In the Right Place: Almost Here

The summer lobster fishing season will be opening later this month. Tidy lobster traps filled with gear and newly painted lobster trap buoys were on the Town Dock Sunday, ready to be transported to their fishing vessel.

In the summer, lobsters migrate into “inshore” State waters (within three miles of the coast) to molt and grow larger shells. The peak inshore lobster fishing season usually starts in late June and continues until sometime in November or December, depending on circumstances.

In the winter, the tasty crustaceans migrate “offshore” into deeper, federal waters that are defined as three to 200 miles from the coast. The lobsters grow into their new shells out there or are harvested by “offshore” fishermen, male and female. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 5, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Stampede

For those who love clouds, yesterday was blissful. Here we see a stratocumulus stampede heading north over Blue Hill Bay and Mt. Cadillac in Acadia National Park yesterday morning. The fast-moving clouds made our sunlight blink on and off like a bad celestial circuit.

Stratocumulus clouds are among our lowest-flying clouds, usually forming below 6,600 feet above the earth. These lines (strato) of puffy heaps (cumulus) reportedly are formed when drier, stable air above prevents their continued vertical development.

Stratocumulus clouds are known for filtering light and creating “crepuscular rays,” the beams that produce yellow-orange skies at twilight when the sun is just below the horizon. They also reportedly can cause what we see as ring-like corona effects around the moon at night. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 5, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Dignified Old Age

Here you see the Lewis R. French moored in Great Cove yesterday morning, waiting to raise sails. She was on a three-day sailing and hiking cruise, according to her schedule. The 101-foot French was launched in 1871 out of Christmas Cove, Maine. She was built there by the French brothers and named after their father.

In her youth, her life was varied and hard: Among other things, she freighted bricks, granite, fish, lime, firewood, and Christmas trees. Now, the French is a classic and almost luxurious vessel out of Camden, Maine. Here you see her raising her foresail and weighing anchor yesterday:

The old schooner has never had an inboard motor. Yesterday, the wind was so light that her powerful yawl boat had to be lashed to the stern to assist her departure with a steady push:

As she headed north in the Cove, she raised one of her jibs to grab more air. Then, as she reached the Cove exit, she raised another jib to enter Eggemoggin Reach.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 4, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Weekly Osprey Report

It’s been a week of bad weather, bad timing, and bad luck on my part, but (as far as I can tell) Harriet seems to be doing well incubating her eggs and Ozzie continues to be attentive.

From my perspective at a distance that I have learned does not disturb the birds, I mostly saw the sides of the nest. My goal became to be there when Harriet raised her head or changed positions so that I could see that she was alright. This image was taken Wednesday:

Based on a rough estimate that Harriet laid her eggs in late May, the little, red-eyed nestlings probably won’t start emerging until early July. Perhaps we’ll have an Independence Day event 80 feet above Great Cove.

This past week, I never was lucky enough to be there when Ozzie brought food for Harriet. However, I did see him bring a branch to do some home improvement work. This was in a foggy mist, no less, which meant no decent photographs. Nonetheless, as an illustration, here’s an archive image of him bringing home building material on a clearer day:

Leighton Archive Image

(Primary image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 1, 2022.)

In the Right Place: A Wolf in Pea Clothing

Lupines here are in the process of growing out of their green spearheads from the bottom up and transforming themselves into luminescent little Christmas trees.

Usually pronounced “LEW-pins,” these plants also are known as Quaker bonnets due to the shape of their flower pods. Their scientific name (Lupinus polyphillus) and common name are derived from the Latin for “wolfish,” due to the plants’ ravenous attacks on their more docile neighbors. They’re members of the pea family. The native wild variety (Lupinus perennis L.) apparently has been extirpated or is extremely rare here.

The lupines shown here are not Maine natives; they reportedly were imported here from western states and even Europe. We’re told by the New England Historical Society that one of the reasons that so many of these plants are found in unusual places throughout Maine is because of the efforts of Hilda Edwards, “The Lupine Lady.”

Hilda reportedly scattered Lupine seeds fanatically in Maine during her extensive travels as a summer resident here. Among other ways, she apparently did so through the windows of moving cars, while striding our fields, and in walking city blocks where there were patches of greenery or dirt.

 A popular and award-winning children’s fictional book was based on Hilda. In it, she was described as Miss Rumphius, the lupine seed scatterer. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 2, 2022.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: Not Good

Here you see a usually robust spring-fed stream in the nearby woods as it barely rolled downhill yesterday. Its water volume has been diminishing recently, despite a relatively wet week.

Our woods are abnormally dry for the season; rain often comes in bursts that are too heavy and short to saturate the soil.

The latest data from the U.S. Drought Monitor, released this morning, show abnormal dryness and even moderate drought up the entire New England coast as well as in the usual southwestern Maine pocket:

Not good. (Photograph taken in Brooklin, Maine, June 1, 2022.)

May Postcards From Maine

May is when our fields turn from dismal brown to vibrant green and our rough ponds become lush oases.

It is the month when the black and white movie in which we have been living since November turns into technicolor. May’s colors begin with a cautionary yellow even before most of the green leaves and delicate blooms arrive — the forsythia bush flowers reach their peak during the month and daffodils pop up everywhere.

Millions of bright buds and blossoms soon follow in early and mid-May. Here you see a colorful corner of flowering crabapple, white kousa dogwood, and purple lilac:

“Wild” (abandoned) apple trees retain their pride by showing that they still can bud and produce delicate blossoms despite being trapped by invasive shrubs:

On the wilder side, large parts of our fields become covered in bluets and lupines begin to emerge from their radial-leafed plants in May:

In the May bogs and woods, wild purple azaleas (rhodora) make brief appearances, galaxies of star flowers appear, lady’s slippers dangle, skunk cabbage leaves stretch, and bunchberry flowers and ferns spread, while the ponds erupt in arrow arum and fragrant water lily pads.

As for wildlife, May is when our resident white-tailed deer are starting to turn red and our painted turtles and green frogs arise from near death experiences and laze in the sun.

Our summer resident ospreys, Ozzie and Harriet, and red-winged blackbirds nest here in May and grow families that we hope to show you in next month’s Postcards From Maine.

On the recreational waterfront, May is the time to get the boats out, let the rain rinse them, and maybe take the first sail of the year in a little shellback.

May also is the month that Maine’s fleet of coastal schooners begin to cruise. The gray-hulled Mary Day and black-hulled J&E Riggin visited Brooklin’s Great Cove during the month:

Finally, May is the month that inspires us to consider life’s beginnings and ends with Mothers’ Day and Memorial Day. Here you see a sunny Brooklin road poster expressing a universal theme and a foggy Brooklin cemetery where a flag commemorates a World War II veteran:

(All images in this post were taken in Brooklin, Maine, in May of 2022.)

In the Right Place: Being Pushed Around

Here you see the J&E Riggin in Great Cove early yesterday morning; she apparently snuck in the night before. Her published schedule says that she’s on a four-day live music cruise.

The Riggin was built in 1927 as an oyster dredger for Charles Riggin of New Jersey. He named her for his two sons, Jacob and Edward (“J&E”) Riggin. She’s 120 feet long overall with a beam (widest part) of 23 feet. She dredged for oysters in the Delaware Bay area until the 1940s, when she was sold, converted to power, and sent out in search of mackerel and other fish.

In the 1970s, she was sold again and reconverted to a passenger vessel. In the process, her inboard engine was removed to make more room for cabins. Now out of Rockland, Maine, the Riggin still cruises the area waters without an inboard engine; she relies on her diesel-powered yawl boat to push her when she’s not under sail. The yawl boat is lashed to the schooner’s stern with its motor running and is not manned.

And, speaking of being pushed around, that’s exactly what happened yesterday, when the Riggin left Great Cove. Much to our disappointment, she was pushed out by her yawl boat as the sun started to disappear, not a bit of canvas up.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 30, 2022.)

In the Right Place: The Unknown Soldier

It’s Memorial Day, the day officially committed to mourning U.S. military personnel who died while serving in the armed forces. However, many of us use this time of year to visit cemeteries and honor all veterans who have died during or after service.

In Brooklin’s largest cemetery, there is a centerpiece consisting of the Town’s specimen Camperdown elm tree with several grave markers huddled around it.  When you approach that area from the back so that you also can get a glimpse of the white Baptist Church, you’ll see what appears to be a gap in the grave markers. It has an American flag in it.

When you get closer to the flag, you can see a disk at the base of its flagstaff. It indicates that a U.S. veteran of World War II is buried there. There also is a simple, flat grave marker in the ground that is not visible from a distance. It says only “HARRY”:

Using just a first name on markers in family cemetery plots is not unusual in New England. But, in this case, I have not been able to find out (yet) what family owns that plot. Perhaps I’ll have to check the Town records.

But, maybe it’s better this way; maybe it’s easier to remember a familiar first name. Thank you for your service, Harry; you’re in a beautiful place to rest in peace.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 24 [tree/flag] and 28 [flag/marker], 2022.)

In the Right Place: The Great Escape

Our lilac bushes are starting to offer fragrant scoops of their delicious-looking dessert.

The common lilacs (Syringa vulgaris) are members of the olive family and native to the Balkan countries. However, they were widely cultivated throughout the world for centuries and have become naturalized in many countries, including the United States where you sometimes find “wild” lilacs in unexpected places.

In Greek mythology, Pan, the god of the forests and fields, saw the beautiful nymph Syringa and immediately gave chase for reasons other than conversation. She is said to have escaped his lusty clutches by turning herself into a lilac bush. That’s why the scientific name for the lilac genus is Syringa. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 28, 2022.)

In the Right Place: No Plunk, No Odor

I almost missed seeing this well-camouflaged fellow yesterday in a nearby pond. (Sex assumed.) He was only about two inches long. I think that he’s a northern green frog (Lithobates clamitans melanota), although he’s perhaps the most speckled green frog I’ve ever seen.

Those speckles make him seem, to my old eyes, bewilderingly similar to the mink frogs (Lithobates septentrionalis) that I’ve seen only in photographs, and am told never appear this far south in Maine. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t utter a call, so I didn’t hear the green frog’s distinctive banjo-like “plunk.” Nor did I get anywhere near close enough to cause or smell any defensive foul odor that he might emit, a reported characteristic of mink frogs, especially if handled. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on May27, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Weekly Osprey Nest Report

This has been a week of mostly seeing only the top of Harriet’s head above the sides of her woody nest. The exception, shown here, is when Ozzie comes to visit his family, but  is on a trajectory that scares Harriet; she waves him off with alarm. Harriet, I hope, is diligently incubating and protecting a clutch of eggs.

Ospreys, it seems, are not bothered by boredom. Unfortunately, that’s not the case with some of the humans who watch them. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 8, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Our Lucky Stars

Starflowers (Trientalis borealis), such as this one, have been blooming in our woods for about 10 days now.

They prefer damp, mossy woods with dappled sunlight, but will grow in most coniferous (softwood) and deciduous (hardwood) forests. They should remain abundant here until mid to late June, if our weather stays cool and moist.

These herbs are members of the primrose family that grow from creeping underground stems (rhizomes). Their aboveground stalks supposedly average about four inches in height. (Hence, the genus name of Trientalis, which apparently is from the Latin for “one-third of a foot.”)

At the tip of each stalk is a whorl of five to nine leaves; the leaves are shaped like the head of a lance (lanceolate leaves). One or two white flowers with five to nine petals extend from the center of the leaf whorl and are shaped like brightening stars. Some people hunt for “Lucky Stars” that have a seven-petaled flower atop a seven-leafed stalk. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 25, 2022.)

In the Right Place: A Windjammer First

This is the first schooner of the year to appear in Great Cove. She snuck in and was basking at anchor in the lowering sun on Monday before we noticed her from the ridge and went down to take this closer look:

She’s the 125-foot long Mary Day out of Camden, Maine. She has classic mercantile coastal cruiser lines, but she was built in 1962 just for vacation cruises. (She reportedly has heat in every cabin!)

Early yesterday morning, she was still in the Cove with her protective tarp up. The tarp came down and the clouds started to form as she prepared to weigh anchor.

She left in mid-morning under ambiguous skies with only her two mainsails and one jib up:

She’s a frequent visitor to the Cove and always a welcome sight. Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 23 and 24, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Summer School, Mainely

Two Alumni Work Weeks began at the WoodenBoat School campus on May 15 and will end May 28. This popular tradition involves WBS alumni taking a spring vacation here and helping to ready the School’s classrooms and boats for its 2022 courses, which begin May 29 this year.

Above, we see a colorful part of the WoodenBoat School’s collection of small jewels being readied yesterday for the sailing class season, which begins June 19. Most of them hibernated during the winter in the WBS boat shed:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 23, 2022.)

In the Right Place: The Fog of May

Yesterday morning’s fog swept lightly back and forth over this fragrant water lily pond on the WoodenBoat School campus:

The lily pads have been rising slowly and soon will be joined by gold-centered white lilies that perfume the breezes. Male red-winged blackbirds now stand guard amid the spires of their foggy cattail kingdoms, while their mates protect the family legacy in nests near the water below:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 22, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Survivors

Here, in yesterday’s light rain, is a stand of old, gnarly, and “wild” apple trees. They rise desperately out of dense invasive shrubs that have taken over what was their orchard about 100 years ago.

Most of the abandoned apple trees here no longer get the attention and care that apple trees need. Their fruit usually is not harvested; their apples drop in the fall and feed the wildlife or just rot. Yet, at this time of year, these deformed old survivors seem to be remembering more pleasant times, “memories” in the form of thousands of young buds and blossoms of exquisitely delicate beauty.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 19 [blossoms] and 21 [trees], 2022.)

In the Right Place: Lights in the Darkness

Rhodora flowers, shown here, have been lighting up our bogs for the past week or so.

These flowers appear in the dimness like purple flames on candelabras due to their arrival before their plant’s leaves:

The complete plant (Rhododendron canadense), also known as Canada rosebay, is one of only two azaleas that are native to Maine, according to State reports. The other is the endangered swamp (or “clammy”) azalea (Rhododendron viscosum).

Azaleas, as you probably know, are deciduous members of the rhododendron genus. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 18, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Weekly Osprey Nest Report

These are the trying times – for Ozzie and Harriet and for those who watch and wait with Harriet while she incubates her eggs. At least, that’s what we infer she’s doing from her lying low in the nest for hours, with only the top of her head occasionally visible.

That’s what she was doing when Ozzie did a brief fly-in during yesterday’s cold and drizzly morning, shown above. He soon left the nest and perched in a nearby tree. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 19, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Patience

It can be difficult to get a good photograph of an Eastern painted turtle in rural Maine without a super-powerful lens. Our PTs (Chrysemys picta picta) often are very uncomfortable seeing people nearby, unlike some turtles that have gotten accustomed to being ogled in more populated areas. However, being aware of a few facts from the research literature might help increase your turtle-vs-splash image ratio.

The painted turtle’s most developed defensive sense is its sight, which is good at a distance. Its senses of smell and hearing appear to be short-range.

Thus, when hunting with a camera, if you see a basking or otherwise exposed PT at a significant distance and it doesn’t immediately dive, don’t stop to watch and don’t walk toward the turtle. Walk slowly out of its sight and stay there a while (five minutes, if you can stand it). Then, if you can, devise an approach that keeps you out of the turtle’s sight until you get within shooting range of the reptile. If you have a “Quiet” shutter mode, put it on.

When you get within range, slowly step into a position in which you can focus on the turtle; begin shooting as soon as you do, even though it means focusing through vegetation. (It may be the only image that you get.) Keep moving slowly and shooting with the hope that you’ll reach a point with a clear line of sight before the turtle dives:

Finally, don’t sneak up on the turtles in the same place often – they may decide that the place is too creepy to stay. It’s all part of working on your patience. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 17, 2022.)