JOURNAL
Did you set your timepieces forward last night? We sympathize with those who are trying to do so with their sundials.
They didn’t have to worry about the government messing with their time when this famous sundial was affixed in 1560 or 61 to Palladio’s magnificent Villa Barbaro in Maser, Italy. (Brooklin, Maine; Leighton Archive image taken in April 2013)
For those who like their winter trees gnarly and scary, here’s one of our favorite Brooklin Horse Chestnut Trees as it appeared yesterday. It apparently is ready to reach out and snatch a child.
In the summer, however, it’s an inviting temple of lush palmate leaves, flowered candelabras, and vibrant conker shells:
This unusual species of tree (Aesculus hippocastanum) is native to the Balkans. They were imported into England in 1616, primarily for landscape use, and then exported to the United States for similar purposes.
The tree was named a chestnut tree because of similarities to the European Sweet Chestnut Tree (Castanea sativa); but, it’s not related to that tree. It also was named a “Horse” Chestnut Tree, but it’s certainly not related to any horse. Why the “Horse” nom de bloom? There are two theories.
The primary theory is that, in days of yore, the Turks fed the tree’s conkers to their sick horses to cure the animals’ coughing. The other theory is that, when the tree’s leaves fall, they leave scars on their twigs that look exactly like little horseshoes, complete with nail holes. Check out your nearest Horse Chestnut Tree. (Brooklin, Maine)
This image appeared yesterday in our monthly column in the Ellsworth American.
To read the column, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column
We’re having a heat wave. Yesterday’s high was 42 degrees (F); today’s is projected to be 47, and tomorrow’s 48. Put those ice skating plans on hold for a while. But, don’t pack the skates away yet.
Winter dies a hard death here, especially in the field ponds. In March, they can stir in awareness with a little warmth and then revert into an ice-induced coma. (Brooklin, Maine)
Unfortunately for some of you, I never get tired of this view. I take a series of images of it each month for an historical archive and usually show at least one here. This was taken in yesterday’s slight haze.
What you see in the foreground is a rocky field and a stand of trees and brush on the east coast of Brooklin’s Naskeag Peninsula, a place we call Amen Ridge because it is adjacent to Amen Farm. Next, you see Blue Hill Bay and several of its islands.
Then, a roughly estimated 11 miles away (as the crow flies) from the Ridge, is large Mount Desert Island. The southern face of its Cadillac Mountain is looming there and we note that its snow has mostly disappeared.
Mount Cadillac is part of the wonderful 42,000-acre Acadia National Park, all of which is open to the public now 24 hours a day. However, social distancing is required and the visitor centers and other buildings are closed until April 15. (Brooklin, Maine)
It was cold here Saturday afternoon, March 6. The Gulls were sopping up the sun on the Blue Hill Harbor Dock pylons, not inclined to move when a lens was pointed in their direction. It was a good time to try to work on identifying the plumage transitions from immature to adult Gulls.
Here, you have a four-year adult Herring Gull, our most common Gull. It’s notable by its white body, gray wings and back, red spotted lower bill, yellow eye, and pinkish legs.
Herring and some other larger Gulls have a four-year transition to mature plumage, with different phases each year.
These differing immature Herring Gull plumages often are difficult to identify as to year, especially since there is extensive variation in them due to interbreeding and other factors. However, my best guess for this Gull is that it’s a three-year Herring Gull:
But, as usual, I’m not sure. Some of you black-belt birders may know what it is with certainty. (Brooklin, Maine)
Here, you see the mouth of Patten Stream flowing into Patten Bay in Surry, Maine. It’s 12:23 p.m. on March 6 and the tide is coming in:
Below, you’ll see the same location at 3:07 that day, with the tide still rising.:
Very high tides will cover most of the rocks at the mouth and make it easier for migrating fish to leave the Bay’s salt water and swim upstream to spawn or grow in fresh water. (They are “diadromous” fish that spend part of their lives in salt water and part in fresh.)
Among the fish found migrating up this stream are alewives (herring, to spawn) and young American eels (glass eels, which grow into adults in fresh water before returning to the sea to spawn in several years). (Brooklin, Maine)
I saw a male Mourning Dove yesterday circling and chasing away other Doves, which usually means he’s staking out his nesting territory early. Although most Mourning Doves mate from spring to fall, they reportedly are capable of mating any time during the year.
If you haven’t already, you’ll soon hear cooing from the male Mourning Doves. (Females usually don’t coo.) Mourning Doves have two other cute traits that set them apart from most birds. First, they, usually sleep with their chins tucked into their breasts rather than with their heads under a wing:
Second, they also use their thin beaks like straws when drinking, keeping their heads down and sucking the water up, rather than taking a beak-full of water and tossing their heads back to let gravity do the job.
(Brooklin, Maine; archive images shown)
When you get as old and as large as this Queen of the wild apple trees, you need at least three walkers to stand and take in the sun on a cold day.
Thanks to the WoodenBoat School for taking good care of her. (Brooklin, Maine; image taken yesterday)
Here, forming ranks in yesterday’s freezing weather, is a Maine native that only those with keen eyes have seen without help. It’s a tiny fungus called British Soldier Lichen (Cladonia cristellata) that seems to thrive in winter.
Its common name derives from the British military uniform immortalized in the old New England alarm, “The Redcoats are coming!” The British Soldiers seen here are bivouacking in and on the wood of a decaying old farm wagon.
The Soldier stalks grow to about ¼ an inch and their red jackets usually are smaller than match tops. Yet, this lichen is eaten by white-tailed deer, wild turkeys, and other wandering salad lovers.
As you may know, lichens are two symbiotic organisms in one entity: fungi and algae. Basically, most of the lichen body is a fungus that brings in necessary water and minerals; the algae make needed sugar from sunlight. Because their bodies are mostly fungi, lichens are classified as fungi. (Brooklin, Maine)
Here, you see Great Cove and Eggemoggin Reach being wind-whisked to a froth yesterday morning.
Below, you’ll see switchback grasses motivated by that wind to show us their balletic capabilities.
The records show that it was 11 degrees (F) with a wind chill of minus 08 when these images were taken. The ambient wind was 23 miles per hour, but the gusts occasionally reached a high of 39.
The sun was shining boldly and the day was crinkly clear. Yet, the cold wind’s effect on a bare nose was to turn it into a frozen ice pick that penetrated to the brain. (Brooklin, Maine)
According to poetic legend, March is supposed to come in roaring like a lion. Well, this March came here yesterday like a sea serpent, causing exceedingly high tides and spouting smoke-like fog, as you see here in Center Harbor:.
That fog became torrential rain that created small lakes in the woods.
Today, March turned into a polar bear bellowing strong Arctic-Canadian winds that produced power outages here, wind chills well below zero, and whitecaps whipping up Great Cove:. It’s also sunny and clear, but I wouldn’t recommend hiking in it. (Brooklin, Maine)
It was an easy February here on the coast of Maine. Except for a short string of cold days, it was mild. We had about three snow storms and even those were timid and more decorative than disruptive.
The big municipal plows kept the streets plowed and the local home-based plows kept the driveways and country lanes clear.
We had many sunny days. The white fields were made even brighter and smoother-looking in full sunshine and clear blue skies. Wild blueberry plants peeked up through the white snow like spilled wine and children laughed and screamed as they went fast down slick hills on sleds and disks.
New England “connected” and early “four-square”-like houses stood proud in the snow and cold that they were designed to withstand.
That’s not to say that every day was perfect this February. We had a few hard rains and sleeting storms that were not pleasant if you were out-of-doors. However, the rains did help clear snow.
The rains did an especially good job of clearing off lobster traps that were stored for the winter. Most of the lobster boats that remained in the water were reconfigured for scallop fishing. Aft of the cabin, a mast and boom were added to drag and hoist a dredge net. Usually, a “shelling hut” was added there, as well. The delicious mollusks could be shucked in the hut with some protection from the cold winter sea winds.
The wildlife that enjoyed the mild month the most seemed to be the white-tailed deer, which picked over our garden with the expertise of gourmands; the wild turkeys, which loved to sprint across the icy road right in front of your car to see if you could skid, and the hundreds of common eider ducks that spend their winter vacations going for joy rides in the Blue Hill Falls fast water.
This February had its somber aspects. U.S. deaths from the Covid 19 plague exceeded 500,000 during the month. Per order of the Governor, the State and National flags in front of the Brooklin Town Offices were lowered to half mast in honor of the victims. Per order of President Biden, the flag at our Post Office also was lowered. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, February 14 was Valentine’s Day; a beautiful bouquet arrived at our house for a beautiful lady.
February’s full moon is named the Snow Moon for reasons that should not have to be explained. It was raining when the official full moon rose on February 27. However, February 25 was as clear as a day can be. A virtually full moon rose in the afternoon of that day and was illuminated by the low light of the setting sun.
(All images here were taken in Down East Maine during February of 2021.)
Here, we’re looking at a layered scene along Flye Point Road on February 23. In the background, a storm is about to break its huddle over Acadia National Park. In the center, we get a peek of Blue Hill Bay (on the left) below a ridge of trees. We also see piles of rocks that remain from clearing and planting the wild (low-bush) blueberry field in the foreground. The winter wine color of blueberry plants is at its best when emerging from snow.
By the way, Maine reportedly is the largest producer in the world of those low-bush blueberries that are marketed as “wild.” But, these sweetest of all blueberries are commercially cultivated and harvested; in fact, they’re often pollinated by hard-working rented bees from mobile hives. (Brooklin, Maine)
This is the semi-mountain named Blue Hill as it looked on Thursday (February 25). As you can see, it is gray in the winter.
It’s green in spring and summer:
Leighton Archive Image (Taken from a Helicopter)
And, it’s mostly yellow and red in fall.:
Leighton Archive Image
That is, Blue Hill is not blue, except perhaps occasionally in a haze when everything is a bit blue.
However, historical reports tell us that the Hill had a real blue tint up through most of the 18th Century, when its commanding view of the area made it a landmark. In 1762, the Town of Blue Hill was formed at its base near the bay, which was named (you guessed it) Blue Hill Bay.
The Town, ironically, was formed in large part to make it easier to cut down many of the tall conifer trees that gave the Hill its blueish hue. Among other reasons, fine, straight trees were in demand for masts and other parts of England’s Royal Navy before the Revolution. The Hill’s principal rock, granite, which helps turn the hump gray near the top, also was in demand and was another major reason that the Town was formed.
Nonetheless, as you see above, Blue Hill remains a landmark and commands a lush green area in the summer, when tourists come; not to cut it, but to join residents and walk its trails. (Blue Hill, Maine)
Yesterday afternoon, the conditions were right on the Blue Hill Peninsula to get a good daylight view of the rising moon. This month’s moon orbit is fairly close to the earth (about 238,937 miles away now) and there will be a full moon tomorrow. Thus, yesterday’s moon was almost “full” (100 percent illumination); it was more than half full and getting full (“waxing gibbous”).
Yesterday, the low-slanting light from the setting sun caught the rising moon and illuminated it before it rose very high relative to us. Thus, at 5 p.m. in darkening Connery Cove, we could make out the moon’s craters with unaided eyes and see them fairly clearly with relatively low enlargement (e.g., a 200 mm lens here).
(Blue Hill, Maine)
Here, we see our State and National flags outside the Town Offices yesterday. They’re at half-mast in honor of Covid-19 victims, per order of Maine Governor Janet Mills. Our veterans’ (MIA/POW) flag on the right has been lowered accordingly.
The National flag at our Post Office also is at half-mast, per order of President Joseph Biden for all federal sites.
The latest published State data report that 43,900 Mainers have contracted the virus and, of these, 677 died of it. The latest Federal data report that 28,065,327 people in the United States have contracted the virus and, of these, 501,181 have died of it.
Please mask-up in public and follow the other virus-protection guidelines. It doesn’t get more important than this. (Brooklin, Maine)
This gnarly beauty has had a commanding view of this field for over a century. It’s what the Maine Extension Service calls a “wild apple tree.” That is, it’s a tree that originated in a commercial orchard or was planted to supply a homestead farm with fruit, but has been abandoned as a primary fruit producer.
Wild apple trees may be pruned by their owners or left to “go natural”; their apples may be pressed for home cider, or the trees may be left to supply shelter and/or food for wildlife, including White-Tailed Deer and more than 30 species of birds.
Apple trees are not native to this country. They were brought to Maine initially in the 16th Century by European fisherman who planted them on our sea islands and in coastal areas where the men camped. They provided much-needed vitamin C and fiber to the fishermen. (Brooklin, Maine; image taken February 20, 2021)
The light at Naskeag Harbor on Sunday afternoon (February 20) would have thrilled Rembrandt, a genius at using sunlight and shadow to give his portraits life and dimension.
Here, we see Dear Abbie: resting in the Harbor on that day off. She’s basking in the last of the sunlight and seems to be smiling mysteriously.
Abbie: is wearing her winter scalloping outfit now, with a mast, boom, and (hidden from view) dredging equipment and a temporary shelling hut where the delicious mollusk muscles that we eat are shucked out of their shells.
In the summer, that equipment will be stored and Abbie: will be running her lobster traps in warmer water, still smiling mysteriously. (Brooklin, Maine)
The afternoon sun heats up the living quarters of this connected house, while maple trees throw a filigree of shadows over the white snow and a tall spruce measures itself against the big barn: visual poetry of the rural kind.
(Brooklin, Maine; February 20, 2021)
