In the Right Place: Life with Bernie & Bernice, X

No videos of Bernie and Bernice swimming today! Above, you see their unfinished lodge imbedded within ice and mostly covered by snow yesterday. Below, you’ll see their largest dam holding back most of a snow- and ice-topped pond yesterday.

B&B have been nowhere in sight for about a week; there are no beaver tracks in the snow on or around the pond, nor have there been the telltale signs of beaver activity in the form of newly-felled trees. There are, however, coyote tracks down there in the snow-topped ice. That’s an indication that B&B have not gone to Florida for the holidays, as well as a reminder of the winter dangers that our claim-jumping visitors undergo when protective water freezes.

Beavers don’t hibernate. The odds are that B&B are hunkered down in a “bank den.” That den likely would consist of one or more large tunnels with one or more underwater entrances. It’s probably in the bank of the island at the left of the first image and it’s most likely that it was created by the-ever-so-prudent Bernie when he arrived in September looking for a mate.

It's also likely that Bernie and his industrious mate collected many tender branches in the fall and early winter and stored them in the mud at the bottom of the pond as an underwater food cache for use in severe weather. If the weather warms up and the ice melts a little, we’ll probably see B&B back at work toppling trees and continuing the construction of a more substantial home for them and their sure-to-come little buck-toothed offspring.

In the meantime, B&B will find something to do underground; they’re on their honeymoon after all. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 14, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Down by the Old Mill Stream

Here you see Mill Stream running under Blue Hill’s Main Street into Blue Hill Bay. In the 18th and 19th Centuries along the Stream, sawmills produced lumber, grist mills ground grain, there is a report of a cotton mill, and some tide-powered saw and grist mills near the Stream’s mouth harnessed the Bay’s highs and lows to produce their power.

The structure that you see is a Blaze Restaurant, one of a series of restaurants that have occupied that building in the 20th and 21st Centuries. But the building reportedly was built in the 1880 and is best known for its many years as the forge of popular blacksmith and metal artist Charles Westcott, who operated it from 1910 until his death in 1959.

Mill Stream this year, as with all of our streams, has been suffering from the obdurate drought that has plagued Maine and the rest of Northeast. Recent snow flurries (including one last night) have not benefitted our soils and streamflows in any meaningful way. Take a look at the most recent drought report:

(Photo taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 12, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Thar She Glows!

On clear days, our view of the December sun sinking behind Deer Isle comes early and gloriously before the darkness and – if we’re lucky – a blue hour. Each sundown is different. Generally, the winter air has less grit and water vapor in it to obscure the events. Above, you see Thursday’s sunset at 4:45 p.m. Below, you’ll see yesterday’s sunset at 4:47 p.m.:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 11 and 12, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Survivors

It’s the middle of December when crowds of bright red winterberries appear on Maine roadsides clinging tightly to their bare branches like sole survivors on winter wreckage. They are profuse this year.

Winterberry (Ilex verticillata) is a native, deciduous holly that is a crucial winter food for birds, but toxic to humans. It thrives in wet ditches beside roads, enjoys life as male and female plants (it’s “dioecious”), and was historically used by Native Americans for applied medical remedies. Don’t taste those berries! But they can be used for long-lasting decorations:

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

In the Right Place: When December Is a Drag

This image of DEAR ABBIE:’s “drag” (dredge) appears with my column in today’s edition of the Ellsworth American.  Click on the image to enlarge it. To read the column about the attitudes of coastal fishermen and the risks that they undergo, use this link: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Going, Going, (Soon) Gone

Here you see the December Cold Moon as it was being transformed into a lovely “morning moon” at 7:50 a.m. on Sunday. Morning moons are not rare (the moon is up over us for about 12 hours), but the conditions are not always favorable for our seeing them.

The reflective parts of the moon that we see now are shrinking (“waning”). This moon is a “waning gibbous” moon because it is hunch-shaped with more than 50 percent illumination and on the way to losing more light. It was within our dirty atmosphere when the image was taken, which gave it a sepia-like cast. When it escaped our atmosphere far into the celestial heights Monday morning, it turned silver-gray:

The sun’s reflective light won’t be able to reach the moon in its orbit on December 19, when it will disappear from us as a black “new moon.” After that, the parts of the moon that we’ll see will start growing (“waxing”) from slim crescents to a full “Wolf Moon” on January 3, 2026

(Images taken from Brooklin, Maine, on December 7 and 8, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Positively Perfect

That small and easy-going snow storm that came through Brooklin in the early hours of Monday proved to be a perfect storm — positively speaking — for those who like their snow in small doses. Monday dawned clear and sunny and sparkling with white accents, a Down East December day at its finest. It was one of those days that you just had to go out and about. Here a few things that I saw in Brooklin:

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

In the Right Place: Awakenings

We awoke this morning to a landscape that was decorated delicately with new snow and watched the first light explore it tenderly. Great Cove was living up to her name and the woods seemed to be enjoying their awakening, as well.  

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

In the Right Place: Holiday Trappings

Congratulations to all those who contributed to and helped construct Brooklin’s annual Holiday Trap Tree, especially Sarah Havener for her organization and inspiration.

Finished yesterday, the tree is now an eye-catcher made mostly of lobster catchers, local ones at that. It also may be a motivator for Brooklinites to create Holiday cards – at least one Brooklinite, anyway, as you see.

The trap tree is located on the Town Office lawn. Travelers of Bay Road won’t be able to avoid seeing it and thinking: “Buoy oh buoy, what a place!”

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 6, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Life with Bernie & Bernice, IX

Here’s a video of Bernie & Bernice in a rare daylight outing on Tuesday. It was taken by our renowned neighbor David Porter, who was in the right place at the right time and (as usual) knew what to do when doing had to be done. Thanks, David.

Our favorite American beavers may have been working overtime Tuesday to get more done before the pond iced up. If so, they didn’t make it, as you’ll see from the image below of the pond yesterday. Yet, B&B’s beaver building mess keeps getting bigger and messier.

As of yesterday, their construction site looked like an ice-encased tornado target. I suspect that B&B have a snug burrow on the island in the middle of this pond as their headquarters. It’s going to be interesting to see how the ice affects their lodge-building.

By the way, apparently a beaver home is only called a lodge when the beaver moves up in life from a burrow to a larger domed, two-level model made of surrounding trees, branches, mud, and rock, with entrances below the water line – and with or without a beaver ballroom.

If Google is correct, the word “lodge” originated from an ancient word meaning "shelter of foliage" and evolved to describe a small, temporary building or hut. Over time, its meaning expanded to encompass various types of specific-purpose and, later, grand structures. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 2 [video] and 5 [still], 2025.)

In the Right Place: Moonlight Department

Here you see yesterday’s full supermoon moon with a wonderful lunar halo rising over Eggemoggin Reach at about 6 a.m. Such halos apparently are caused by the moon's reflected light bending out (“refracting”) through prism-like ice crystals in high-altitude cirrus clouds. Those clouds are somewhat visible in this longer shot:

The subsequent evening full moon rose into a clear sky and did not have a halo:

The December full moon is mostly called the Cold Moon. The name originated from Northeast Native American traditions of naming the full moon with a description of the season in which it rises. Among others, the Mohawk people called it the Cold Moon.

The Mohicans called this moon the Long Night Moon because it comes in the time of year when the winter solstice brings us the longest night and shortest day. The Western Abenaki people, in what is now western Maine and other parts of New England, called the December moon the Winter Maker Moon for obvious reasons. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 4, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Pewter-Plated

Here you see the south face of the near-mountain called Blue Hill seemingly pewter-plated with melting snow yesterday morning:

(Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 3, 2025.)

In the Right Place: So Long, Edgar Allan Poe

It's not always bright and cheery here. Yesterday was a somber day and nowhere was it more somber than at the Brooklin Cemetery. But days like that are needed by some of us to put the many bright and cheery ones in perspective.

Yesterday, the Camperdown elm stretched her now-bare arms hopelessly, seemingly trying to shelter her assigned souls from a mix of fine snow and rain that was coming out of a silver-gray sky. Overhead, a raven circled high above, a historic sign of the death of a loved one:

A time to be reminded of the realities of life and death. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 2, 2025.)

In the Right Place: ‘Tis the Season

The scallop-dragging season began yesterday in Maine Zone 2, where Brooklin is located. The season for diving in a wetsuit and hand-harvesting the more expensive “diver’s scallops” began in our Zone on November 18.

Above, you see Fishing Vessel TARRFISH rigged for scallop-dragging, with a mast, boom, winch, and “drag” (a pursenet dredge that scoops scallops up from the sea bottom). The boat’s owner, David Tarr, also dives for scallops. Below, you’ll see FV DEAR ABBIE: also newly rigged for scalloping.

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

November Postcards From Down East Maine

November is when we ease from the colorful autumn into the darkening winter. Some of October’s colors and golden light leave here late and brighten the shorter days and some of December’s chilling winds and brilliant skies arrive here early to make the transition easier.

There are fewer people here in November, which can make it a time of increasing closeness and introspection – such as being grateful for family and friends at a crowded table on Thanksgiving, yet enjoying walking alone along a deserted water’s edge. It's also a time to send postcards to family and friends to tell them that we “Wish You Were Here” or are “Glad You Were Here” in November.

As usual, we’ll start with images of the four iconic scenes that we monitor monthly for you: The Harbor Island summer house overlooking Naskeag Harbor; the western mountains on Mount Desert Island (in sun and fog this month); the old red boathouse at Conary Cove, and the near-mountain called Blue Hill looming above Blue Hill Bay:

The November woods and fields were dry, the ponds lower, and the streams slower. We’ve been suffering from a drought for months, but there was beauty almost everywhere:

As for November’s flora, that drought and climate warming apparently contributed to one of the most colorful winter months that we’ve ever had, including the blood-red Japanese maple in the title background. Let’s begin with the trees.

Many of the apple and mountain ash trees retained their fruit throughout the month, while the ancient Camperdown elm in the cemetery lost all of its leaves early.

Many sugar maples retained their leaves longer, while the needles on the tamaracks (larches) turned yellow earlier and lasted longer.

But, as usual, most leaves on the weeping beech at Amen Farm turned bronze and refused to drop until later in the winter.

It was a bonanza month for berries and seed pods. The red winterberry (a benificial native plant) was abundant and tempted Barbara to do one of her exotic arrangements. Unfortunately, the red and yellow Asian bittersweet and the scarlet hips of multiflora rose (invasive non-natives) also were abundant, albeit beautiful, assasins.

For a flora finale, there were the eye-catching dead and dying leaves and the multi-colored moss, lichen, and fungi, including lonely red viburnum leaves, boastful fothergilla leaves, toasty false chanterelle mushrooms and even marble-like stinkhorn fungi.

As for the November fauna, it included residents as well as widlife that were just passing through on their way to warmer climes. Fauna of the furry kind included resident white-tailed deer sporting their new darker winter coats:

The most dramatic (and potentially disasterous) of our furry fauna experiences was the arrival of a pair of claim-jumping American beavers that are building dams and a lodge in our ponds and toppling trees to do so. We’ve named them Bernie and Bernice and they work the night shift, so these images of them are not great:

We also have a resident porcupine who we see regularly, but we’re also not gleeful about him because he eats tree bark. He’s furry, but also spikey, and we call him Harry:

As for feathered fauna, we’re on Route 1 South for Canada geese. They’re mostly overnight tourists that stop for dinner and breakfast, then continue on. On the other hand, we have flocks of waterflowl from Canada that will enjoy our now-boatless coves all winter. They include splashing eiders and content buffleheads.

Not to be outdone, our resident wild turkeys parade along driveways as well as fields during November. And, of course, our resident ring-billed and heron gulls also are a constant and pleasing presence throughout the winter.

On the working waterfront, November is the time when most coastal lobster fishing ends here. Lobster traps are hauled into the harbors and trailered to storage, while the fishing vessels are prepared for winter.

Some lobster fishermen will rig their vessels with masts, booms, and “drags” (pursenet drredges) for dragging the sea bottom for scallops when the season opens in December. A very few will use their boats as platforms for diving underwater in wetsuits to hand-harvest the more expensive “diver’s scallops” from the sea bottom. Fishing Vessel TARRFISH, below, was one of the first lobster boats to be drag-rigged in November and her owner, David Tarr, also will dive for them:

In November, some working boats and virtually all recreational boats and their moorings are hauled out of the water for winter storage under plastic wrap, boat shed roof, or even spruce trees. Piers, once filled with eager recreational sailers, become lonely places during the month.

Of course, November is perhaps most famous in this country as the month for a Thanksgiving turkey (for which we created a greeting card) and a beaver moon (which was a supermoon this year that reminded us of our invading beavers):

Finally, we leave you with a memory of the sundown over Great Cove at the end of a clear, crisp November day:

(All photographs in this post were taken in Down East Maine during November of 2025, except the turkey image in the Happy Thanksgiving card, which was taken previously here.)

In the Right Place: Goodbye My Lovely

We say goodbye to November today with images of Great Cove. Above, the Cove is still in her rockweed pajamas at an early morning low tide. Below, she’s in one of her high-fashion outfits at sundown, preparing to go out for the night:

All things considered, November was a lovely month. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 28, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Harry, II

Here you see Harry out in the open again yesterday morning. I met him in the usual place, the lower part of the North Field. Most porcupines sleep during the day and come out of their shelters to climb and roam at dusk and during the night. But not Harry; he’s a morning porcupine.

Porcupines don’t hibernate or build nests or other structured shelters; they hide and rest in naturally convenient places, such as tree crotches, hollow logs, caves, rock crevices, and various wild tangles. They’re mostly solitary animals, but they will huddle together – carefully – at very cold times.

You get a glimpse of one of Harry’s front paws above. All four feet are adapted for climbing and gripping vertical surfaces, but porcupine front paws have a vestigial thumb opposing four long, clawed “fingers.” This configuration makes them dexterous climbers and allows them to hold food in their “hands” while eating. They can sit up and eat that food in a high tree like squirrels by using their tail and its quills for support.

Porcupines like to snack on the inner bark of trees, especially in winter; this can kill or maim a tree. Although cute and interesting, some people (including me) believe that there aren’t enough natural porcupine predators around here to allow nature to balance the damage that they do.

The fisher weasel (aka fisher cat) is just about the only predator that will take on a mature and healthy porcupine and virtually always win. Some domestic dogs seemingly can’t resist the urge to chase and snap at porcupines, no matter how many times the unfortunate canines have been taken to the vet to have painful quills removed from their face.

On the other hand, porcupines do less tree damage than beavers. But that’s another story with a mostly-redeeming ending. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 28, 2025; sex assumed.)

In the Right Place: Mummy Dearest

One of the common ways to protect a beloved boat during the Maine winter is to bring her up “on the hard” and mummify her in shrunken plastic. Here you see some larger vessels in such a state, a few of which seem to be making disapproving faces at being blindfolded and wrapped:

As I understand it, the basic steps of such shrink-wrapping start with cleaning and otherwise putting the boat in order, then building a scaffold-like frame around it:

Next, the plastic film is draped carefully over the vessel with precise allowances and fittings for such things as antennas; it’s then secured with straps and other devices. Finally, the wrap is tightened with the straps and shrunk with a heat gun. Vents are added and seams and endings are sealed with tape or another mechanism.

(Images taken in Surry, Maine, on November 15 and 25, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Be Happy!

In the Right Place: Pumping Heat

It’s no mystery why this common bird here is called a ring-billed gull. It’s as plain as the nose on his face. What is a mystery is how he can stand the winter cold without pants and socks on those skinny legs and wide webbed feet.

It turns out that, basically, seagulls have a heat pump system that uses the blood running up and down their legs and into their feet. As I understand it, warm arterial blood flows down to the feet and passes heat to the chilled venous blood returning to the body.

This mature ringbill (Larus delawarensis) is in his spotted, non-breeding winter plumage. The yellow or greenish-yellow legs of adult ringbills help differentiate them from other gulls at a distance. They also have fully-webbed feet. These allow them to swim well in our cold winter waters, which sometimes are warmer than the ambient air (but still brrrr).

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on November 25, 2025; sex assumed.)