember that, on April 2, it was mostly a cluster of 5-inch, partially drowned spathes:

If all continues to go well – no deer, bear, or human stomping it – this Skunk Cabbage’s many lush (but toxic) leaves will grow to  about two feet long or more and about a foot and one half or more wide. It then will become a regal shade-producer for smaller wildlife. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Grackles and the Turtles

On Monday, May 18, there was a small incident in our pond that made us wonder how Aesop could have used it as a teaching tale. As you can see, two of our six Eastern Painted Turtles were on what we call Turtle Rock, a partly hidden stone that the turtles often pile onto in a collective “bale”:

:Monday, one of our Common (“Bronzed”) Grackles that nests in the pond’s surrounding cattails burst on the scene unexpectedly. It landed about an inch from one of the turtles, scaring the panicked thing into the water and giving the bird room. The Grackle did not pay the slightest attention to either turtle on their rock and commandeered it as a base for finding larval food:

We’ve seen this kind of bullying of the gentle turtles by bold grackles in the pond before. Perhaps Aesop would end his story by saying: “And, that is why only half of the angry Grackle family survive into adulthood and most of the kindly Painted Turtle family live for 25 to 30 years.” (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Maine Spring

The Shadblow Serviceberry bushes and trees and Flowering Plum trees are blooming now, finally making us feel like Spring has arrived.

The white Shadblow flowers and their tan leaves are on cultivated and wild plants here:

The pink Plum flowers and their dark red leaves are found only in cultivated trees that bear no fruit, but compensate for that with their delicate flowers:

The name plum, by the way, is thought to derive from the 18th Century word for something desirable, as in “this fruit is plum.”

The name Shadblow is an old name derived from the fact that this species usually blooms when shad fish begin to run in New England. The name Serviceberry was given to a group of trees and bushes by our founding settlers because they bloomed when the ground became soft enough to bury those who died in winter – the time when burial services would occur and blossoms and berries could be used for decoration.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report No. 4

This is the latest report in the continuing saga of “Ozzie and Harriet in Brooklin,” starring a local pair of nesting ospreys that we’ve been checking about two or three times a week.

The image above is of Ozzie yesterday. He’s cursing loudly, battle-ready, and returning home fast, where Harriet has been screaming for about 10 seconds. A third osprey, probably Brutus, is circling high overhead.

 Ozzie returned to the nest, where Harriet was now on her feet also ready to defend their home, which we hope soon will be a nursery. Brutus circled twice more and flew off.

Ozzie stayed on the nest for about two minutes more, then left to get lunch as Harriet was settling herself low again in an incubating position.

We’ve seen two threatening dives on the nest while Harriet has been low and flat in the nest, apparently incubating one of more eggs. Here’s an image of one on a very disturbed Harriet, which happened on May 6:

Leighton Archive Image

We’ve seen no dives on Ozzie when he was doing his share of the apparent incubating (which is less than Harriet’s share, but not insignificant). Both dives on Harriet seem to have been by the same rejected osprey, which we’ve named Brutus. As regular readers know, Ozzie and Brutus courted Harriet and Ozzie won her taloned hand. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Space: Very Short Stories

These images, from yesterday, appear to be abstract, but they’re very real and have short stories behind them. The first image is of new cattail leaves floating – seemingly levitating -- in our pond above a reflection of the blue sky and last year’s “tails”:

(The story: We have a muskrat in that pond, whom we call Murray; he often chews off the bases of five or six new cattail fronds, then swims away with just one. This waste may decimate cattail growth in our pond, but that isn’t a bad thing.)

The second image is of the only live tulip in an often dark, now-untended patch. It is desperately groping for the sun to open it, but remains tightly closed. The flower’s lovely shape and pastel colors conjure thoughts of Cupid’s arrowhead or, maybe, Italian spumoni ice cream on a stick:

(The story: The tulip’s patch is in the sometimes-dark corner of a nearby, usually bustling, boathouse; that building will not be open this year due to the corona virus. The question is whether this determined tulip will be able to open to see the summer before it dies.)

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Common

In the Right Place: Common

You have to look closely to see this well-camouflaged fellow. (Sex assumed.) We caught a glimpse of him yesterday as he was out taking his daily slither. He’s a Common Garter Snake of about 18 inches.

These snakes are Maine’s most abundant reptiles. They usually get a little larger than two feet, but one Maine specimen was officially recorded at almost 44 inches, which is hard to believe. Here’s yesterday’s little traveler stretched out:

Garter Snakes were named after something that most of you have never seen – “garter straps,” elastic devices with clips that once were used by men to hold up long stockings. (Men’s garter straps are not to be confused with women’s “garter belts,” a devilish device that most of you have not seen either.)

Returning to Garter Snakes with apologies for the descriptive meandering, these reptiles love earthworms, but will eat just about any living thing that they can get their small mouths around. Garter Snakes, in turn, are a favorite snack for many winged and furry predators, not to mention other snakes with more understandable names. Thus, Garter Snakes are always flicking their very sensitive tongues to test the air for danger:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Hat Trick

Mid-May is tulip season here, a month later than in Holland and our nation’s lower latitudes. The Maine beauties shown here were bowing gracefully into yesterday afternoon’s disappearing light.

The tulip plant was created in ancient Turkey and Persia (Iran now). The flowers became an integral part of the art, culture, and daily life in that area of the world. In fact, tulips often were worn in turbans, which is how they received their name – Europeans, who created a massive market for them, named them after the Persian word for turban. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Extreme

On Thursday (May 14), we were down at Naskeag Point enjoying the beautiful day and wishing that we could fly like a seagull in the 17-mile-per-hour wind gusts. Then, along came Jim McMillan from Blue Hill, a local expert in the extreme sport of kiteboarding. He does the next best thing to flying like a seagull.

Here, as preliminary examples, ls Jim speed-racing toward the islands and launching into one of his flying jumps.

This was no performance; there were only about five people at the point. Jim was just practicing on a fine, windy day when the tide was low enough for him to spread out and assemble his gear.  He needed room for that; the lines to the kite appeared to be at least 70 feet long and the kite seemed longer than a large pickup truck.

To get started, Jim placed his kite and extended lines, harness, and control bar in waist-deep water. Then, still standing in water, he hooked the lines to his harness, grabbed the control bar, and jerked the kite up into the wind. Jim immediately exploded out of the water like a submarine missile..

The kite instantly shot up to its full extension and, due to Jim’s weight, moved directly over him; he was wrenched straight up out of the water due to the different forces at work:

Once out of the water, Jim practiced a series of surfing, jumping, and long-line racing moves in the white-capped water, which he sculpted into beautiful wakes. Our guess is that he achieved at least 40 feet in height and probably more in some of his jumps.

The day’s winds, though stiff to us, were mild compared to some that leading kiteboarders search for world-wide. Reportedly, the sport’s record jump occurred in South Africa: It was 94 feet high with an airtime of 8.5 seconds in 40-mile-per-hour winds.  The record for kiteboard surface sailing reportedly is 50.59 knots (about 70 MPH). That’s extreme for someone standing on a curved board that’s about 11 feet long.

(Brooklin, Maine)