JOURNAL
Here, we’re looking southwest out of Great Cove yesterday afternoon. The day is steely gray, with virtually no wind to disturb the resting ebb tide. The horizon hides in the sky where there are no islands to break the plane.
Across the peninsula, the water in Naskeag Harbor is as still and dark as a garden pond, which is all the better for“Miss Millie” to show off her clean lines.
(Brooklin, Maine)
This image of a local candidate for a Stephen King novel was taken from the road on January 7.
I’ve heard travelers assume that Maine was one of the country’s poorest states based on seeing a fair amount of “scenery” such as this here. But, they’re wrong.
Leighton Archive Image
Based on official state “poverty rates” (percentage of residents in poverty), Maine ranks 19th best among the states, with 11.6 percent of our residents in poverty. This is better than Pennsylvania (23rd), California (26th), and New York State (34th). Neighboring New Hampshire ranks first in having the fewest impoverished people (7.6%).
So, why are there so many rundown structures along our roads? One theory is that Maine is transitioning from a small farm economy to tourist and other significant economies.
Leighton Archive Image
Small farms are being abandoned and many of their structures (especially barns) can’t meet the modern mortgage, insurance, and safety standards necessary for selling them. The costs of reconstruction are higher than the loss of just leaving the property with the hope that someone from New York City or Los Angeles will buy it and clean things up for summer vacations. (Brooklin, Maine)
Unlike some unions we know, the state of our local Common Eider union appears to be sound. For at least many decades, if not centuries, Eiders have been arriving locally for their winter vacations in late fall and leaving in early spring.
They collect into a group (a “paddling”) of hundreds in Blue Hill Bay near the mouth of the reversing falls there. Those unusual falls are between the Bay and Salt Pond, which is basically a small tidal lake.
At low tide, the Pond empties fast into the Bay through a narrow channel of whitewater. The Eiders stream into that channel to take advantage of its shallower water and dive for mollusks that are exposed by the surge and crustaceans that lose control in the fast water.
In the image above, we’re watching the Eiders beginning their parade into the channel yesterday at about 3;30 p.m. Here’s closer look at the brown female and white and black male Eiders:
Leighton Archive Image
(Brooklin, Maine)
Here, we see the perfect end to yesterday’s perfect winter day, weatherwise. It was sunny until this orange-skied moment, a few seconds after sundown at about 4:15 p.m.
We’re looking west-northwest from Naskeag Point. The temperature is 30 degrees (F) with no wind. All is silent and I’m alone for as far as I can see. I feel like I’ve been deeded the world for a few minutes.
Contrary to some popular belief, Maine is not Arctic-like in January, although it is cold and does have its frigid moments. According to historic Brooklin records, our average January temperature is 28 degrees. The maximum recorded is 52 degrees and the minimum is minus-8. (Brooklin, Maine) Click on the image to enlarge it.
A clear January morning in Down East Maine looks like this. This image was taken today at about 11:15 a.m.
We’re looking southwest over the North Field, with its long rock wall; over Great Cove and Babson Island, the Cove’s biggest protector; over Eggemoggin Reach, the famous sailing channel, and out to Deer Isle, which obscures the Atlantic Ocean in this view.
It’s 30 degrees (F) on our ridge with a wind chill that makes it feel like 21 degrees. The wind is sweeping down from the northwest at a rate of 10 miles per hour with frequent gusts reaching 17. It’s cold and the rain chain is frozen:
(Brooklin, Maine)
In the Right Place: Smart Feet
We have many beautiful country roads, but some of the most beautiful are hidden, privately maintained "lanes" that wind sinuously through woods and along ridges.
They’re intersected every now and then by driveways that lead to houses deep within the trees or out on the shore.
It’s a joy to walk or drive along these roads after (or during) a snowstorm. The images here are from walk on a nearby lane this morning.
As James Taylor sang, “I guess my feet know where they want me to go / Walking on a country road.” (Brooklin, Maine)
Here, we see a seasonal moment in Naskeag Harbor on Monday (January 4). Fine snow mixed with light rain is coming down slowly. Dear Abbie: and Miss Millie seem to be vigilant sentinels, squinting into the wind and current. They appear to be standing guard for the vacant summer residence on Harbor Island.
Abbie has been rigged with a mast and boom for scallop dredging; she’s also wearing a temporary shelling hut to protect those shucking the mollusks from cold sea winds. Millie retains her lobster boat form; perhaps members of her crew have been diving for prime “divers’ scallops.”
There is no human in sight. An immense silence draws you into the moment and makes you want to stay. (Brooklin, Maine)
Here, we see yesterday morning arriving in more than 57 shades of gray on fallow fields, frozen ponds, empty seas, and low flying clouds:
Here, we see yesterday’s sunlight finally reaching us as it sinks below cloud levels at sunset:
(Brooklin, Maine)
Off and on for the past week, I’ve been hiding near a pond where we keep seeing fresh signs of North American River Otters. It’s been cold, boring, and unsuccessful, but the sight of otters playing is worth the nuisance. (The images here are from prior photographic hunts.)
It’s always reassuring to have these large weasels nearby, since they’re like the proverbial canary in the mine warning system – they avoid polluted areas. Although capable of traveling long distances on land, the otter (Lontra canadensis) is really at home in water.
It has all the latest equipment for hunting and playing in water: webbed feet; undulating tails; self-sealing ears and nostrils; special lungs that allow up to eight-minute underwater hunts; special eyes that increase vision in murky water, and whiskers that are sensitive to underwater vibrations caused by prey or playmates.
Otters often are seen in small, happy-go-lucky groups, which are known by numerous collective names, including bevy; family; lodge; raft, and – our favorite – “a romp of otters.” (Brooklin, Maine)
This Hibiscus flower, born on January 1, is our first flower of the new year. We watched her bud near Christmas; then, her petals grew longer into something like a packed parachute.
When her packed petals reached the right length, she unlocked her cell expansion mechanisms to make them swirl open, defiantly showing her entire self to the world.
Her red-buttoned “stigma” was ready to catch pollen atop her “stamen,” the funneling stalk containing yellow-buttoned “anthers” that were ready to produce pollen.
Yesterday, she reversed the dance and swirled herself back into that packed form:
This morning, we found her tightly self-mummified on the floor, never to open again. A brief, but flamboyant life.
(Brooklin, Maine)
All morning here, it’s been raining, then snowing, then snowing with rain, then raining again. Looking out the window is like watching (and photographing) impressionistic images being created by fluctuating temperatures.
We suspect that it will get colder and we’ll have some snow to shovel.
A University of Illinois paper provided a concise description of what seems to be going on: “Most precipitation that reaches the ground actually begins as snow high in the atmosphere. These snow flakes develop somewhere above the freezing level where the air temperature is less than 32 F … and begin to fall toward the earth as snow. If ground temperature is above 32 F, the freezing level must be located somewhere above the ground. The falling snow passes through the freezing level into the warmer air, where it melts and changes to rain before reaching the ground.” (Brooklin, Maine)
December, the final month of a year that we all would like to forget, was mild by Maine standards. Below, you see the last of a December day’s sun touching the face of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park. Also below are Patten Stream entering Patten Bay; Blue Hill overlooking Blue Hill Bay, and the Connery Cove boat house in the brief gray-blue light immediately after sundown.
The last of the in-shore lobster traps are pulled up in December for storage. Some of the fishing vessels also are stored for the winter in December, but others are refitted with booms and masts and the crews go out into the cold to dredge for scallops or dive with air tanks for prime “divers’ scallops.”
Snow was of little concern this December. We had only one plowable snow storm that produced more beauty than annoyance.
At night, the Brooklin General Store’s Christmas (or, for some, Holiday) lights have been visible almost all month. The number and types of decorative lights displayed in Brooklin vary from the minimal to the exuberant.
The decorations inside houses also vary from traditional Christian to modern festive . (We should note that the clever foldout/popup Christmas card below was given to us by our good friend and neighbor Sharron Ellis.)
Before Christmas, we spotted one of Santa’s helpers apparently delivering presents on his own. There also was a road banner showing Santa’s love for animals, which seemed to amaze our deer.
One of the highlights near the end of the month was the December full moon, commonly called The Cold Full Moon in recognition of its Native American name. Below, in the first image, we see it about to climb over Acadia National Park a few minutes after it rose above the horizon. The second image shows it entering its high trajectory.
Because of its cold, clear (unpolluted) air, December produces some of the year’s best sunsets. We end this edition of Postcards with one of them:
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
(All images here were taken in Down East Maine during December 2020.)
(Brooklin, Maine; 12/31/2020)
Here, we see the December full moon a few minutes after it rose over our horizon yesterday; it’s about to climb over Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park:
December’s full moon is known for its high trajectory, which makes it visible longer than most moons, but also smaller. It’s most common name is The Cold Full Moon, based upon the Mohawk Native American name for the month that real cold begins in their territory.
Here, we see (with a larger lens) that Cold Moon it raced above Great Cove in Brooklin last night:
Apropos of its name, we had 24-degree (F) temperatures and 22 mile-per-hour wind gusts at the time that these images were taken. Those combined for a painful wind chill and frigid camera. (Brooklin, Maine)
Here, we see one of our Poinsettia centerpieces, which will grace the table until early January. Poinsettias have been associated with Christmas for centuries, especially in Central America, where they originated.
Most reports indicate that this is because of a Mexican legend in which a poor girl didn’t have enough money to buy a gift for the infant Jesus at Christmas services. She picked weeds and placed them in the church manger and the weeds turned into beautiful flowers shaped like the Star of Bethlehem.
The American name Poinsettia is a tribute to Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first American ambassador to the U.S., who introduced the plants to this country in the 19th Century. (Their scientific name is Euphobia pulchrrima.) The plants weren’t widely used in North American holiday celebrations until the second half of the 20th Century, when entrepreneur Paul Ecke, Jr., began to promote them for decorations in holiday television shows. (Brooklin, Maine)
This is last night’s sunset over Great Cove. We’re entering the deepest part of our winter, when the sun leaves us with her most passionate goodbye kisses.
(Brooklin, Maine)
Here, we see a Red-Breasted Nuthatch.
We seem to have fewer than our usual share of Nuthatches this winter. Perhaps the warmer winter weather is providing them food in the deep, impenetrable woods. Wherever they are, they’ll be complaining about everything, including each other. Their favorite “song” sounds like a series of grunts made through a kazoo: “Aank-Ennk, Aank-Ennk.”
We have both Red-Breasted and White-Breasted Nuthatches here. They get their first names from the color of their breasts and upper bodies, although the Reds really are a peach color. They get their last names from their habit of “hatching” nuts into tree crevices so that they can jack-hammer the tough food open with their bills.
Curiously, a group of these grumpy birds is called a “Jar of Nuthatches.” Why? No one seems to know for sure. But, the best theory is that, in 16th Century English, “to jar” meant, among other things, to make harsh, grating sounds." (Brooklin, Maine; Leighton Archive images used) See also the image in the first Comment space.
This is what was happening here yesterday, Christmas Day: We had some wind gusts that exceeded 50 miles per hour and a drizzle that became a deluge. All the while, it was “hot,” reaching 57 degrees (F) at mid-day. Hark, the Climate Angels Cringe.
For those of you who thought that you saw a raccoon in a flying basket in the above image, you are not hallucinating – and the raccoon wasn’t the only thing in the basket when there was a lull in the wind:
That’s the Fuller family’s Christmas banner at their Naskeag Road driveway – Santa, the nature lover. (Brooklin, Maine)
The weather tellers are predicting torrential rains for us with 65-mile-per-hour winds, starting tonight. But, that was not the case when we took this image on December 15. Here, we’re looking across part of Blue Hill Bay, to part of Blue Hill Town, to Blue Hill, itself, rising above both to about 950 feet.
The Hill is wearing its gray winter overcoat of bare deciduous trees and granite faces. It was once almost totally covered with evergreen trees that often looked blue from a distance; hence, the names of the Hill, Town, and Bay.
Europeans settled in the area in 1762 and the Town was incorporated in 1789. Many of the evergreens on the Hill were cut down during the Town’s Colonial days, when the area was the site of considerable lumber milling and shipbuilding, as well as granite quarrying on the Hill.
Nowadays, in late spring and summer, when deciduous trees are in leaf, the Hill still appears blue from a distance in certain light. (Blue Hill)
