JOURNAL
It’s a gray day here, so I’ll add a little color. Here you see a patch of cultivated Yarrow forming an abstract expression of its own meaning. It’s amazing what hybridization and cultivation has done to bring color to common Yarrow (Achillea millefolium), which is a native and all white herb.
The native form of Yarrow and its modern cultivars and hybrids are used in cooking, fresh and dry floral design, and herbal remedies. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 5, 2023.)
Here you see Great Cove sparkling on Saturday evening. Those are the lights of the boats that raced in (or contained viewers of) the Eggemoggin Reach Regatta earlier in the day. As the lights twinkled, the sailors partied loudly at the WoodenBoat School campus on the Cove.
Sunday’s dawn light revealed the vessels docilely obeying the elements and lining up like a school of fish, while their occupants apparently were still dreaming of that party:
The annual Eggemoggin Reach Regatta for wooden sailboats began in 1985 and usually runs a 15-mile course in the Reach, ending at Great Cove. This year, the start of the race had to be delayed and the course shortened due to light wind. But, whether it be torrential rain, dense fog, or no wind, the Regatta party must go on – and it did. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 5 and 6, 2023.)
Here you see the schooner Mary Day waking in a clutter on Thursday, after she overnighted in Great Cove. She was on a four-day relaxation cruise, according to her schedule.
You can get some idea from this image of how difficult it was in the days of yore for teenagers to “learn the ropes” on a schooner (or, worse, a massive man-of-war).
Mary got cleaned up and departed in her usual stunning fashion at midday that day. She certainly is a big-boned beauty when she’s strutting her stuff.
Mary is a 125-foot schooner out of Camden, Maine. She was built in 1962 just for passenger cruises and has been rebuilt and refurbished a few times since. She has a crew of seven and accommodates 28 guests, according to her website. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2023.)
Here you see a monarch butterfly caterpillar on a butterfly weed. The plant (Asclepias tuberosa, L.) is a member of the toxic milkweed family, reportedly the only family of plants on which monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) lay their eggs. That’s because their fussy caterpillar larvae will eat nothing else.
Due to their toxic diet, monarch caterpillars become toxic themselves and retain some of that toxicity when they metamorphize into butterflies. The bright colors of both forms of this insect are thought to warn predators that the insects taste terrible and to remind those that have previously eaten a monarch insect how bad they taste. Thus, monarch insects usually don’t worry about hiding.
Nonetheless, they are preyed upon. Among others, robins have been seen eating monarch butterflies and blue birds and grosbeaks have been seen feasting on monarch caterpillars. In addition, monarch eggs and caterpillars are attacked by a number of parasitic insects.
In case this toxicity talk makes you wonder, monarch caterpillars are not harmful to humans who handle them, based on my own experience, but I wouldn’t try to eat one if I were you. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2023.)
Here you see the “Lewis R. French” leaving Great Cove yesterday morning after overnighting there. She was on a six-night music festival cruise along the coast and among the islands, 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 earlier years, 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 fairly luxurious vessel out of Camden, Maine. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2033.)
August is full of full moons this year, including two supermoons, a Sturgeon Moon, and a blue moon. Last night’s moon, shown below, had the most luminosity (99.5%). However, the moon of the night before, with a luminosity of 99.3%, technically was the first and official August full moon.
That August full moon is commonly called the Sturgeon Moon, which is what Native Americans reportedly called it because it arises when the sturgeon begin to run. That moon also was a supermoon, because it occurred when the moon was at the point in its orbit that is closest to the earth.
Another full moon and supermoon combination is predicted for August 3,1 with an anticipated luminosity of 99.9%. Being the second full moon in a single month, it also will be a “blue moon,” in fact a “blue supermoon.” In days of yore, the term “blue moon” was used to describe something that was impossible. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, at 4:29 a.m. on August 3, 2023.)
Here, we’re at the base of a sloping field yesterday, the first day of August 2023. It’s neither hot nor cold, probably in the low 70’s (F). We’re looking (roughly) north, and the sky is a purer blue than the best porcelain glaze. Some of the grasses and vetch are dying and smell musty, but the parasols of Queen Anne’s lace are vibrantly shading their small summer kingdoms. Sparrows are flushing as we walk.
About two hours later, we’re looking (roughly) east, where a stratocumulus herd is lumbering in its celestial pasture. The field pond below has become a gazing ball, which you are free to interpret as predicting good fortune.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 1, 2023.)
July usually is high summer here, but this year it had its lows as well as highs. Thankfully, there were some iconic sunny days when it was so clear infinity seemed within easy reach. However, there also were densely foggy days when the world seemed to implode. There also were cold, rainy days and many just-plain-gray days. Nonetheless, as strange as it might seem, July here was an interesting month to be out and about.
Of course, it helps that small Maine towns know how to celebrate Independence Day on July 4th and get the month started off in the right direction.
Unlike some of us, July’s wildlife didn’t seem bothered by the weather. Great blue herons returned in good numbers and did not cancel flights when it rained. Our resident herring gulls, as usual, took life the way it comes, soaking up the sun when it was there and braving foul weather when they had to.
This year, the osprey nest that we monitor annually again produced three hungry nestlings of the fish hawks in July. We also studied a visiting young Cooper’s hawk, a raptor that did not like fish, but found smaller birds delectable. Red-winged blackbirds and goldfinches brightened things up when the Cooper’s wasn’t around.
Our white-tailed deer ended the molt of their heavy, gray coats in July and proudly displayed their light summer reddish jackets, just the right thing to wear when ruining a garden:
Among the smaller wildlife, monarch butterflies returned in July, but fewer of them seemed to arrive in the initial wave this year. Painted turtles soaked up heat when they could, and the toads practiced their camouflage changes, warts and all. .
One animal, the lobster, becomes the center of attention for many here in July. Fishing vessels speed by, stacked with lobster traps that have to be set out on the sea floor. At the end of the day, these boats rest on their moorings for all to see their functional grace. The Naskeag Harbor convenience raft that buys lobsters from the fishermen and sells them bait and fuel was installed and provisioned in July; it’s a summer (and maybe fall) fixture.
Another part of Down East’s maritime heritage comes into full swing in July: coastal cruising in windjammers and other classic vessels. This year, the weather sometimes added a new dimension of excitement to the July voyages of these vessels. The yellow-hulled Heritage visited Great Cove in fair and foul weather, looking sedate in the sun and appearing like a ghost ship sailing hard through rain and fog.
The red-sailed Angelique also was a sight as it braved rainy weather. Sometimes the fog swallowed vessels whole and then regurgitated them, which is what happened to the ketch/pulling boat Sally Drew and the Scilly pilot cutter Hesper when they sheltered in the area. The high-riding schooner American Eagle was fortunate to enter and leave Great Cove under full sun and full sail.
While remembering July’s waterfront activities, we should mention the popular sailing classes by WoodenBoat School. Just seeing their lively presence in Great Cove can turn dismal, drizzly days into inspirations.
Our woods, fields, and streams are a big part of our high summer. July’s fog seemed to suit our old, gnarly apple trees. And, after the rain showers, our drying woods often were perfumed with the mind-altering scent of balsam, while the streams added their fast-water-on-rock backbeat.
Of course, summer in Maine means a distracting profusion of flowers and berries, wild and cultivated, wet and dry.
Finally, we end our tribute to this year’s July with an image of its crescent moon, a beautiful reminder that there often is more to see than we think.
(All images shown in this post were taken in Down East Maine during July of 2023.)
The nestlings are growing fast, as you can see. From left to right, this is Ricky, June, and David on their nest yesterday.
Their parents, Ozzie and Harriet, were away then, as they increasingly have been lately. Ozzie still flops a fish into the nest apparently at least once a day, and Harriet often just comes by to sit on and edge of her homestead looking sternly at the youngsters. I don’t think that she is feeding any of the nestlings any longer.
There has been a breakthrough in the last few days: David, the oldest and largest, is starting to put his wings out to catch good breezes and then float up above the nest. I’ve seen him achieve about 15 feet in height, much to the apparent amazement of his brother and sister:
Soon, all three will be yo-yoing above the nest, a necessary learning activity that can end up in mild collisions. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 30, 2023.)
Last week’s Elements of Sailing classes at the WoodenBoat School included a good dose of how to sail in unseasonably cold and sometimes drizzly weather. Nonetheless, it seemed that the participants thoroughly enjoyed learning the harmonies of winds and waves in Great Cove, even when a sail clew let go:.
They were sailing safe and maneuverable 12 ½ - foot boats: Herreshoffs (with keel) or Havens (with centerboard).
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 27, 2023.)
If I had to pick the most typical sound of a Maine summer, it would be the sound of a song sparrow singing on a sunny day. These birds seem to sing mostly while hidden in a bush or tree where no one can see that their billows of musical happiness are emanating from a small, plain creature that looks – but does not sound – like many other small, brown, blurry birds.
(I spent about 15 minutes trying to find the song sparrow shown below that was singing from within an old apple tree, and I did so only after he poked his head out briefly, apparently to see if I was still there.)
The principal song that these sparrows sing is complex and difficult to describe. Henry David Thoreau noted that early rural Americans translated the melody into these words to remember the song: “Maids! Maids! Maids! hang up your teakettle-ettle-ettle.” (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 23, 2023.)
Here you see one of our resident adult Herring Gulls. The adults of this species always seem so well-tailored; they’re perhaps the best-groomed scavengers we have.
Of course, these gulls (Larus [argentatus] smithsonianus) are commonly called Herring Gulls because herring are one of their favorite foods, but herring are in serious decline.
Moreover, and contrary to wide-spread myth, Herring Gulls are not very good fishermen, and often need more calories than they can catch swimming or diving in water. They often have to rely on scavenging and stealing to survive. It seems that they will eat just about anything dead or alive that looks edible, can be caught, and can fit into a beak whole or in bites.
While not an expert fishing in water, the Herring Gull is one of the deftest sea birds when flying. It “is a master of the air,” according to the renowned Edward Howe Forbush, who continued: “It can fly forward or backward, veer gracefully in any direction, soar with stiffened pinions or shoot downward like an arrow, sail on steady wing against the wind and perform numberless evolutions with grace and ease.”
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 23 and 27, 2023.)
It was hot and hazy as the sun went down on Great Cove Sunday (July 23). Almost unnoticed, the American Eagle slipped into Great Cove, anchored off Babson Island, and dropped her sails. It would be a night of good food, good drink, and good company. She was on an eight-day tour of Maine’s Down East coast, according to her schedule.
The next morning, she moved closer to the mainland and, after a leisurely breakfast, some of her passengers toured the WoodenBoat School campus.
[Background: The Eagle is a 90-foot, high-riding schooner out of Rockland, Maine. She was launched in 1930 as the Andrew & Rosalie, the last fishing schooner built in Gloucester, Massachusetts. In 1941, during World War II, she was patriotically renamed American Eagle. She fished until 1983 and then went through difficult times until she was totally renovated in 1986 as a tourist schooner. She has since become a National Historic Landmark.]
After the passengers returned to the Eagle, they didn’t dally. They helped on the ropes to raise her mainsail and then her foresail:
The Eagle then weighed anchor, swung into the southwestern wind, raised her two jibs and took off toward Bar Harbor:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 23 and 24, 2023.)
I finally found where our Monarchs have been hiding, including this one sipping from a common milkweed bloom. I now can check Monarchs off my 2023 “Must See” list. Yet, I wonder how long these royal insects will remain able to make the long trip here (in sequential waves).
Among other obstacles, common milkweed habitats are disappearing as more and more land is developed. That plant, Asclepias syriaca, is critical to the Monarchs’ propagation cycle. Here’s a closer look at it:
Last year, migrating Monarchs were put on the Red List of endangered species by the International Union for Conservation of Nature. Those migrating Monarchs are the ones that we have here (Danaus plexippus plexippus), which are a subspecies of the non-migratory Monarchs (Danaus plexippus) that mostly stay in southern Mexico, Central America, northern South America, and the Caribbean.
According to last year’s IUCN announcement, the migratory Monarch population has shrunk by between 22 and 72 percent (depending on area) over the past decade, primarily due to man-made causes, including milkweed habitat loss, pesticides, and climate change. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 25, 2023.)
When it’s calm during a good sunset and the tide is right, our moored fishing vessels seemingly come to the golden light to have their bruises blessed. That’s one of the better times to see the character of these hard-working boats.
News reports indicate that the lobstering season is off to a slow start – not really good, not really bad – although supermarket and restaurant prices for the tasty crustaceans reportedly are not quite as high as they were at this time last year.
Nonetheless, it’s early in the season and the lobsters haven’t finished growing and shedding. It may be that good times are still to come. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 23, 2023.)
The three nestlings continue to grow at that miraculously fast rate that some big raptors have to achieve to be ready for a long fall migration. Here you see Harriet returning home with new wall decorations:
She’s spending more time away from the nest, now that David (foreground nestling), Ricky (middle) and June (looking at Mom) are big enough to give predators second thoughts. Ozzie, a good Dad, still brings home the food.
The three fledglings already are trying out their wings in place, especially the two biggest/oldest, David and Ricky. They flap and flap and flap, raising themselves inches above the nest. Here’s David and Ricky flapping away and Harriet looking on approvingly:
Soon they’ll be helicoptering 10 feet above the nest and, after those yo-yo-like test flights, suddenly veering off on that first long (probably exciting and scary) flight. Those initial solos often result in crash landings in the surrounding trees as the youngsters work on acquiring that exquisite sense of balance and coordination that Ospreys get. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 23, 2023.)
It seems that many of my favorite butterflies haven’t arrived here yet. Among those I’m awaiting are Monarchs, Swallowtails, and Painted Ladies, but maybe I haven’t been traveling in the right circles. I did catch sight of this subtlely-tailored little creature, which I think is a Northern Pearly Eye (Enodia anthedon):
I’ve also seen a few White Admirals (Basilarchia arthemis):
I guess I’m going to have to spend more time among the milkweed. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 9 [Pearly Eye] and 19 [Admiral], 2023.)
Bunchberries are fruiting now. These plants have been thriving in the relatively cool and wet weather that we’ve been having here lately. Elsewhere, they’re in trouble. They’re reportedly endangered in Illinois, Indiana, and Maryland, and are listed as threatened in Iowa.
The plant’s fruits, which are tight clusters (“bunches”) of red berries, apparently are a good source of pectin. Native Americans in Maine reportedly ate the fruits raw, used them in puddings and sauces, dried them for winter use, and used an infusion of the plant’s leaves as a purging tea. Among other wildlife, bunchberry fruits are eaten by American Black Bears, Cottontails and Snowshoe Hares and Eastern Chipmunks.
This wildflower grows in mixed woods and bogs and is one of the few members of the dogwood family that is a creeping groundcover and not a tree or shrub. In some good-growing areas, Bunchberry will colonize a large area:
The plant (Cornus canadensis) reportedly also is commonly called Pudding Berry, Crackerberry, Dwarf Cornel, Dwarf Dogwood, Creeping Dogwood, Canadian Bunchberry, Dogwood Bunchberry, and Bunchberry Dogwood. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 21, 2023.)
Yesterday, we had a full day of sun for the first time in several weeks and – better yet -- the sun-colored “Heritage” came to enjoy it with us as a wonderful bonus. (Of course, we’re back to dank and dismal fog as I write this, but that’s another story.)
The sleek schooner overnighted and her passengers rowed ashore Thursday to tour the WoodenBoat Campus and rowed back to their vessel about an hour later. Her yawl boat also came ashore to pick up non-rowers. Meanwhile, boats from WBS sailing classes glided by and provided a sense of size proportions.
Near mid-day, the mainsail, topsail, and foresail went up and Heritage weighed anchor.
She turned around, picked up a following wind, let fly two jibs (forward sails), and sailed north. One of the passengers told me that she was going to try to reach the Sedgewick-Little Deer Isle Bridge before high tide so that the tall schooner had room to slip under the bridge.
The “Heritage” hails from Rockland, Maine, and is one of our largest schooners; she’s 145 feet long counting bowsprit with a 24-foot beam (widest part). She’s also advertised as our “newest” coastal cruiser, having been built in 1983 for the tourist trade. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 20, 2023.)
When the fog momentarily lifts and there is no wind and no sun, our harbor waters can turn black and the stillness can be joltingly clear. Yesterday was like that before a hazy sun appeared in the afternoon:
However, when the fog lays heavily on us for hours – which it has for most of the days during the past two weeks – it can be “pretty tiring” for our fishermen, according to one of our seasoned lobster boat captains who has been going out in the exceedingly poor visibility: “It makes your head tired staring into the radar all day.”
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 19, 2023.
