In the Right Place: Wetflix

Living on Great Cove is like having a subscription to the world’s best streaming service. It’s an enchanted cove with many moods that can transform itself and everything in and around it. One of the best of those bewitching times is early on a clear, windless morning when the first light is sliding slowly across the Cove’s still waters.

That happened yesterday. The images here were taken then, but they can’t fully capture what the Cove does when it is in one of these moods. It seemingly casts spells that turn its waters into sky and make its summer visitors simultaneously rise and hover while sinking and penetrating the depths below. For example, here’s Jesse, a 12-foot catspaw sailing dingy belonging to the WoodenBoat School:

Below is the Belford Gray, a 20.5-foot Friendship sloop that was built at WBS and is now used there for sailing classes and, beneath that image, is an image of the Belford Gray and Jesse, with WBS’s Fox in between. Fox is a Haven version of the Herreshoff 12.5-foot sailboat (waterline measurement).

Below, you’ll see Martha. She’s a 20-foot Crocker pocket cruiser designed by Joel White (the famed Brooklin naval architect) for his father (the even more famous Brooklin author E.B. White). Martha is now owned by Rich Hilsinger, the recently retired WBS director.

Below is Big, a 9.5-foot nutshell sailing pram owned by WBS, followed by an image of Nomaste, a cabin cruiser out of Bucks Harbor, Maine, that was in the Cove yesterday:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine on June 12, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Flagging

This year, there are more blue flag iris clusters in our north field than we’ve ever seen before; perhaps they like more volatile weather.

These graceful plants (Iris versicolor) are natives, but mildly invasive ones. Nonetheless, we welcome them so long as they stay in our fields, which we let grow wild in the summer.

The plant’s “flag” designation reportedly is from the middle English word “flagge,” meaning a rush or reed. However, it also is commonly called the wild iris, harlequin blue flag iris, and northern blue flag iris. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 7, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Hidden in Plain Sight

A female Mallard duck hidden in the cattails usually is so well camouflaged that we never know she is there, as was almost the case yesterday.

But, once her ducklings are hatched, Mom loses much of her control over being unseen – no matter how stoically still she remains, her young seem incapable of following her example; their little ripples almost always give the family hiding place away.  

After a while, with a lot of patience and a minimum of movement, a photographer might be lucky enough to witness family life resuming on the open pond. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 10, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Eagles Face New Threat

This image of a Bald Eagle appeared yesterday in my monthly column in the Ellsworth American.

To read the column about a new danger faced by our national symbol, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Beautiful Medicine

Peonies, such as these two, are in full bloom in local commercial nurseries:

However, many of the peonies in home gardens here are still tightly budded up, including these taken in yesterday’s rain:

Peonies (usually pronounced “PEE-uh-knees”) are named in honor of Paeon, the Greek god of medicine; and, indeed, their flowers and other parts have been used in Asian medicines and teas for centuries. The flowers also traditionally have been one of the most popular subjects for tattoos in Asia. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on June 4 [flowers] and Brooklin, Maine, on June 8 [buds], 2022.)

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report:

Everything has been pleasantly normal in the old nest overlooking Great Cove. Here you see Ozzie bringing yesterday’s lunch to Harriet.

Her head is barely visible as she hunkers down over what I assume are the pair’s clutch of eggs:

Speaking of heads, note that the fish that Ozzie is bringing home has none. Oz usually eats the highly nutritional head off of the fish in a nearby tree before flopping it into the nest for Harriet. She usually picks at the fish while she is in the nest.

However, every now and then, she grabs the fish just after it is delivered and flies away with it for a real lunch break of about 30 to 40 minutes:

When she does that, Ozzie takes over the hunkering.

We’re hoping that at least three little ospreys will be here in time to join other summer residents during Brooklin’s July 4 celebration. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 7 [Ozzie flying] and 5 [Harriet flying], 2022.)

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.)