JOURNAL
We’ve been getting a lot of fog lately. At times, it can be dreamlike, especially at familiar border areas. Where fixed land and infinite water meet, impenetrable fog can seem to show us eternity:
Where garden ends and woods begin, sifting fog can help us remember the impermanence of paradise:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 5 and 6, 2024.)
The Naskeag Harbor convenience raft, shown here, has been in business for a few days. It’s operators not only buy just-caught lobsters from the fishermen, they sell the fishermen fuel and bait.
Seeing the differing fishing vessels coming in, cleaning up, and mooring in the late morning or early afternoon is a satisfying sight. At least I can see one part of this world that appears to be running the way it should.
Of course, few get to see the vessels going out to haul traps in the shadowy early morning hours, which is another fine sight. I get up early, but not THAT early anymore. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 2, 2024.)
The annual Brooklin, Maine, 4th of July celebration is not a Taylor-Swift-like thing. Tickets don’t cost over $1,000, nor do 96,000 people attend. Come to think of it, there are no tickets for the Brooklin celebration. Everyone is invited, anyone may perform, and hundreds come to be part of small town family friendliness and fun, which is a priceless, disappearing experience.
There usually are three major stages to the Brooklin celebration: The Band, the Parade, and the Gathering at the Green. This year, there was light rain early in the morning, but it stopped just in time. The show went on, but umbrellas were ready.
As usual, the surprisingly good Brooklin Town Band met under the tall maples in front of the Friend Memorial Public Library. They filled the Town Center with music that made everyone walk a little lighter and sometimes uncontrollably burst into song.
The parade was led by a Brooklin Fire Department vehicle, followed by a contingent of fire fighters in dress uniforms. After that, as usual, things got — How shall I say it? — “eclectic” might be the word. But, I’ll let you decide by showing below images of the parade in the order of its flow. Unfortunately, space doesn’t allow for images of all participants.
(Phew! Yes, “eclectic” will work.) After the parade-ending fire truck, everyone gathered on the nearby Town Green, where the just-seen classic cars were displayed, games for children were played, community groups dispensed information, and good food was served and eaten under large tents.
The Brooklin Food Corps, which promotes the growth and consumption of local food, had a stand and the Rockweed Forum, which seeks to protect that plant from improper harvesting, had a table.
The games included the ever-popular “Dead Chicken Toss” (at a hole in a panel) and “Wet Sponge Toss” (at a neighbor). There also was very miniature golf for very miniature people and the difficult pole climb contest, which attracted a lot of fit kids and an appreciative audience that cheered the straining climbers.
It was a happy day. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 4, 2024.)
Here you see the 110-foot Stephen Taber in Great Cove at dawn yesterday after overnighting there:
She departed impressively about 10:30 a.m. yesterday with both principal sails up and two jibs flying. This was her third visit to the Cove this year.
The Taber is a good example of a traditional 19th Century Maine coastal cruiser – flat-bottomed, centerboard, no motor. She was launched in 1871 and hails from Rockland, Maine, now. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 3, 2024.) Happy Independence Day!
Here you see the 90-foot American Eagle in Great Cove at dawn yesterday after overnighting there. She’s a high-riding, fast schooner with very clean lines.
This was her second visit to the Cove this year. She departed dramatically about 11:30 a.m. yesterday by wending her way through a WoodenBoat School sailing class of 12 ½-footers:
The Eagle is on a four-night trip that will include a windjammer fleet get-together on July 4 and participation in Maine’s annual Great Schooner Race in Rockland (her home port) on July 5, according to her schedule. “Last year,” her website modestly reports, “we won not only our class but the overall race! We’ll try to repeat that this season ….” Good Luck Eagle. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 2, 2024.)
There was a waiting game going on this week at the Osprey Nest, the summer home of our local fish hawk couple, Ozzie and Harriet. The red-eyed nestlings are still growing their feathers and need to be sheltered from intensive sun by Harriet. On Sunny days, I mostly just see her crouching in the nest with wings apart, playing the role of a feathered beach umbrella.
Above and below, you see Harriet and her first born, David, who is much more active and demanding than his brother, Ricky. I have not been able to confirm that there is a third nestling, although Harriet’s activities sometimes appear as if there is. Most of the time, I only see David. He’s not exactly a beauty yet, but he’ll lose his prehistoric looks soon.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 1, 2024.)
June was sweet and friendly this year. She brought many beautiful summer days, some significant fogs, a few gray days and some rainy ones, but no vicious storms, floods, or heatwaves. We slid into summer with an easy spectacularity.
I mentioned fog. This June brought us some of the foggiest days I’ve ever seen. But, fogs can seem to conjure ancient spirits, especially a soft fog in the woods and a now-you-see-it/now-you-don’t fog on the water:
We’ll come back to the waterfront, but let’s first remember that June is the birth month of many wild animals, especially birds. I have good news and bad news to report on two nests that I monitored.
It was a joyous June in the Osprey Nest, the home of our local fish hawk couple, Ozzie and Harriet. Once again, they produced at least two nestlings and possibly a third that has stayed hidden low in the nest so far. Harriet remained mostly in the nest shading and feeding the youngsters and Ozzie dutifully delivered fresh fish to the family daily.
Unfortunately, however, June was a bad month for Wendy, the black-throated green warbler that I’ve written about. She would fly off her little (3-inch diameter) nest from time to time, which allowed me to see that she was incubating four tiny, speckled eggs. One day, I saw her discovered by a pair of blustering blue jays, which I shooed away. I’ll leave it up to you to imagine what happened to her eggs and nest after I left the area. I never saw her again.
But, in the same area as Wendy’s nest, I did witness a small (5-inch) brown creeper feeding her even smaller fledgling on the side of a spruce tree. Life goes on.
I should mention a concern. It appears that we keep getting fewer great blue herons returning in May and June to breed. It’s believed that the increasing bald eagle population here is driving the GBHs elsewhere. Nonetheless, the few that I saw hunting in the ponds here during June were as dramatic as ever.
Speaking of ponds, June is when the painted turtles arise from the murky depths to bask sedentarily and the dragonflies hatch to patrol the water edges frantically.
I should note that our white-tailed deer started to wear their summer clothes in June. Some deer completed the transition into their slick reddish coats; others were still in molt, and still others — the smallest of them — were trying out their first fur.
On the recreational waterfront, six windjammers visited Great Cove during June, two of them multiple times. Below, in varying weather, you’ll see the following visiting coastal cruisers: American Eagle, Angelique, Capt. Frank Swift, Ladona, Mary Day, and Stephen Taber. You’ll also see Ladona and Stephen Taber sleeping together, but don’t tell anyone.
On the educational waterfront, the famed WoodenBoat School started its classes during June, no matter what the weather. When classes were in session, Great Cove was alive with sailing and kayaking and the shops buzzing with boatbuilding and other marine-oriented activity.
On the working waterfront, June is the month when many of our fishing vessels start their summer lobstering season — trailering traps to Naskeag Harbor, loading them on the boats, setting them in the water, and darting from trap to trap to haul them up and remove their delicious contents.
As far as wild and cultivated flora are concerned, June arrivals that were interesting and/or beautiful were too numerous to give anywhere near a complete account. We’ll be selective. As to the wild flora, we’ll start with waterlilies and then show (in order) the following: starflower and bunchberry; hawkweed, yellow and orange; oxeye daisy and butter-and-eggs; blue flag and yellow flag wild iris; flowering and fading lupines; day lilies and Queen Anne’s lace; American honeysuckle and beach rose, and , finally, field mustard
In the June gardens, the select pairings that we’ve chosen for Postcards are (in order) as follows: purple and white lilacs; viburnum and rhododendron; allium buds and blooms; poppies in a breeze; two poppy “portraits”; two peony “portraits,” and Barbara’s arrangement of peonies.
In addition to the summer solstice, June is best known for celebrating dads, grandads, and great granddads on Father’s day. Fatherly love can include the difficult task of explaining how the world works.
Finally, the June moon is known as the strawberry moon, especially when it is full. However, this year, there was too much overcast to “shoot” the moon in all its fullness. But there were several occasions when we had a revealed morning moon and a mysterious ovoid evening moon.
(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine, in June of 2024.)
We have a pair of song sparrows that live in the field by our garden. The male sings almost all the time during the dawn and dusk hours on good days. (In rain and fog, not so much.)
He will perform anywhere in his small territory where he can find a stage – even a lupine stalk that bobs up and down as he throws his head back and belts out one after another of his many proven hits. Those are hits as judged by his mate, who seems very happy.
Studies have reported that female song sparrows are most attracted to males of the species that have the largest repertoires. Some males have been known to sing more than 2000 different songs. I think that the master singer shown here would fall into that category. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 11, 2024.
Yesterday, Great Cove could have been used to illustrate some of Maine’s immodest summer slogans, such as “America’s Vacationland” and “Maine: The Way Life Should Be.”
It was sunny, but cool; there were brisk sea breezes, but nothing that would scare a sailor. Which was good, because WoodenBoat School sailing students and others were out on the waters in force, perhaps inspiring another slogan: “Maine: The Way Sailing Should Be.” Here you see some of the WBS small boats water-bugging in the Cove yesterday morning:
On the left, those are three 121/2-footers (two Havens and a Herreshoff, I think); on the right with red sails, that’s an18.8-foot Mackinaw ketch slashing by. Note the different uses of the sails: In the same patch of North-Northwest wind (coming basically from the right of the image), one sailboat was sailing south (to the left); two were sailing north, and one was sailing west, roughly speaking.
As for the east, a nearby 16-foot WBS catboat was at this time sailing roughly east, while a WBS kayak class headed Southwest:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 28, 2024.)
Our poppies have been numerous and magnificent this year. Here you see two during the light rain that we had yesterday morning:
The day before yesterday, the poppies were waiving in the breezes. There’s a wildness to these plants that seems to reflect their ancient benefits and dangers.
The common names for the basic poppy are “the opium poppy” or “the bread seed poppy,” and their scientific name apparently is Paver somniferum. The plant’s seeds have been ground into meal, pressed into oil, or otherwise used for foods for centuries. The opium and other alkaloids of poppies are used primarily by pharmaceutical companies to create powerful drugs; but, of course, then there is the significant illicit opium market.
As for their ornamental gardening use, there reportedly now are more than 70 species of poppy, in a wide range of colors and shapes. Many garden poppies are bred to reduce opium content to insignificant levels, according to the literature.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 27 and 26, 2024.)
Here’s the ketch Angelique as Monday’s dawn light arrives in Great Cove:
This was the fourth time this month that Angelique overnighted in Great Cove and sent her passengers for a tour of the famed WoodenBoat School there. The passengers rowed one of the ship’s longboats ashore and back to the vessel. Members of the School’s classes on kayaking and basic sailing extended a welcome.
The WBS 12 1/2-foot Havens and Herreshoffs sailed around Angelique while she was in the Cove, giving viewers an idea of the windjammer’ size. The disparity would have been greater if the windjammer had raised her sails, but she departed before noon without putting up an inch of her beautiful sails.
As you probably know by this time, “Angelique” is a 130-foot jammer out of Camden, Maine. What you may not know is how she got her name. My favorite story is that she was named after a beautiful Parisian temptress whom her original owner became obsessed with after meeting the woman only one delightful night.
However, as usual, the truth is much more mundane. She was named by her original owner, alright, but he named her after a type of wood that fascinated him. Yes, wood. That’s WOOD as in tree; as in Dicorynia guianensis, to be scientifically specific. It’s a tall hardwood with the common name Angeligue and a beautiful grain.
The tree reportedly only occurs in French Guiana and Suriname. Some of its wood was impaneled below decks on the vessel. At least that’s the published story of “Angelique’s” original owner.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 24, 2024.)
Our working harbor at Naskeag Point has been busy lately with lobster boats loading up traps and taking off to set them in nearby state waters for the summer season. Here you see “Dream On” being loaded with traps yesterday.
The traps are trailered down to the Town Dock, where they’re usually hand-loaded onto the fishing vessel. That’s not as easy as some fishermen make it look, especially when they don’t have a helper. Lobster traps are awkward and heavy. They typically are between 3 and 4 feet long and 40 to 60 pounds heavy, according one fishing gear report.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 25, 2024.
Great Cove is the way it should be in summertime: 12 ½- foot Herreshoffs and Havens dashing here and there on the breezes like water bugs. They’re in the hands of mostly novice students who are attending a class called Elements of Sailing I at the WoodenBoat School.
The class should be called The Joy of Sailing I. What could be a better subject to learn by doing than sailing? Where else would be better to do it than the famed sailing waters of Down East Maine? Lucky students.
Yesterday, as you see, heavy heat haze and occasional cloud shade sometimes painted the Cove scene in dramatic, moisture-laden light that turned long distance (500mm) images into watercolor studies.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 24, 2024.) See also the image in the first Comment space.
Here you see what is a luxury summer resort for some. Oh, it’s not in Bali, Bora Bora, or the Maldives, and guests don’t get massages here or sip piña coladas while discussing gold futures.
But it is here that some of the most well-off painted turtles appear every year to loll about in the sun and sample the latest insect hors-d’oeuvres:
Lamentably, painted turtles and people tourists share a significant danger: the effects of higher temperatures brought about by climate change. You probably know about the people’s problems, but I wonder if you’re aware of the turtles’ special problem.
The sex of painted turtles (and some other reptiles) is determined by the temperature of their eggs before they hatch. The warmer the PT egg nest, the greater the number of eggs that will grow into females. Researchers at Iowa State University have done tests that indicate that, if the present rising temperatures continue as predicted, we’ll soon likely come to a tipping point at which all painted turtle eggs naturally must become female or fail to hatch.
That would mean extinction unless there is human intervention or a miracle. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 11, 2024.)
There was joy this week at the Osprey Nest, the summer home of our local fish hawk couple, Ozzie and Harriet. The joy was mostly mine: It is now certain that our feathered neighbors have once again produced those red-eyed, big-beaked, reptilian-ugly creatures known as osprey nestlings. Yet, these little monsters are beauties-to-be.
Above you see the two chicks that I’ve seen so far. Judging from Harriet’s behavior, there may be one or two more chicks hidden in the nest hollow. Of course, there will be no milk and pablum for these babies; as with all raptors, they’ll eat bloody prey from the get-go.
In this case, Ozzie will dive under the waters of Great Cove; grasp an unsuspecting fish in his sharp talons; swim up to the surface and fly away to a nearby tree or rock; tear off pieces of the fish’s head and gulp them down with gusto, then home-deliver the bleeding torso for a nice home meal by the family. Usually, Harriet will eat first, then carefully feed the chicks small pieces. (Ospreys have a limited sense of paternal generosity.)
Per our Report Protocol (and O&H sitcom history), nestling sexes will be assumed and the first-born (largest) chick will be named David, while the second-born will be named Ricky. If there is a third nestling, she will be named June due to the month of her birth. If there is a fourth nestling, it will be named Quartus, the Latin baby name meaning “fourth born.” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 19 and 21, 2024.)
A quartet of Maine windjammers overnighted in Great Cove on Wednesday. They departed in Thursday’s intense hazy heat during a wind doldrum that thwarted their major reason for being. But, judging from the apparently happy passengers, it was cooler on board the vessels than ashore, where the reported high in Brooklin was a steamy 91 degrees. The four high-masted visitors were “Angelique” (third June visit), “Ladona,” “Mary Day,” and “Stephen Taber” (second June visit).
The visits started Wednesday evening (also hot and hazy), with “Angelique” mooring first and the “Taber” coming in from the south shortly afterward:
The other two vessels apparently came in from the north and moored where we usually can’t see them from our deck. Only "Angelique” was visible to us as dawn’s first light came into the Cove:
“Angelique” is a 130-foot gaff-rigged ketch out of Camden, Maine, that was launched in 1980. She never raised a sail on this torpid day and was the first to motor away:
“Ladona” (usually pronounced locally as “lah-DOE-nah”) is a 105-foot schooner out of Rockland, Maine, that was launched in 1922 as a racing yacht . She went through various interesting lives before being restored as a coastal cruiser. On Wednesday evening, she rafted up with the “Taber” for some partying and sailed off under power Thursday, using her mainsail as a stabilizer :
As usual, the stately and graceful “Mary Day,” a frequent visitor to the Cove, received plenty of attention . She’s a 125-foot schooner out of Camden, Maine, that has classic mercantile coastal cruiser lines, but was built in 1962 just for passenger cruises:
“Mary” motored several hundred feet to Babson Island, where she raised her mainsails for stabilization and hosted a beach luncheon that lasted hours:
Although “Stephen Taber” hooked up with the racy “Ladona,” the “Taber” is one of the oldest windjammers in the Maine fleet. The vessel is a 110-foot schooner out of Rockland, Maine, that was launched in 1871. She doesn’t have a motor and was pushed out of the airless Cove by her trusty yawl boat, “Babe”:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 20, 2024.)
Here are the June images of one of the local landmarks that I keep photographic tabs on. It’s the iconic red boathouse in Conary Cove on one of those magical summer mornings when everything stands still as the early light releases them from dusk.
(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on June 18, 2024.)
We awakened Tuesday morning to see that the “Capt. Frank Swift” apparently had spent the prior night in Great Cove. I only had time to take a few images of this compact coastal cruiser at her anchorage. (See also the image in the first Comment space.) As best I can tell, she’s the former brigantine “Actress” that was out of Belfast, Maine.
The “Swift” is a 75-foot vessel that is now apparently out of Camden, Maine. She originally was designed by famed naval architect Murry Peterson in 1937, but not built until 1983. In recent years, this cruiser was rigged as a brigantine with schooner-proportioned masts, but now she appears to be rigged as a traditional schooner.
(A brigantine is a two-masted vessel carrying square-rigged sails on spars on the foremast and gaff-rigged, triangulated sails on the second mast. Many call a schooner-proportioned ship rigged like that a “hermaphrodite brigantine” due to the combination of key components.)
Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 18, 2024.
We see a lot of good craftsmanship in Great Cove during the summer. If this canoe is hand-made, as it appears to be, it’s quite a piece of work
If that vessel was hand-made, as it appears to be, it’s quite a piece of work. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 16 and 19, 2024.)
I got lucky yesterday at the Osprey Nest, the summer home of our local fish hawk couple, Ozzie and Harriet. It was a chilly, gray day for photography, but an illuminating one for biologic verification: There now is no doubt in my mind that Harriet is brooding youngsters, probably three or four, even though I have not seen one yet.
Harriet has all the moves of a sheltering mother – outspread wings to protect nestlings below; sometimes (as above) quickly raising her wings due to apparent movement under her; sometimes leaving the nest for a few minutes of wing-stretching, and being careful when she returns, and – yesterday – appearing to be delicately feeding bits of fresh fish to youngsters deep in the nest.
Of course, Ozzie reliably delivers the fish daily, usually after eating the first third for his own lunch. Harriet then usually eats her fill and then feeds the youngsters.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 17, 2024.)
