In the Right Place: Maine Lullaby

Here’s a June record image of the iconic old red boat house that we monitor in all seasons. The image could be the backdrop for Clara to sing her lullaby to her child in a Maine version of Gershwin’s “Porgy and Bess” -- “Summertime and the living is easy….”

An oak tree’s leaves and shadows frame your view horizontally. You can glimpse the Cove’s northeast passage to the beautiful sailing waters of Blue Hill Bay where – maybe – “the fish are jumpin’ and the sailing is dry.”. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on June 14, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Name Game Department

Here’s “Jack” conducting Sunday services in his Church of the Holy Bog. Yes, this is the Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant that usually is difficult to find due to its wet and shady habitat and competing “churchgoers.” The plant (Arisaema triphyllum) is native here and toxic in the raw state to humans.

The literature is unanimous that this plant was given the common name Jack-In-the-Pulpit because – to whomever named it – it looked like a preacher in a covered and striped pulpit who is further covered by a three-leaflet flower structure. It takes a lot of imagination to see that, but there remains a mystery: Why is the preacher named Jack? Why not just call the plant “Preacher [or Priest] in the Pulpit?”

The best answer that I’ve seen is that there was an old English custom of calling unknown males “Jack.” There also was the age-old toy named Jack-in-the-Box that might have reflected that colloquialism. Nonetheless, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit descriptor is more interesting than a technical one, which would be “Spadix-in-the-Spathe.” Botanically, the spadix is the flowering stemlike growth and the spathe is its hooded protective leaf. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 15, 2025.)

In the Right Place: A Hare-Raising Tale

This youngster is not a rabbit. He’s a snowshoe hare at the shadowed edge of the woods, where he sometimes ventures out and nods off under the warm sun:

He’s got a lot to learn about hiding and he doesn’t have much time to do it. He probably won’t learn quickly enough, as you’ll see below.

Although related, hares are usually larger and faster than rabbits, with bigger feet (especially rear feet), longer ears, and longer legs. Unlike rabbits, which are born blind, naked, and helpless, hares are born with working eyes, fur, and can already hop a bit virtually immediately. Unlike that of rabbits, the fur of snowshoe hares also changes to white in winter to provide camouflage in snow.

However, both hares and rabbits have high mortality rates. Both hoppers are targets for just about every larger carnivore that has a beak, fangs, or bullets, including larger owls and hawks, large domestic cats, bobcats, lynx, dogs, coyotes, foxes, weasels, mink, fisher, marten, and human hunters in season (fall>spring).

Maine wildlife officials estimate the mortality rates of snowshoe hares in New England at 75 to 95 percent for juveniles such as this one, while the surviving adults’ mortality is thought to range from 66 to 81 percent. Stated another way: Hares usually don’t live much more than a year here and it is believed that rabbits have similar, if not worse, chances.

Nonetheless, although they are in decline here due to predation and habitat loss, hares still are considered to be abundant due to their high birth rates, while our native cottontail rabbits are listed as Endangered in Maine. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 11, 2025. Sex assumed.)

In the Right Place: Yellow Is for Caution

Wild Yellow Flag Irises such as this are unfurling around our pond now, which gives us mixed feelings. These beautiful plants (Iris pseudacorus) are listed as “Severely Invasive” in Maine and many other jurisdictions due to their aggressive displacement of native plants. All parts of these plants also are poisonous to humans and other animals. Yet, they and their bladed leaves are exotically attractive.

Yellow Flag has many other common names, including these: Daggers, European Yellow Iris, False Acorus, Flagon, Fleur-de-lis, Jacob's Sword, Pale Yellow Iris, Water Flag, Water Iris, Water Skegs, and Yellow Iris. It thrives in wetlands, along shorelines, and in shallow water, preferring full sun and boggy conditions:

If you want to remove small colonies of them, Maine officials recommend digging them out and discarding them in the trash while using gloves. (The leaves are sharp and the sap can irritate skin.) A combination of mechanical and chemical treatment also is recommended online by Maine officials, especially for large colonies. But remember that special rules apply in Maine to herbicide use in or near wetlands and water bodies.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 9, 11, and 13, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Better Than Being Bugged

Many of our white-tailed deer are magnificent now. Their tawny summer coats glisten with newness, their muscles ripple with potential speed, and they roam their domain with grace and majesty. They also are spirited. For example, they never walk around our double field wall if they have a chance to leap over it:

Of course, there are too many of them here – almost a horde instead of almost a herd – and they do damage farms and gardens and cause traffic accidents. However, that’s a different story that need not be addressed now. Now, I’m just thinking that our white-tails are much more pleasing to watch on a fine summer morning than locusts. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 11,2025.)

In the Right Place: Why Did the Chrysemys Cross the Road?

Painted turtles such as this one are among the shyest of wildlife, yet they often are dangerously courageous. This image appears with my monthly column in the current edition of the Ellsworth American. The column is about the fascinating lives of painted turtles (Chrysemys picta).  To read the column, use this link: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Flag Days

Native wild blue flag iris are up and waving. (So are the nonnative wild yellow flag iris, which will be the subject of a future post.)

The wild blue (Iris versicolor) also is called the harlequin blue flag, northern blue flag, northern iris, and poison iris. They appear more frequently in the northeastern states. Blue flags grow and fly on pole-like stems in small colonies in fields, especially those where they can get their “feet” wet:

Those blue flag feet are plant stems (rhizomes) that are systems of roots and shoots, which have been implicated in the poisoning of humans and other animals, especially calves. The plant’s sap also reportedly has been a problem for people who are susceptible to dermatitis.

However, there are reports of blue flag rhizomes being used by some Native Americans in small amounts to treat liver and kidney problems, burns, wounds, and swellings.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 9 and 11, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Working Waterfront Report

I hear that local Captains are getting their lobster traps and vessels ready to start the coastal trapping season later this month or in early July. Here you see “Captain Morgan” with some of her scalloping gear that will have to be detached and a lot of paraphernalia on deck. “Judith Ann” apparently is all cleaned up and ready to go:

These images reflect two interesting aspects of coastal seafaring. First, note how tidy everything is on board “Morgan.” Some would call that being “ship-shape,” part of an old saying that reflects the nautical need to keep things in good order at sea for safety and economic reasons. In days of yore, it was a complement to people of any vocation to be told that their workplace was "ship-shape and Bristol fashion." (The English port of Bristol was famous for its very efficient shipbuilding and cargo handling.)

Second, notice how relatively small these vessels’ steering wheels are compared to those used many years ago or even today on large sailboats. Smaller wheels require less room at the helm and often provide more visibility and more reactive steering for quicker turns. Modern hydraulic and power steering systems reduce the need for muscular efforts to turn the wheel or keep it steady, making the physical leverage offered by a larger wheel less important. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 8, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Golden Globe Reward

Here you see the visually full moon as massive clouds swirl in the sky at a little after 1 a.m. today. The slightly golden or reddish hue is caused by the orb’s unusually low position as viewed through our atmosphere. Gaps in the clouds allowed a clear sight of the golden globe this morning:

The June 2025 full moon technically will occur (be at its fullest) after most sane people go to bed here tonight (3:44 a.m. June 11, to be precise). It is the lowest full moon that we’ve experienced since 2006 due to a “lunar standstill,” which is a complex phenomenon involving views of the moon’s tilted orbit relative to the celestial equator.

The June full moon traditionally is called the Strawberry Moon because it coincided with the Algonquin strawberry harvest season in the northeastern United States. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, June 10, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Almost Time to Howl

Our wild lupines are nearing peak, when their pea-like flowers will have fully crested the plants’ mountainish flowerhead:

The perennial wild plant’s scientific name is Lupinus perennis. Lupinus means “of the wolf,” an indication that the lovely plants tend to run in packs that ravage the areas where they grow. They’re also known as quaker bonnets and bluebonnets for those who want to be sedate.

Lupins are members of the legume/pea family, as their flowers indicate. However, they also have large, spectacular radiating leaves at the end of long stalks. The leaflets and stems initially are hairy and can become smooth with age.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 8, 2025.)

In the Right Place: How Dry I Am – Not

Here you see cascades of freshwater flowing from Patten Stream into salty Patten Bay at low tide yesterday. Sprinkling light rain is bringing out a damp lushness to the surrounding green leaves and orangey rockweed and rock lichens there. However, within minutes, everything turned much darker, and a monsoon-like shower strafed the area, drenching Yours Truly:

But all was well. Here in Down East Maine, we’ve recovered from last year’s moderate drought and abnormally dry conditions. Only a small area in the southeast part of the state remains abnormally dry as of last week’s report. A little drenching now and then is better than wells going dry now and then. (Images taken in Surry, Maine, on June 7, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Thanks a Bunch

As you see, the bunchberries have been collecting at a rate that soon will make them into “multitudeberries.” The plant’s scientific name reflects its abundance north of us, Cornus canadensus, but it’s also commonly called dwarf dogwood, rabbit berry, and pudding berry. It’s early summer flowers boost the species chances of survival by spraying pollen out when insects land on them.

The plant, itself, is a unique organism, not a shrub or tree. The pectin-rich red berries that will replace the flowers later in summer can be eaten by humans raw or cooked and are often made into puddings, jellies and sauces. Birds, bears, deer, hares and rabbits are known to snack on the berries when they come. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 4 and 6, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Distinctive

Here you see the windjammer “Angelique” tucked into Great Cove as her passengers were awakening to a hazy day yesterday. Her passengers visited the renowned WoodenBoat School there. She’s still on a six-night cruise that includes exploration of nearby Acadia National Park. Here she is a bit later when her passengers were returning from WBS and helping to raise the longboats and sails:

“Angelique” is a 130-footer out of Camden, Maine, that was launched in 1980. Although all the coastal cruisers have their distinct characteristics, she is perhaps the most distinctive. She’s the only gaff-rigged ketch (primarily meaning, mainmast forward) in the Maine fleet, which is mostly schooner-rigged (primarily, mainmast aft).

She also is the only one with “tanbark”-colored sails. In days of yore when sails were cotton, they were dipped in vats of tannic acid, tallow, and red ocher, which turned them reddish and protected against mildew. (In yesterday’s haze, sun, and shade, they sometimes appeared brick- red, then burgundy-purple, and even black.)

Her original owner and designer revealed two secrets about “Angelique” in an interview: First, although it is true that the vessel was named after a long-limbed beauty, those limbs weren’t female legs. She was named after one of the purple/brown hardwoods imported from French Guiana and Suriname that are used in boat and ship construction: “Angelique wood” (Dicornya quianensis). There is some in “Angelique’s” cabin. A significant irony here is that the vessel has a steel compartmentalized hull.

Second, although she resembles a 19th Century North Atlantic fishing trawler, her design was inspired by early pilot sailboats and early large sailing yachts. She was designed specifically for passenger traffic, not for fishing or commercial hauling along the coast.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 5, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Coughing It Up

Horse chestnut tree candles are now blooming and attracting many pollinators. The trees are not true chestnut trees and they’re not native. They originally came to North America from Greece and Albania. But they are attractive and their compound leaves are unique palmate formations:

These trees reportedly live up to 300 years, but their “buckeye” nuts are inedible to humans. In days of yore, however, those nuts were fed to horses to treat coughs and congestion, which is why many researchers think that the tree is called a horse chestnut tree. Or, is that horsechest nut tree? (Images taken in Brookin, Maine on June 3, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Good Vibrations

It seems appropriate for American bumblebees to play their kind of music on this bugleweed (ajuga). Unlike other insects, bumblebees perform “buzz pollinations” – they grab the flower anther with their jaws (mandibles) and buzz by vibrating at the right frequency until the pollen floats free.

They probably play mostly “Taps” on these bugles because the typical pollinating bumble bee reportedly lives only about a month, while their queens live much longer to start next year’s colony, usually underground. They’re good pollinators, but (unlike honeybees) they don’t produce and store honey.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 3, 2025.) Apologies to the Beach Boys, creators of the hit ‘60’s song “Good Vibrations,” which had nothing to do with insects.

In the Right Place: Idle (But Colorful) Thoughts

It’s hard to tell whether the purple lilacs or orange azaleas are more outrageous this year. These are complementary colors on the color wheel, meaning that they’re opposites that can create interesting vibrance or jarring contrast together, depending on the beholder.

Case in point: the Clemson Tigers’ purple and orange uniforms; some say they’re awesomely impressive, others say they’re intended to make opponents throw up. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine on June 2, 2025.)

In the Right Place: The Honor of Being First

Here you see the schooner “Mary Day” in Great Cove very early yesterday before her passengers awakened and before it rained. The chilling rains came, the winds didn’t, and “Mary” departed the Cove with only her two mainsails up and a push from her yawl boat. She has no internal engine.

The “Mary Day” is 125 feet overall and hails from Camden, Maine. She was built in 1962 and is a regular visitor to the renowned WoodenBoat School in Great Cove. She may have been on a private charter yesterday; her official schedule shows her beginning trips on June 8. She has the honor of being the first windjammer to visit the Cove this summer.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 1, 2025.)

May Postcards From Down East Maine

May, true summer’s appetizer, was a little wetter and foggier than usual here on the coast this year. But she still managed to be her usual gorgeous and generous self: bringing us lush green grasses and leaves, coaxing out colorful buds and petals, and soothing us with warm days.

As usual, we begin our “wishing you were here” Postcards with the four iconic scenes that we monitor to record seasonal changes — the mountains breaching from Mount Desert Island; the island house peering down at Brooklin’s Naskeag Harbor; the “Blues” of the near-mountain called Blue Hill above the Town of Blue Hill, as seen across Blue Hill Bay, and the old red boathouse in Blue Hill’s Conary Cove:

Our woods and waters appeared to rejoice in their spring-to-summer passage through sun, rain, and fog:

As usual, May was a very active time for our fauna. Our fur-wearers of most interest included a young white-tailed deer buck who seemed sad for recently losing his first set of antlers, a cottontail rabbit that tried to burgle our house, a North American river otter who was tuckered out from impregnating as many females of his kind that he could find, and a pregnant doe sleeping late as the early morning sun rose:

As for feather bearers, the big drama in May was the repeated attacks by a young rogue male osprey on the nesting pair of ospreys that we monitor every year, a mature couple whom we’ve named Ozzie and Harriet. The jealous youngster who invaded the nest (and tried to do so to Harriet) was nearly killed by Ozzie, who repeatedly chased the invader off, after ripping out most of the youngster’s tail feathers and gashing him in the chest. Afterward, Ozzie and Harriet sat together in silent vigilance.

More patient males visiting the neighborhood included red-winged blackbirds who staked out territories and magnolia and other warblers who were deciding whether to stay or continue north. A great blue heron established a home base near one of our ponds; mallard drakes tried to attract mates by showing off their iridescence, and some bufflehead ducks that overwintered here decided to stay awhile.

Tri-colored bumblebees and other pollinators were very busy tending to all the new blossoms and black-capped chickadees — Maine’s state birds — complained about all newcomers:

As for our most ardent sun worshippers, painted turtles and bull frogs emerged from their murky winter quarters to enjoy the beginnings of the year’s warming radiance:

Of course, May is perhaps best known for its spectacular flora. In terms of trees and large bushes., the earliest bloomers were the subtly-hued shadblow trees with their burnished copper leaves and delicate white flowers:

Next on the color spectrum might be the gnarly old apple trees with their articulated branches and pink-cheeked buds and blossoms:

The color intensified in the plum trees, with their pink blossoms and reddish leaves, as well as in the crabapple trees with their thickly-studded branches of reds, pinks, and purples:

More subtle, yet still striking, were the less common yellow magnolia and white star magnolia flowers:

Of course, trees can be startling for reasons other than their colorful blossoms. Speciman trees such as the Camperdown elm in the Brooklin Cemetery and the weeping beech at Amen Farm leafed out fully in May:

While the yellows of forsythia flowers dropped to the ground before the end of May, the purples and whites of lilacs were emerging:

Similarly, the yellows of daffodils withered away, while the yellows of dandelions swept in:

In the sunny fields and dark woods, the bold, radiant leaves of lupine plants spread, while the delicate petals of the little star flowers searched for light:

In the bogs, the shy wild azalea known as rhodora made a modest appearance in purple while ferns and skunk cabbage boldly emerged:

In the gardens, begonias blossomed and allium buds were about to burst into flower:

The waterfront is an important area recreationally and commercially here, and much of it needs to be prepared in May for true summer’s activities. Docking floats need to be reinstalled at the ends of piers, mooring gear needs to be cleaned and returned to the depths, and boats need to be prepared and returned to where they belong.

On the commercial waterfront, May is a hiatus between scallop fishing and lobster fishing in coastal waters. Some vessels won’t take down their scallop-dredging masts and booms until June, when lobstering starts in earnest.

Finally, we consider the May full moon, traditionally named the Flower Moon for obvious reasons. This year, it was a “micromoon” — it’s orbit took it very far from us. But she still drew our tides to her and shone on trees that flowered in the darkness:

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

In the Right Place: It Isn’t Easy ID-ing Greens

This seemingly happy little guy is my first frog of the year. Initially, I thought he was a green frog. But then I noticed that he had no ridges (no “dorso-lateral folds”) running all the way down his back from directly behind his eyes, the way green frogs do. His folds just curved behind his eyes and down around his big ear (around his “tympanum”).

I now think that he may be a young American bullfrog. The ears of male bullfrogs are larger than their eyes, while those of females are equal to their eye sizes.

If and when he becomes a full-sized bullfrog, he’ll have no problem identifying green frogs – as meals. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on May 28, 2025.) Apologies to Kermit.

In the Right Place: Slightly Wild

The lilac blossoms are starting to reach their prime here, both in pebbly beauty and intense fragrance. They’re an old-fashioned and long-lived plant, especially loved by those who like their beauty erupting in slightly wild crowds.

George Washington and Thomas Jefferson reportedly were lilac fans. (Images taken in Brooklin. Maine, on May 28, 2025.)