In the Right Place: Early and Earlier

Here you see a worker tricolored bumblebee (Bombus ternarius), one of our earliest pollinators. It’s on a Japanese coltsfoot flowerhead (Petasites japonicus), the earliest open flowers of the year and perhaps the bee’s only opportunity to find accessible, life-saving nectar now. In the kind of chilly, wet, and windy spring that we’ve been having, our earliest nectar-sippers have trouble getting out and about. (It’s 45° F and raining as I write.)

These bees, also known as orange-belted bumblebees, are fairly common ground nesting, social insects here that prefer other flowers for their energy drinks. But, they’ll have to be patient until things warm up sufficiently for them to conduct their usual, crowded happy hours.

Nectar, as you probably know, is a sugary fluid produced by flowers to attract bees and other plant-visiting creatures (including humming birds) that acquire and disseminate the plants’ reproductive pollen during their journeys. Nectar is a crucial source of carbohydrates that provides the energy needed for flying and other activities. Bees not only sip nectar for themselves, they convert it into honey, which they store as food for their hives. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 18, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Great Ideas

The spring migration brought us this Great Blue Heron, seen here performing in Tuesday’s light rain as only a Great Blue can. She would imitate a graceful French curve for many minutes, then suddenly uncoil and become a lethal fishing spear.

We hope that this immigrant will like our community and become a resident. Feathered residents don’t need fishing licenses here, nor do they pay taxes.

There’s a growing concern by Maine wildlife officials and bird lovers generally about an apparent steady decline in Great Blue Heron breeding in Maine. Human disturbances of the birds’ habitat and the resurgence of bald eagles, which prey on the herons’ young and otherwise harass nests, apparently are at least part of the problem.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 15, 2025; sex assumed.)

In the Right Place: O-Nest Report I

The first wave of ospreys has arrived and, sure enough, good-old-reliable Ozzie was among them. He stayed hunkered down on his nest alone yesterday during a very gusty morning. The high winds were ruffling his head feathers and creating a few whitecaps in Great Cove below him.

Northern-migrating ospreys usually return to the same nests that they build and constantly decorate and repair over the years. Many older males seem to come first to secure their nests and are followed shortly thereafter by their mates-for-life. Based on his markings, I’m almost certain that this is the same Ozzie whom readers of these posts have come to know and love. We’ll be reporting regularly on these birds and their offspring until early fall, when the ospreys leave us for warmer climes.

As many of you know, our protocol for interesting narration is to call our returning  mature male “Ozzie,” the mature female “Harriet,” the first-born “David” and the second-born “Ricky” – just like in the old sitcom TV show about a happy, attractive, and talented family.

(The sexes of the immature birds have to be assumed. We sometimes can tell the sex of mature ospreys by appearance alone in situations where the larger size of females is apparent. The sexes of adults do become evident during mating [who’s on top] and long-term brooding [who stays in the nest to brood and be fed].)

There always has been a third-born in this nest, whom we call by the month of her birth, usually “June.” There only has been one fourth-born that I’ve seen in this nest, but she was bullied by her much-larger siblings and eventually thrown out of the nest by them. It turns out that the real family life of birds of prey is not a sitcom. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 16, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Good Deeds

We’ve been undergoing a chilly and wet period. So, it seems fitting that this maligned plant is doing some good here. Its very early flowers provide life-saving nectar for our pilgrim pollinators.

The plant is Japanese sweet coltsfoot (Petasites japonicus). It’s listed as invasive in Maine and was used unsuccessfully to treat the bubonic plague in the Middle Ages. It’s an Asian plant with stalks that are a very popular ingredient (“fuki”) in Japanese cuisine.

Apparently, the plant was introduced into North America in the 19th Century by Japanese immigrants to Canada’s British Columbia. It has a sweeter scent than other coltsfoot plants, including Maine’s native (non-invasive) sweet coltsfoot (Petasites palmatus).

This Asian import also is known as giant butterbur, great butterbur, and simply butterbur due to its large leaves that were used (as were those of related plants) to wrap and store butter and other perishables in cool places before refrigeration was common.

Japanese sweet coltsfoot goes through an enormous transformation in which the little one- and two-inch flowerheads shown here are replaced by sturdy stalks of about three feet in length with giant leaves at their ends. Those leaves can grow up to four feet in width and are shaped like a colt’s hoofprint, hence the plant’s name. Here’s a Leighton Archive image of the plant’s leaves:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 15, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Flags, Animal Variety

Maine is home to two members of the deer family (the Cervidae family): moose and white-tailed deer. Also in that worldwide family there are elk, caribou, and various other species of “deer.” All family members apparently use their tails to swat flies, but only the white-tailed deer use their rear appendages to communicate significantly, according to the literature that I’ve seen.

As deer-watchers say, white-tails use their tails “to flag” messages by raising and flaring their white tails and buttocks areas. (Think of the old semaphore signaling systems of messaging with flags and other visual objects.) Researchers and hunters report a variety of messages that white-tails send by flagging, singly and as a group.

From an evolutionary standpoint, one of the more intriguing white-tail communications is the “I-see-you” message to predators, human and otherwise. This is thought to discourage pursuit by the predators who should realize that they are slower and should not waste valuable energy on a difficult, and eventually useless, chase.

There also apparently is the white-tails’ use of their highly visible raised white tails and exposed rumps as a general warning or notification to other nearby white-tails. This flagging often is accompanied by grunts, bleats, and other sounds that may make the message more comprehensive to the other deer as to what and where the threat or object of interest is.

Flagging is thought to be used for community purposes by white-tails, as well, especially by females that travel in groups. It can help them stay together when browsing or fleeing. It also can make it easier for fawns to follow moms in flight. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 7, 2025, and April 24, 2017.)

In the Right Place: Maine Mystery

“Tarrfish,” seen here, is the only fishing vessel that has been moored in Naskeag Harbor recently. The presence of that blue and white flag on her stern and the absence of her scallop-dragging equipment (mast, boom, dredge, and shelling hut) are clues as to why.

The scallop dragging season in Maine waters concluded last month. However, our scallop-diving season continues well into April. All of our local fishing vessels are exclusively scallop draggers in winter – except “Tarrfish.” David Tarr’s “Tarrfish” is both a dragging and a diving vessel. David is one of the state’s relatively few licensed scallop divers. He hand-harvests the more expensive “divers” scallops” while donned in a wetsuit and self-contained underwater breathing apparatus (“scuba” equipment).

That blue and white flag is an international diving flag, which is recognized worldwide as indicating that underwater operations are conducted from the vessel flying it. When the boat is circling in open water with the flag flying, other vessels must give way and keep clear of her. In addition to the international flag, there’s another “diver down” flag that is recognized in North America; it’s red with a white diagonal stripe, but I haven’t seen that used lately.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 11, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Tiny Royalty Department

Here you see what appears to be a golden-crowned kinglet (i.e., a small king wearing a crown) reigning over alder bush catkins.

However, perhaps this one should be dubbed a “yellow-crowned queenlet” because the bird apparently is female. (Unlike males, female GCKs have no orange in the crown.)

Orange-crowned kinglets are about four inches long and weigh less than an ounce. They’re our second-smallest birds. Only our ruby-throated hummingbirds are slightly (1/4”) smaller. The kinglets seem mostly to eat live insects when they can and insect larvae when they have to.

This kinglet may have migrated here to breed or perhaps was just resting on her way farther north, but she also may be a year-long resident. How these little unobtrusive neighbors survive our winters is one of our wonders. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 11, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Swinging, Moodwise

The moods of spring swing wildly on the Maine coast. Above, you see the view from Amen Ridge yesterday: a sun-shiny morning with a cheerful crowd of clouds in a bright blue sky over bluer waters, beyond a burnished gold field. Blelow, you’ll see the same view two days before: a snow-flurried morning with somber clouds hanging heavy in a gray sky over grayer waters, beyond a powdered white field.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 11[sun] and 9 [snow], 2025.)

In the Right Place: Noble Oddities

You can see and hear Maine’s most bizarre bird now, if you’re in the right place at the right time. Some demean the little thing and call it a “bog sucker.”

However, you’ll be able to find the fascinating truth about it in my monthly column in the current print edition of the Ellsworth American (and in the April 4, 2025, digital edition) – or right here:  To read the column, use this link: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: A Special Storm

I’d call yesterday’s spring snowstorm a perfect storm, but that characterization has taken on ironic meanings, Yesterday’s beautiful event, however, was special — one of the best snowstorms that I’ve seen in my long life — beautiful fat, moist flakes that stuck to everything for awhile and then had the good manners to melt away quickly under blue skies. I got out and about in Brooklin during its early to late morning life.

It began in earnest while most people slept. Snow danced about and a mostly-full waxing moon tried to crash the party in the wee hours of the morning:

In the dawn hours, our fields, woods, and wild flora and fauna were in a gray wonderland with snow still falling. The just-risen small iris were buried in snow (but survived) and the red and yellow skunk cabbages that produce their own heat hardly took notice as they got covered with snow and surrounded by ice. Migrating Canada geese had to stick their faces into the snow to eat.

Familiar structures look especially good on days like this, when they take on new, temporary aspects — the public library behind its huge maple guards; the Town Office in two colors due to new shakes; the cemetery markers and trees wearing white caps; contemporary and traditional homes looking neighborly, and barns and sheds containing everything from boats to human tenants.

Country roads, lanes, and driveways initially had no or few tracks, but soon cleared, while trees that bordered them seemed to enjoy the soothing, white cosmetics.

As the sun began to break through, we began to see curiosities casting shadows. Soon, the gray wonderland was a white and blue wonderland, with the white disappearing fast. Spring was returning.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 9, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Spring Fling

Here you see last night’s late moonlight trying to elbow through storm clouds as snow swirls about. By early this morning, we had about two inches of April snow on the ground, with more falling, as you see below:

In fact, it’s snowing as I write. I’ve been out a bit to catch the early delights and probably will go out a bit later to see how we fare. Stated another way: I’ll probably be posting more images of this spring fling. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 9, 2025.)

In the Right Place: TLC Time

The scallop-dragging season is over. David Tarr’s “Tarrfish” was showing the effects of her winter’s work yesterday as she was lashed to the Town Pier during low tide.

She was getting some tender loving care after having her scalloping “drag” (dredge) mast and boom removed. She’ll probably now be resting and getting prepared for the summer lobster trapping season.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 7, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Little Ways

Here are three early spring perspectives of the old red boat house in Conary Cove that we monitor visually throughout the year.

It’s a beautiful scene that has not changed significantly in many decades, yet changes continuously in little ways.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 2, 2025.)

In the Right Place: A Dying Privilege

Look closely: This is Good Government at work, a dying privilege. Here you see a meeting of politically-diverse people in Brooklin yesterday. They’re in the process of self-governing themselves under a New England form of Selectboard government. The Maine coastal Town has less than 1,000 full-time residents, with over twice that number in the summer and early fall.

This image is of the Town’s Annual Meeting where the year’s major budgetary, tax, and operational issues are decided. The decisions here will primarily be implemented and/or overseen on a day-by-day basis by a three-person Selectboard and a few Town officials. If a special need arises, a special Town Meeting will be held.

Selectboard forms of government have their roots in early 17th Century Colonial New England, where townspeople gathered at regular intervals to discuss and decide community issues, many of which involved survival. The Puritans and their meeting houses for collective religious and secular uses were especially influential in developing this form of local government, according to reports.

The meeting shown here is in the Brooklin School gymnasium, where it began with the Pledge of Allegiance. It’s being moderated by Jon Wilson, a distinguished volunteer, at the lectern in the center.

At the table to Jon’s left are the three elected and salaried “Selectmen” (male and female, chaired by a “First Selectman”). At the table to Jon’s right are two elected and salaried officials with multiple responsibilities: One is the Town Treasurer/Voting Registrar/Administrative Assistant and the other is the Town Clerk/Tax Collector, among other duties done by each.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 5, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Peak Performances

It’s time to pique your interest with a peek at a peak that we monitor here. In April, the near-mountain called Blue Hill looms somewhat grayish blue over the somewhat greenish blue waters of the Bay called Blue Hill:

The Hill finally is free of snow and the Bay free of ice. For now.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 2, 2025.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: Sticking Points

I had an encounter with a young porcupine yesterday. He didn’t see or hear me at first while he was munching on some newly-greened grass. (Sex assumed.) Porcupine eyesight is poor, but their senses of smell and hearing seem to be fairly keen. I was trying to be as quiet as possible and was lucky to be downwind when I came upon him.

I got closer and he finally sensed me. He bristled his rear quills to start the typical defensive posture.

He slowly turned away to complete the defensive posture: rear quills up and spread and turned toward the perceived threat, tail flexed to whip about like a spiked club.

I never felt threatened. Porcupines are slow thinkers and movers. In my many experiences with them, they have never attacked or even lunged aggressively. They rely on their short tails to affirmatively swipe at threats. Contrary to myth, they do not “shoot” out quills like darts. You’re usually safe if you don’t try to touch them and stay out of tail range.

Whether porcupines have outlived any positive evolutionary role is another story. We seem not to have enough fishers to keep the numbers of these tree- (and dog-) harming quilled cuties down. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 5, 2025.)

In the Right Place: April Showers Watch

Here you see yesterday’s light rain helping to keep our vernal pools vibrant for the newly-wriggling lives and emerging flora there. Below, you’ll see two skunk cabbage spathes of the unusual yellow variety that have emerged recently in the bogs and seem to like the wet neighborhood:

We need that rain and more. Yesterday’s U.S. Drought Monitor showed that virtually the entire Maine coast and more than half the state have been classified as in moderate drought or abnormally dry. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 3, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Acceptance

Here you see the first light of yesterday reaching a white-tailed deer in the north field. She’s unaware that I’m admiring her calm acceptance of a difficult life that she didn’t choose.

It’s below freezing, but only by a little, and she’s been content to groom herself while awaiting the elemental pleasure of the sun’s warmth:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 2, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Not Draining the Swamp

Speckled alders, the wetland bushes and small trees, often are under-valued. Here you see the male catkins hanging from a leafless speckled alder yesterday:

These flower holders are full of pollen now and soon will fertilize the pine-cone-shaped female catkins on the same bush and nearby:

Speckled alders are good looking plant life, in my opinion. More important, their thickets provide cover and browsing for moose, white-tailed deer, rabbits, muskrats, beavers and other animals.  Songbirds, including black-capped chickadees, pine siskins, redpolls, goldfinches, woodcock, and grouse eat their seeds, buds, and catkins and many small birds nest in the shrubs.

Although their wood is not considered good enough for human buildings, beavers build dams and lodges with speckled alder. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 1, 2025.)

March Postcards From Down East Maine

March often is bedraggled here. She has nearly impossible responsibilities to fulfill and never enough time to fix herself up. Primarily, she has to eject winter, who often is an aggressive tenant that requires several efforts, and then she has to provide more light and give birth to spring, who always is a problem child. It’s no wonder that poor March often is in a fog. However, as you’ll see, March has a way with fog.

But first, as usual, we’ll wish that you were here with the four iconic scenes that we keep monthly visual track of. This month, you’ll see a panorama of March weather — Blue Hill and Blue Hill Bay with snow and sea ice; the mountains on Mount Desert Island over a mainland field of melting snow, the old red boat house enjoying the full sun, and Naskeag Harbor in rainy fog:

As mentioned, March is good at coastal fog; here are a few of her misty masterpieces:

We had quite a few snow flurries during the month, but most of them merely covered the landscape in a thin purification blanket. Of course, some purification, when combined with plowing, can lead to potholes that need to be filled.

Part of March’s spring birthing duties include providing enough rain to create vernal pools for the rising of aquatic and amphibian creatures and plant life. She performed these duties well this year.

It was not all gloom this March. We had some spectacularly lovely days of eye-squinting sun and blue porcelain skies that often were invigorated with racing clouds.

March flora is of the earliest kind, the cold-resistant pilgrims of the plant world: pussy willow, which wears fur catkin mittens, and skunk cabbage, which provides jester-hatted spathes to protect its flowers. This year, we again have had a few of the uncommon yellow skunk cabbage spathes.

On the furred fauna front, our generation of white-tailed deer yearlings seemed to survive the winter well and emerge in March with their coats almost unblemished.

As for feathered fauna, we’ve had wave after wave of Canada geese honking overhead and stopping for snacks. Some will remain here to breed; some will continue into Canada, if the reciprocal tariff is not too high. Less obvious are the small birds that come to pick holly berries, such as cedar waxwings.

For fauna of the wiggly variety, the glass eel (aka elver) season opened in March with a variety of nets being spread at stream mouths to catch the immature American eels as they migrate up to fresh water ponds. There also was the occasional early-rising garter snake skedaddling across trails.

On the waterfront, the scallop-dragging season ended in March for vessels that dredged Maine’s jurisdictional waters for the tasty mollusks. (Scallop SCUBA diving season ends in April.) Soon, the masts, booms, and shelling huts of these vessels will be taken down and they will spend the summer trapping lobsters.

Meanwhile, recreational craft and their gear continue to hang around waiting for their time or causing traffic jams when being taken to the boatyard for summer preps.

Of course, there always are “signs of the times.” This March, some were nationally and internationally political, some advertised gift shops:

Finally, perhaps March’s most stellar event was to perform a complete full moon eclipse for us (merged images):

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during March of 2025.)