In the Right Place: A Matter of Life and Death

Here you see a vibrant young female monarch butterfly sipping nectar this week from a bull thistle. She may be part of the migrating generation here that soon will attempt to fly thousands of miles to Monarchland in Mexico. Below, you’ll see a worn out, dying male monarch on desiccated yarrow flowerheads. He was born here and will die here as one of the interim generations; his progeny may be part of the migrating generation.

According to the literature, most adult monarchs, born in the spring and summer here, live for about two to five weeks. However, the final generation, born in late summer, are the long-distance migrants and apparently can live for up to eight or nine months to complete their journey to their overwintering sites. It’s an amazing cycle that I don’t think has been fully understood yet.

This summer, I’ve seen many monarchs, especially males. But, I’ve seen very few monarch caterpillars compared to prior years. Both common (wild) milkweed and cultured milkweeds were in abundance and ready for those little striped butterfly larvae to chew their toxic leaves to shreds and grow into regal butterflies. Here’s a fritiillary on Asclepias tuberosa, a cultured milkweed also known as butterfly weed:

Maybe it’s just me not being in the right place at the right time. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 27 (male) and 28 (female), 2025.)

In the Right Place: Born Again

I was pleased to see one of my favorite vessels in repose in Great Cove yesterday morning. The yacht GRAYLING is a slim, sleek, mysterious-looking beauty with a rough past and a born-again life now. Her success is due in significant part to two of Brooklin’s finest, according to what I’ve read and heard.

GRAYLING was built in 1915 in East Booth Bay, Maine, as a double-ender to net mackerel and herring off the coast there. She did that grueling work for five years. When canned sardines became popular, she was sold to a high-volume commercial fishing operation up on Maine’s northeast coast and was demoted to the tedious, non-fishing job of sardine carrier; she’d pick up sardines from smaller fishing boats and truck them to a cannery. Back and forth; back and forth.

Then the sardine industry in Maine went bust and GRAYLING languished and deteriorated in the 1980s. By the 1990’s, she apparently was almost a wreck up for sale. The simple version of a complicated story is that she caught the eye of Brooklin’s Maynard Bray, a maritime engineer and marine historian. He and Brooklin boatbuilder and designer Doug Hylan thought that she would make a great yacht for someone who wanted a vessel with plenty of character.

They eventually helped convince Ted Okie to buy the boat and have it thoroughly restored and appropriately modified by Hylan and others at Brooklin’s Benjamin River Marine boatyard. It would give pleasure to guests instead of trucking sardines – and those guests would not be packed tightly together.

She was relaunched in 1997 here as the beautiful motorized ketch that you see here, almost 65 feet long overall, with only a 12 ½ -foot beam (widest part). She eventually was resold and now reportedly is owned by Michael Glasfield of Mystic, Connecticut, where she home-ports in nearby Noank at the mouth of the Mystic River.

By the way, a grayling is a fish found in cold, freshwater; it has a distinctive, large red dorsal fin (especially males) and pewter colored scales. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 29, 2024.) See also the image in the Comment space.

In the Right Place: Mystical Growths Department

American mountain ash trees here are now bursting with berries, harbingers of an early fall. This native tree (Sorbus American) is sometimes called a rowan tree due to early colonizers confusing it with a similar European tree in the Sorbus family (Sorbus aucuparia). Thus, it’s best called it an American rowan, if that term is used.

It’s also called by some, especially our Canadian neighbors, a dogberry tree. There are two vastly different reported theories as to why they’re called that: either because the tree’s berries “are not fit for a dog” or because the name is a corruption of “dag,” meaning dagger. The tree’s hard wood was used to make daggers, as well as mystical charms and divining rods.

In Wales, the tree reportedly is called "criafol" ("the lamenting fruit tree"), apparently due to an ancient belief that its wood was used to form the cross of Christ. In fact, the trees have been associated with numerous myths in Europe and among our early colonizers, many of whom planted them near their homes to ward of witches and other evil spirits.

Despite their reputation, the tree’s berries are eaten by always-needy wildlife and have been consumed by humans for many years in the form of jams, jellies, and fermented alcoholic beverages such as mead and cordials. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 27, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Nothing’s Ever Perfect

Yesterday was what historically would be considered to be a perfect summer’s day – temperatures in the tingly 60s, breezy, and a big blue sky decorated by squirts of whipped creamy cumulous clouds. Here you see the clouds scudding over Mount Desert Island:

Here’s the view down Back Road with its woods and fields (this field already “fall-mowed”):

But all is not right in Vacationland. We need gray veils of nimbostratus clouds and their continuous, saturating rains, or maybe even the thunderheads of cumulonimbus clouds that produce significant storms. Given the dry state of our ground, however, I’d prefer several days of slow, steady rain. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 27, 2025.)

In the Right Place: No Butts About It

A few flowers remain on our Rosa rugosa bushes, as you see, while the plants’ rose hips are now flourishing. The preferred pronunciation of the plant’s scientific name is “ROW-sa RUE-go-sa.“ Rosa, derives from the Latin for rose and rugosa, means wrinkled, referring to the plants’ leaves. It has many common names, including Beach Rose, Beach Tomato, Sea or Seaside Tomato, Shrub Rose. Wild Rose, Rugosa Rose, and Japanese Rose.

These plants were imported from Asia to retard erosion along our seashores, which they are good at. Unfortunately, they didn’t understand that they were supposed to stay on selected beach edges and they negatively impacted important dunes, birds’ nests and turtle egg laying, while also invading inland and creating unwanted thickets that have to be removed by bulldozers. They’re listed as invasive plants of special concern in Maine and sales of them are banned here.

Nonetheless, they’re here in abundance and their hips are an excellent source of vitamin C and other antioxidants. These seed pods can be used to make jams, jellies, syrups, and other products. Rose hips reportedly were used in World War II, when citrus fruits became scarce in England, to prevent scurvy, especially in children.

By the way, the use of word “hips” to describe rose seed pods is not because early biologists thought that these objects looked like the rear view of big-butted people. Historians think that the word likely is derived from the Old English word “hiope,” meaning the seed pod of a wild rose. Which is what they are, no butts about it. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 25, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Turkey Tabulating

Maine is now participating in a wild turkey survey being conducted in many states in which the birds reside and are hunted. The idea is to help state biologists understand better annual turkey reproduction, which contributes to better wildlife management. They want to know how many male Toms, female Janes, and young poults you see during August of 2025. A link is below.

We’ve been seeing a fair number of groups of mom and aunt turkeys  shepherding their collected poults on the trails and in the fields, not to mention crossing roads and creating traffic hazards.

One trick for you bird photographers to play on the older females when they see you and herd their poults into the high field grasses and hunker down unseeable: Step into the area where they had entered the fields and silently wait with camera poised. Soon the jowly head of the leader of the pack will slowly rise like a periscope in enemy waters and swivel around. Click!

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 22, 2025.) To participate in the Maine Wild Turkey Survey, use this link:

https://survey123.arcgis.com/share/3fbc73751cea40618e305faf01c05abe

In the Right Place: Look But Don’t Touch

The tides here recently seem to be stronger and higher than usual, perhaps the insidious work of the late hurricane Erin. The fast waters have been tossing the sea lavender in Great Cove’s intertidal zone around like trees in a hurricane. Once the plants are submerged, however, they bejewel the bottom in the clear water:

Sea lavender, (Limonium carolinianum) is unusual in that it has evolved glands in its leaves to excrete excess salt, allowing it to survive in saltwater. It’s not in the true lavender family, but it does have delicate lavender-blue flowers that attract pollinaters (when above the water) and people (when around the water). That’s part of its problem.

Sea lavender, a Maine native, can be made into beautiful dry decorative arrangements that need no care. The public collects it and many shops sell it. But it’s a plant that takes a long time to mature and its collection for home decoration has threatened it. The state has listed it among the plants to “Leave Growing – Do Not Disturb”. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 23, 2025.)

In the Right Place: A Dry Run

Our ponds are shrinking, our streams are drying out, our bushes and grasses are browning, and our woods are fire hazards. A continuing lack of rainfall has brought “Severe Drought” to Down East Maine and no significant relief is in sight, according to the latest U.S. Drought Monitor:

Yet, recent days here on the coast have been beautifully clear and relatively cool – a vulnerable paradise. Last week, however, temperatures throughout Maine were above normal, with Caribou (in the northeastern corner of the state) reportedly suffering multiple 90-degree days. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine on August 22, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Darkened Days

One of the magic tricks that August does here every now and then is to briefly and unexpectedly pull the clouds over the sun on a breathless day and create eclipse-like light. The waters become like reflective black ice and the spruce and balsam fir trees along the shore become dark shadows.

Here you see such a dramatic moment happening in Naskeag Harbor on Wednesday afternoon. What made it extra-special was a small, white catboat slowly and soundlessly entering and leaving the still, dark scene -- gliding smoothly about as fast as the second hand on a clock.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 20, 2025.) Anticipating Questions: My guess is that the boat is a 14-foot fiberglass Handy Cat (“HC”), a Merle Hallett design.

In the Right Place: That’s One Hill of a Mountain

Here, in the distance, you can see the south face of what was originally and officially designated “Blue Hill” by the area’s European settlers.  It’s the 934-foot-high landform that inspired the names of the Town of Blue Hill and Blue Hill Bay below it, as well as the whole Blue Hill Peninsula on which it looms.

Until the 1970’s, the official geological consensus reportedly was that a landform had to be over 1000 feet high to be considered a “mountain” rather than a “hill.” But there apparently no longer is such a height criterion or any official classifying agency. Apparently, local traditions and perceptions are now the criteria by which area residents are to decide whether a high landform is a hill or mountain.

Consequently, there has been a slightly confusing compromise here on the Blue Hill Peninsula by some people who promote the area. They have identified the high landform that you see here as “Blue Hill Mountain” in their descriptions and maps. That seems to me to be self-contradictory. (It’s a bit like calling your blue water-going vessel a “blue boat ship” or your son “a boy man.”)

The Native Americans who originally lived in the area reportedly called this high, sometimes bluish landform “Awanadjo,” which we’re told means “small, misty mountain.” Now, they knew how to make a mountain out of a blue hill! (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on August 16, 2025.)

In the Right Place: The Ouch Flower

Queen Anne’s lace is invading the browning fields as high summer starts to show signs of early fall. Individual flowers often look like celestial galaxies:

The usual fields of flowers, however, often look like the parachute drop behind Normandy beaches in World War II:

The plant’s scientific name, Daucus carota, hints at one of three other interesting common names for QAL. The first is “wild carrot” because it’s related to the domestic vegetable. The second is “bird’s nest flower” because its flowerhead stems sweep upward when growing out and look like a nest. And third, “bishop’s lace,” apparently because of its resemblance to the lace often worn (at least ages ago) by bishops performing religious rites.

But Queen Anne’s lace is its most popular name, a reference to the wife of King James I, who unified England and Scotland and has a Bible named after him instead of a flower. His pitiable wife Anne died in 1619 after having had at least 17 pregnancies in as many years and only one surviving child, according to the texts.

The various legends as to why this flower was named after Anne include the Queen usually wearing a lace headdress and her love of sewing lace. The most famous legend follows from the white flowers sometimes having a small red or purple floret at their center to attract pollinators. That spot is said to represent a drop of Anne’s blood that fell when she pricked her finger with a needle while sewing fine lace. I like to think that she shouted a very unroyal “Ouch!”

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 18 and 19, 2025.)

In the Right Place: FVs at Rest

The coastal lobster season is in full swing during August and prices to the fishermen reportedly are at comfortable levels now. But Sunday usually is a day of rest for the hard-working crews and fishing vessels.

On a recent Sunday, I took “portraits” of all eight of the FVs in Naskeag Harbor as they rested on reflective waters and basked in the beautiful golden light of near-sundown. One of the reasons that lobster boats are fascinating to some of us is that, unlike trucks, they come in an almost infinite number of sizes and personalities, perhaps in part reflecting their owners’ ways and means. Here are the differing eight:

Captain Morgan

Dear Abbie:

Dream On

Judith Ann

Knotty Problem

Meghan Dee

Poor Beagle

Tarrfish

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 10, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Iconic

Here you see the old red boat house watching the still-incoming high tide turning green as it rolls slowly into Conary Cove on a recent sunny August day. A slight breeze that gently strokes the leaves seems to create a repeated whisper: “High Summer in Down East Maine.” Iconic.

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on August 12, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XVII

GRACE BAILEY snuck into Great Cove last week and decided to overnight as part of an eclectic quartet. The scene looked like a model collection of contrasting 19th and 20th Century vessels:

Clockwise at about 9 o’clock in this image you see a very tall-masted cruiser with the hull name SIRENA BELLA (“beautiful mermaid,” I guess), but no listed home port that I could see. (She looks to me like the old Ted Hood PATIENCE.)

At about 12 o’clock, there’s GRACE dominating the scene, a 118-foot schooner built in 1882 and now hailing from Camden, Maine. Her schedule says that she was on a “Six-Night Adventure,” which apparently included sleeping with strangers.

At about 3 o’clock, there’s one of the WoodenBoat School’s fleet of small sailing classrooms; this one looks to be a Caladonia’ Yawl with its aft mast down.

And, at about six o’clock, in the foreground, is a sleek little Brooklin, Maine, runabout/sport boat named RIVER BIRD, owned by Jon Wilson, founder of WoodenBoat. She reportedly is a recrafted Chris-Craft.

At mid-day Thursday, GRACE raised sails in a light wind and slowly paraded past a WBS “parking lot” to create another contrasting scene before she departed the Cove:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 14, 2025.)

In the Right Place: A Royal Birth

Here you see a happy occasion at our house: the joyful “birth” of the first little bloom on a pair of clematis plants that Barbara put in this summer at the base of a deck trellis. They were treated with plenty of TLC in the hope that they would “take,” which they have done . Here’s an enhanced image:

The new raspberry-sherbet-colored clematises were put on either side of a well-established blue clematis that climbs full and tall every year. They replaced climbing roses that, sadly, could not survive the vicissitudes of Maine weather and/or that location.

The plant reportedly was named after the Greek word "klematis" (or klēmatis) which means "climbing plant" or "vine." Depending on location, clematises are known as either the “kings” or “queens” of vines due to their fast-climbing ability and great variety of colors. They have a relatively long flowering period that is helpful to hungry pollinators and admiring people.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 14, 2025.)

In the Right Place: On Viewing Dragons

This 12-spotted dragonfly appears in my monthly column in the current edition of the Ellsworth American. To read the column about the evolution of dragonflies from prehistoric monsters, to mythical devils, to models for drones, use this link: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XVI

Here you see the 130-foot ketch ANGELIQUE in Great Cove Monday, where she overnighted. In this image, she’s just weighed anchor and is wheeling around to sail north (to your right) into Eggemoggin Reach, but there was a problem.

There was virtually no wind and it took ANGELIQUE more than half an hour for her massive sails to pick up the occasional whiffs and drift out of the Cove. Even the small WoodenBoat School sailboats had to be paddled back to their moorings due to lack of wind:

ANGELIQUE was launched in 1980 as a tourist cruiser and home ports in Camden, Maine. This was her fifth visit to the Cove this season, as far as I’ve seen. She was on a five-night Perseids Meteor Showers cruise during which, her schedule said, she would “Anchor in dark harbors and [passengers would] sit on the fantail to enjoy the celestial show….”

As many of you know, in this context, a fantail is not a pigeon; it’s an overhanging, fan-shaped part of the stern that some vessels have. The term reportedly was adopted in American English for certain maritime vessels during the 1800s, especially warships, ocean liners, and larger yachts.   (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 11, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Tale of a Tiger

Exotic tiger lily flowers have been appearing here for several days now. The literature states that they received their name because of their orange color with dark spots.

I’ve never seen a spotted tiger, but being half correct isn’t that bad when it comes to flower names. Their scientific name, Lilium lancifolium, is spot on (so to speak): it literally means "lily with lance-shaped leaves."

Tiger lilies originated in Asia, but are now cultivated around the world and have naturalized themselves in some areas. Unlike most flowering plants, they rely on bulb-like growths instead of seeds to reproduce themselves. These dark “bulbils” grow in leaf axils until ready to drop off and start a new plant.

The flowers are edible to humans, but reportedly are “toxic to cats.” I wonder if that includes tigers? (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 8, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XV

Here you see the schooner AMERICAN EAGLE departing Great Cove on Sunday after overnighting there for the third time this coastal cruising season that I’ve seen. She was on a multi-day “Yoga & Sailing” cruise with “guided yoga and mindfullness sessions in mornings or evenings,” according to her schedule.

In 1930, when she was launched in Gloucester, Massachusetts, there probably were few people on deck doing the Downward-Facing Dog pose on a brightly-colored yoga mat. (Just a hunch.) Then, she was the Atlantic Ocean fishing schooner ANDREW & ROSALIE. She was renamed the AMERICAN EAGLE in 1941 by new fishing owners when World War II was brewing.

In 1984, the old and worn fishing schooner was purchased again and underwent a two-year, complete restoration in Rockland, Maine, to convert her into a 123-foot tourist cruiser. She was relaunched as a bright and classy coastal cruiser in April of 1986. She still hails from Rockland. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 10, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Full Time

Here you see the August full moon rising orange and big over Jericho Bay Saturday night. As it rose, it transformed from red-orange into hues of lighter and lighter yellow until it was high enough to become a bright white spotlight. It then cast a glittering probe into Naskeag Harbor:

It was almost close enough to be a supermoon that night. Its early orange and yellowish colors were caused by its low position in the sky, which forces the early moonlight to come to us through more of the summer’s hazy-gritty atmosphere. That pollution scatters shorter blue wavelengths and lets longer red and orange wavelengths reach us.

It was sailing away over Great Cove before dawn the next morning:

The August full moon most often is called the Sturgeon Moon, reportedly a translation from the Native American fishing tribes that depended on those prehistoric-looking fish to rise and run in lakes and rivers now. Other common names for our fully-illuminated companion in August are Grain Moon, Green Corn Moon, and Red Moon. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 9 and 10. 2025.)