In the Right Place: Close Enough

IHere you see the dark and light of a Maine sunset over Great Cove, as viewed from the woods on a fine day.

However, today is a cold, foggy, rainy – in short, miserable – day. It’s not a nice way to welcome the Fall Equinox and celebrate the beginning of earlier sunsets and later sunrises.  But today’s equinox is on my mind.

There seem to be a few, small misunderstandings about the Equinox. The word “equinox” is derived from the Latin words “aequi,” meaning “equal,” and “nox,” meaning “night.” Many reference works still say that the Spring Equinox and the Fall Equinox are the two days in a year in which the day and night are of precisely equal length, 12 hours each. That’s what early astronomers thought.

However, more refined research has shown that the original calculations were incorrect. The amount of day and night at the designated equinoxes varies slightly over the years due to changes in the Earth’s shape and movements and the Sun’s activities, among other things. (These differences are very important in some scientific planning, especially space-related ventures, but they are of little consequence to most people – the day-night “equality” measurement is “close-enough” for social planning.)

Moreover, an equinox is not a day, it’s an instant. It’s when the Sun shines directly over the equator resulting in nearly the same amounts of day and night occurring in most (not all) of the world. (In the North and South Poles, the Sun stays on the horizon all day.)

Thus, this year’s Fall Equinox will arrive here in Maine at 9:04 (some say 9:03) p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. After that, the days gradually will grow shorter until the Spring Equinox reverses the process. (Leighton Archive Images taken in Brooklin, Maine.) Click on image to enlarge it.

In the Right Place: Pessimism

Several recent rainstorms have transformed our spring-fed streams from dry ditches into the gurgling joys that they were in the springs and summers of years gone by, as you see from this image taken yesterday:

The question is whether and/or how the drought and abnormally dry conditions of spring and summer in Down East Maine will affect our fall colors.

Severe drought during the growing season is one of the reported causes of deciduous tree leaves changing colors prematurely or even cancelling the color show and just turning brown and falling. Moderate drought reportedly has the opposite effect: It tends to delay the onset of fall coloration.

The best conditions for fall leaf coloration apparently occur when our spring and summer have abundant rain and our autumn comes in dry and cool, with sunny warm days and chilly (but not freezing) nights. Stated another way, we have not had optimal conditions for a lasting and brilliantly colored fall.

While we wait to see, we hope that our streams remain flowing.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 20, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Odds and Ends

As a change of pace, let’s look at this Maine coastal scene that probably would not be of any interest to Winslow Homer or Andrew Wyeth. It’s part of the odds and ends that are lying around the WoodenBoat School’s boatshed while boats and equipment were being taken out of the water this week for winter storage.

The contraption on the left is a kayak carrier in which six to eight kayaks can be inserted onto holding prongs covered with protective foam that is held in place by duct tape. To this trailer’s right is a solo rowing boat and a solo kayak.

Here’s what the kayak carrier looked like in July:

That kayak carrier also is used to transport other long, thin marine materials, including sailboat masts., as you can see in this image taken yesterday:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 11 and September 18 and 19, 2022.)

In the Right Place: What's in a Name?

Here we see one of the most enigmatically-named native September wildflowers, with its dew-dappled flower petals closed in this morning’s early chill.

Yesterday afternoon’s cluster of the plant shows its open, aster-like flowers:

The plant’s unusual common name is “pearly everlasting,” which derives from the plant’s leaf-like bracts – they are grayish and remain fresh-looking long after the flowers wilt, making them a favorite for dried flower arrangements. The plant’s scientific name is Anaphalis margaritacea, derived in part from “margarita, the Latin word for “pearl.”

In the spring, pearly everlasting is the host plant for the caterpillars of two of our most attractive ladies: the painted lady (Vanessa cardui) and American lady (Vanessa virginiensis) butterflies. It also has historic medicinal uses: Native Americans used the plant’s bracts for sore poultices and steamed or smoked them as inhalants for rheumatism and colds.

Gardeners use pearly everlasting carefully. Its creeping root system (rhizomes) can crowd out neighbors. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 18 and 19, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Last of the Rednecks

I saw this fellow Thursday in an area between a small pond and a large one, headed toward the large one. He posed for me in return for my giving him a hand-held ride to the pond of his choice.

It’s now the time of year when this hitchhiker and our other Eastern painted turtles (Chrysemys picta picta) are feeling the occasional deep chill, getting less basking light, and having difficulties finding a decent meal. Some already have moved south and others are thinking seriously about it. In the case of most wild painted turtles, moving south means tucking into the muck at the bottom of a body of fresh water and relaxing until spring.

The winter activity of wild (and even pet) painted turtles and other turtle species often sparks a controversy over whether they “hibernate,” a word derived from the Latin “hiberna,” meaning “winter quarters.” Whether PTs hibernate depends on which definition you use.

Most scientists seem to prefer to consider hibernation to be a state of total inactivity (often referred to as a type of total “sleep”) during a time of much lower body temperature.

The metabolism of turtles in their winter quarters here slows down greatly, but research shows that they don’t go to “sleep” entirely and they’ll occasionally eat.  Scientists call what turtles and other reptiles do in their winter quarters “brumation” (“brew-MAY-shun”), a word derived from the Latin “brûma,” meaning “winter solstice.” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September15, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Big Fungi Do Cry

Here's a good example of how some mushrooms and plants “weep.” (Look closely, especially in the shadows.) This is a double red-belted polypore (Fomitopsis pinicola) on what appears to be a dead white spruce tree.

The various polypore fungi commonly are called “shelf” or “bracket” fungi/mushrooms because they attach themselves like shelfs or brackets to (usually dead) trees, which they slowly consume. These fungi not only have no stalks, they have no gills; they have many (“poly”) pores on their undersides through which they spread their seeds. In this case, one of the red-belts is growing directly above the other, which may be bad planning.

Of course, these red-belts are not crying tear drops; they’re apparently excreting mostly excess water caused by an increased metabolism for rapid growth. The weeping process is called guttation (“gut-TAY-shun”), from the Latin gutta, to drop.

Apparently, as the mushroom breaks down its food and grows, it breathes out carbon dioxide and water vapor, but we usually don’t see them. Under certain conditions, that water vapor will condense into visible water droplets that may also contain other substances that need to be excreted.

Something similar happens to humans: We breathe out carbon dioxide and water vaper, but only see the vapor when it crystalizes on cold days. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 12, 2022.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: The Beginning of the End

It’s the beginning of the end of “the season,” the summer sailing season in Down East Maine. It’s a poignant time watching sailboats being pulled reluctantly from their beautiful element and seeing them suffer the indignities of being power-washed and pulled by an ungainly tractor over a dusty road.

Soon, they’ll be sentenced to months in a shadowy boat shed or – even worse – wrapped in plastic like wintering insects.

Yes, summer and its joys are disappearing fast. But, football has arrived and we’ll soon have autumn’s colors to help us forget about what it’s like to harmonize with wind and water. (Images taken at the WoodenBoat School in Brooklin, Maine, on September 14 and 15, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Drought Report

Water levels in our ponds continue to be well below normal, although it may be difficult to see the problem from this image taken yesterday:

On the other hand, it’s easy to see that our small streams continue to suffer from abnormal dryness:

Today’s U.S. Drought Monitor shows a slight improvement in Maine’s dry conditions for the week ending September 13, but our conditions remain far worse than three months ago. The Monitor reports that 45.65 percent of the State remains abnormally dry or worse:

The Monitor also reports that average temperatures in the northeast climate region were above normal during the summer months, with August 2022 being the fourth warmest on record in our region. (Photographs taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 14, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Fog-In/Sun-Out Sail-In

The Annual Wooden Boat Sail-In took place yesterday within waves of fog pouring into Great Cove from Eggemoggin Reach, not to mention occasional rain and often-dying winds. As far as I can tell, nine classic Maine coastal cruisers sailed in, although four of them arrived in total fog and I only discovered them early this sunny morning. I’ll show each of the windjammer visitors from yesterday and end with a few images from today.

Here we see Victory Chimes, the queen of the windjammer fleet. She’s a 170-foot long, three-masted schooner that was built in 1900. She now hails from Rockland, Maine, and reportedly is for sale.

Angelique’s red sails stood out in the fog and rain. She’s a 130-foot long ketch that was built in 1980. and now hails from Camden, Maine,

The Stephen Taber didn’t stop when she got into the Cove; she sallied here and there with considerable exuberance. She’s a 110-foot long schooner that was built in 1871. and now hails from Rockland, Maine,

The Lewis R. French came into the Cove from the south followed by a boat of photographers from the WoodenBoat School marine photography class. She’s a 101-foot long schooner that also was built in 1871 and now hails from Camden, Maine,

Ladona (usually pronounced “lah DOE nah’), with her white hull and white sails, sometimes disappeared in the fog. She’s a 108-foot long schooner that was built in 1922. and now hails from Rockland, Maine,

During one break in the fog and very light rain, we could see the five windjammers that arrived before we got totally socked-in. From the left, you’ll see the Lewis R. French lowering sails, Angelique with her red sails down, the Stephen Taber still sallying around, two small boats of observers, the Victory Chimes showing her size, and Ladona coming in under full sail.

Today — the “day after” — the sun rose on a calm Great Cove and sleeping passengers who apparently partied in last night’s fog and rain.

The Mary Day was close enough to photograph. She’s a 125-foot long schooner that was built in 1962 and now hails from Camden, Maine,

I could see the yellow-hulled Heritage from our deck as the rising sun found her. She’s a 145-foot long schooner that was built in 1983. and now hails from Rockport, Maine, I also was very fortunate to catch her, Angelique and Victory Chimes with sails up, heading south in the morning.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 13 and 14, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Caught in the Act

Here you see a peeping Tom caught looking into our window on Saturday, apparently expecting to see something exciting going on over the weekend.

Well, he was greatly disappointed in that regard and soon flew off, leaving me wondering what this bug-eyed visitor was.

Maybe one of you lepidopterists out there can identify this dainty intruder for us. Its feathered antennae indicate to me that it’s a moth, which would narrow the choice down nicely to only about 165,000 species worldwide. (There are many more moths than butterflies.)

Its body length appeared to be less than half an inch and its wingspan from the tip of one wing to the other appeared to be no more than an inch, which makes it a small moth by my standards.

Its underside/ventral color was an off-white, while its upper/dorsal side was more of a tan. There appeared to be a single, faint, circular marking on each forewing, but these may have been random markings. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 10, 2022.)

In the Right Place: The Big Apple

The fruit on many of our “wild” apple trees seems to be maturing faster than usual this year, perhaps because of the drought.

The two apples from two trees that I tasted were gag-grade tart/sour. I haven’t seen any deer eating the apples yet, but that’s probably because many grasses remain succulent and better tasting.

As you know from reading these posts, our wild apple trees actually are mostly abandoned trees that were planted by settlors and subsequent residents, who made food products, brandy, and cider out of the apples. Now, many of the trees are surrounded by undergrowth, which makes it difficult for humans (and sometimes even deer) to get near them.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 8 [tree] and 9 [individual apples], 2022.)

In the Right Place: Fall Colors

Here we see Conary Cove at slack tide yesterday, showing fall colors of a maritime kind.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on September 10, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Weather Berries

Our American Mountain Ash Trees (Sorbus americana) are now bursting with their outrageous orange berries. These trees are the subjects of considerable mystery and folklore. For example, no one seems to know why they’re called ash trees. They’re not ashes, they’re members the rose family.

They’re also called Rowan Trees here because our settlers from the British Isles mistakenly thought that they were the same as European Rowan Trees (Sorbus aucuparia). The Celts (and some of America’s colonists) thought Rowan trees warded off witches and had other magical properties. Across our northern border in Canada, American Mountain Ash Trees also are known as Dogberry Trees and their berries are used to make popular Dogberry Jam there.

But, it’s an Ojibwa Tribe legend about the trees that gives us pause, as we look at the multitudes of orange orbs hanging from them now. The legend is that, if there are many Mountain Ash berries in late summer and fall, the winter is sure to be very harsh. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 7, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Bon Voyage to Our Brave Summer Residents

This image of an osprey appeared yesterday in my monthly column in the Ellsworth American. Click on the image to enlarge it.

To read the column, which has interesting facts about the osprey migration, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Warts and All

Here is that master of disguise, the eastern American toad (Anaxyrus americanus americanus). You can see why toad skin patterns are used as models for camouflage. (There even is a hunting clothes company named Toadbak, Inc., that promotes toad-patterned clothes to deer and wild turkey hunters.)

Toads change their skin colors when under stress from a predator as well as when they move from habitat to habitat and when temperature or humidity changes. However, when a small predator, such as a garter snake, zeroes in on a toad, the toad also often will puff itself up dramatically to appear to be too large to swallow.

If that doesn’t work and the predator sniffs or grabs the toad, the amphibian will exude from its parotoid glands a toxic substance (bufotoxin) meant to signal that the toad is not palatable. (It also may emphasize that point by defecating profusely.) That works on some animals, but not all garter snakes.

Which brings us to a warning: Bufotoxin is not lethal to humans, but it can irritate our eyes and mucous membranes significantly; wash your hands after handling a toad and don’t touch your face before you do so. It’s a good practice not to let children pick up toads if you don’t have the ability to wash their hands immediately afterward.

The toxin can be harmful to cats, dogs, and other smaller animals, so don’t let your pet “play” with toads. Nonetheless, contrary to some legends, touching toads will not cause warts to grow on you, your child, or your pet. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 6, 2022.)

In the Right Place: More Bad News

The situation faced by our lobster fishermen (men and women) appears to continue to worsen. Here and below, you see some of our fleet laying idle yesterday.

Lobstermen have been deciding that fishing six days a week for fewer and fewer low-priced lobsters isn’t worth the high-priced costs of fuel, bait, and maintenance. Some lobster fishermen even have hauled out their traps and ended their season four months early.

One veteran fishman, who prefers to remain anonymous, describes the dilemma concisely: “[The] catch is dropping off weekly and the [low] price remains the same. It's the worst season I've ever had. I've been doing it for 31 years and [this] is the first time that I don't have my bills paid going into the winter.” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 6, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report

The final, perhaps tragic, chapter of this summer story continues to unfold. Here you see June. As you know, she’s the last and smallest of Ozzie and Harriet’s fledglings. She’s being soaked by yesterday’s heavy rain, alone on the open family nest while other ospreys are sheltering within the protective branches of big conifers.

As usual, June regularly begged for food yesterday. Ozzie didn’t come during the 30 minutes that I was watching, but he likely delivered lunch soon thereafter. He has done so routinely this year.

I don’t think that Ozzie and June’s two siblings, David and Ricky, have migrated yet. We keep seeing three ospreys fishing over Great Cove, not far from the nest. I believe that those birds are Ozzie showing David and Ricky how to plunge-dive for fish. My last such sighting was Saturday, September 3.

Harriet apparently has migrated south already, which is usual for a female osprey parent – they usually depart and leave the male parent to take over the feeding and education of the young until migration lift off time.

June is large, full-feathered, and can fly well, but she seems to be mentally retarded. If she can’t fish, she’ll likely starve; Ozzie probably will not cancel his migration flight to feed her indefinitely.

An attempt at capturing June for an intervention would seem to be very difficult due to the 90-foot height of the nest and her shyness; she flies away at the sight of any human or dog within 400 feet. I park my car beyond that point and “shoot” through the window. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 5, 2022.)

In the Right Place: And, In the Right Mood

In Paris, couples go to cafés at dusk not only to enjoy each other, but to feel and become a part of the enjoyment of those near them. The Brooklin Inn has this porch that can be as satisfying in that way as any Parisian café, if you’re with the right person and in the right mood.

Soon after this image was taken, a younger couple sat at that table. They leaned into each other’s sun halos, talked softly, and smiled often. (Image taken with an iPhone in Brooklin, Maine, on September 2, 2022.) Click on image to enlarge it.

In the Right Place: Enigmatic

Here you see Little Bear, the enigmatic North Sea fishing-trawler-look-alike that hails from Rockport, Maine. She’s been visiting in Great Cove again and was moored yesterday where we could get a good look at her.

In reply to my July post on Little Bear, Pete Radclyffe suggested that she might be one of the famed Inchcape luxury trawler yachts. She certainly looks like one, but I’ve been unable to confirm that she’s an Inchcape

Nonetheless, there is a report that Little Bear was built in Scotland in 1964. That would be consistent with where and when those Jack Evans-designed Inchcape sea yachts were being built by the historic Eyemouth Boatbuilding Company in Berwickshire.

Inchcape (aka Bell Rock) is a reef and lighthouse about a dozen miles off the east coast of Angus, Scotland, near Dundee and Fife. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 3, 2022.)

In The Right Place: Hip Hopping

Wild rose hips, the popular fruit of roses, are starting to get to the edible stage now, although connoisseurs say that it’s best to wait until after the first light frost to pick them. (The frost apparently breaks down their cellular walls somewhat and makes the fruit sweeter.)

Above, you see the hips of the climbing multiflora rose (Rosa multiflora). Below, you’ll see the larger, less hairy fruit of the beach rose bush (rugosa rose, Rose rugosa).:

The word “hip” reportedly is derived from the Old English word “hiope,” meaning “seed vessel of wild roses.” Rose hips, which are rich in vitamin C, are deseeded and used in a variety of foods, especially teas, jams, jellies, and sauces. Native Americans also used them as medicine, including as a contraction inducer to hasten delivery of women in labor. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 2, 2022.)