We’ve been seeing duck hunting boat-blinds like this one that came in and out of Naskeag Harbor yesterday. Note what appears to be a pile of long-tailed duck decoys in its storage area:
The migratory duck hunting season here in Maine’s Coastal Zone ends January 6. Hunters here primarily use shotguns when hunting migratory ducks, but state regulations require that the guns be no larger than No. 10 gauge, incapable of holding more than three shells, and fired from the shoulder. The ducks also may be hunted with bow and arrow, crossbow, or a falcon.
For many species, the daily duck limit is 4, but other limits are applied to various species. Duck hunters here must buy a Federal Duck Stamp and a State Migratory Waterfowl Permit, the funds from which go to wildlife and habitat conservation. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 30, 2025.)
The Big Bang Theory of how our universe began with hot gases is not to be confused with The Big Wreath Theory of how the holiday season is extended in Down East with large wreaths on highly visible structures, including boathouses and repurposed barn- garages.
Some of Down East’s public wreaths won’t be taken down until March or later, when they’re brown or bare. (Images taken in Blue Hill [boathouse] and Brooklin [“barn”] on December 18 and 9, 2025, respectively.)
Porch holiday decorations vary greatly around here. Above ypu see what appears to be a historic bicycle that has been festooned with holiday lights and flora. It’s on the MAE boutique’s porch. The bike looks like it might be a balloon-tired “Ladies’ Roadmaster Cruiser” made by the Cleveland [Ohio] Welding Company, which started production in the 1930s and was later bought by AMF. (Note also the interesting gingerbread capital atop the column.)
Below you’ll see a more utilitarian and common Down East residential porch with holiday lights, a wreath of greens, and ready-to-use winter paraphernalia: shovel, broom, and bucket (containing ice melt crystals, I suspect). (Note also the intriguing shadows.)
(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 23 [MAE] and 16 [residence], 2025.)
The rockbound coast of Maine sometimes seems to reach out and dare – some would say entice – vessels to get too close. And, over the centuries, many vessels have gotten too close and been damaged or destroyed on our jagged edges. That’s when a mariner’s boldness turns to terror, especially in the winter cold.
Yet, there’s no denying it: much of our coast is awesomely beautiful and intriguingly thrilling. That’s especially so when the lower winter sun finds the massive granite probes at half-tide and illuminates their prehistoric rockweed and barnacle free riders. The complicated soul of Maine seems to be slightly revealed by its beautiful, but not fully-tamed, shores.
(Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 18, 2025.)
Mother Nature’s Christmas gift has become glazed like fine porcelain. Colorful objects wrapped in the snow pop visually. Old and old-looking red structures are especially eye-catching. Here’s a neighbor’s red-daubed workshop that was built in the early 1900s and reportedly was used to carve wooden decoys for duck hunting, among other things:
Here’s the present red Amen Farm “barn,” which actually is a recently rebuilt place, reportedly with an entertainment great room and fireplace, among other human amenities:
That structure is reminiscent of the original Amen Farm barn, which reportedly was built about 1850. That well-worn barn last housed goats and chickens before it was torn down and replaced.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 26, 2025.)
Above, you see the Brooklin General store in simple holiday welcoming attire, perhaps as Edward Hooper would have liked to see it. It’s a welcome sight to Brooklinites coming home during winter evenings. Below, you’ll see a Blue Hill professional services space in more elegant welcoming attire, including Grecian urns and fine greenery. It’s apparently designed to impress, and it works.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 18 and Blue Hill, Maine, on December 19, 2025.)
A lovely snowfall came to us on Christmas Eve and carried over to provide a white Christmas morning full of slow-drifting snowflakes. By mid-day on Christmas, it had stopped and a bright sun came out to show off Mother Nature’s handiwork. Barbara and I would like to share some of the images of this joyous Chritsmas gift with you, our Christian and non-Christian friends and family.
We begin with the trees and other flora that become elegant when draped or dappled with snow, including one that had a string of blue lights glowing through the crystals:
Brooklin landmarks that looked especially at ease in the falling snow included the community-constructed lobster trap tree in front of the Town Offices, Friend Memorial Public Library, and the Camperdown elm in the Brooklin Cemetery:
Other local residential and utilitarian structures also seemed to welcome being snowed-in:
Brooklin’s roads, private lanes, and driveways were (as usual) timely plowed and often took on a beauty of their own:
On the ice-laden waterfront, the Town dock at Naskeag Harbor and the Brooklin Boat Yard pier at Center Harbor displayed their differing personalities in the white weather:
The snowy landscape became strewn with sugared objets d’art, including an antique hay rake (sans horse); a red swing (sans child); and a literally snowy owl (sans head) made of granite. There also were beautified urns, bird baths, forged handrails, rain chains, and a smothered Christmas wreath.
We’d like to give you a hint of what it’s like to live and work n a mostly glass house and watch a beautiful snowfall instead of throwing stones:
In the late afternoon of Christmas eve, the sky cleared and the sun broke through, creating a cold luminescence that evolved into a colorful sunset:
The snowfall on Christmas paused at mid-day and the sun returned once more to highlight Mother Nature’s gilding and sculpturing:
Merry Christmas to all.
(All images in this post, except the “Merry Christmas” card, were photographed in Brooklin, Maine, on Christmas eve and Christmas day, 2025. The image in that card was taken on December 6, 2025.)
Barbara and I hope that all of our Christian and non-Christian friends and family experience joy today. We appreciate you so much.
In fact, we hope to give you a holiday gift that will share some of our joy: a photo-essay on the Christmas eve snowfall that brought us a beautiful white Christmas. I hope to finish editing it by this afternoon.
We opened the shades to this scene this morning. It looks like we’ll have a white Christmas and some protection from sleigh damage to our roofs tonight. We’re under Winter Weather Advisory and Gale Warning alerts, and the off-and-on snowfall is forecast to last through Christmas morning. It looks like we’ve gotten between 3 and 4 inches so far.
(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 24, 2025.)
We continue to see Harry frequently. He seems content this winter in his own eccentric way, but it’s difficult to psychoanalyze North American porcupines (aka “quillpigs”).
Harry spends a lot of time feeding in open fields and lawns in daylight, which seems unusual for a rodent that’s supposed to be shy and primarily a nocturnal feeder. He apparently hasn’t switched to what is supposed to be the porcupine winter diet of conifer needles, twigs, and the nutrient-rich inner bark (cambium) of trees such as hemlock, birch, fir, and aspen.
Harry seems to spend most of his winter days with his head in field and lawn vegetation, feeding on grasses, other low growth, and maybe roots. It may be that climate warming has kept nonwoody vegetation alive and tasty.
As with all porcupines, Harry has poor eyesight and is slow to react to surprises. If you get upwind of him and move carefully, you often can get fairly close to him. He’ll move off and try to keep his back to you when he discovers your presence. (His tail is a spiked club that is his primary defensive weapon.)
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 22, 2025.)
Yesterday’s winter SOLstice arrived appropriately on SUNday, played now-you-see-it-now-you don’t with the SUNlight much of that shortest day of the year, and then ended the day at 3:48 p.m. with this magnificent SUNdown. The longest night of the year had begun.
“Solstice” literally means standing sun. As you probably know, the winter solstice occurs when our northern hemisphere is tilted farthest from the Sun, marking the start of astronomical winter and the time from which days slowly begin to get longer again as we tilt back. (Image taken on December 21, 2025.) Click on the image to enlarge it.
Here you see a winter’s view the south face of the near-mountain called Blue Hill, where conifer trees are evergreen, deciduous trees are now leafless, and glacier-deposited rocks abound:
A closer look at the summit reveals a communications tower that was put up there in 1981 for transmitters and repeaters and rebuilt later to add cellular service equipment. Ground views of the summit often reveal (as you’ll see) the steeple of the First Congregational Church of Blue Hill, which was built in 1843:
A distant view of the Hill revaels beautiful Blue Hill Bay at its feet:
(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 16, 2025.)
This may be the first in a series of posts on contrasting Christmas and winter holiday expressions in our Down East neighborhood.
Above, you see a fine old house decorated for the season in what we’ll call the “exuberant style”: a snowman train traveling south; Santa’s reindeer sleigh traveling northwest; massive evergreen wreaths and (I think) huge gingerbread cookies on the house, and much more. It’s a belly-laugh.
Below, you’ll see another fine old house decorated for the season in what we’ll call the “restrained style”: two big, beautiful evergreen wreaths discretely displayed at the back of a porch. It’s a contented smile:
(Images taken in Blue Hill [exuberant] and Brooklin [understated], Maine, on December 18 and 11, 2025, respectively.)
Here you see seagulls (two herring, one ring-billed) about to quench their thirsts in a small pond of melted ice water atop sea ice.
Sea ice takes longer to freeze due to its salt content, but freezing and melting can desalinate the ice; the older the melting ice, the less salt its melt-water will have. Very old sea ice will melt into a fluid that has no or virtually no salt. Unless you’re desperate, however, don’t drink that liquid – it may contain bacteria, viruses, and/or other contamination.
Seagulls and many other sea birds can—and often do – drink their sea water straight. But they seem to like fresh water when they can get it. Most seagulls and other sea birds have special desalinating glands that filter out excess salt, which is excreted through their nostrils, according to the literature. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 16, 2025.)
Here you see yesterday’s rising tide in Great Cove, which is now devoid of the many vessels she hosts from spring into fall. That’s the WoodenBoat School’s pier to the right:
There was a bit of a wind up yesterday morning. The tide was coming in on small, rolling waves that roiled the rockweed and broke on the stoney shore with repetitive crispy/crunchy percussions that turned into sizzles when the wave’s water raced through the stones, shuddered to a stop, and backed off a bit:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 17, 2025.)
‘Tis the season … when Barbara sprinkles the house with holiday flowers and berries, some of them elf-sized, some immigrants, some natives, all merry.
Above, you see a green-leafed, red-bracted poinsettia branch of Mexican derivation. (The plant’s vibrantly-colored bracts are not flower petals; they’re specialized leaves.) Below, you’ll see New England winterberry holly in its leafless winter form with berries like Christmas tree ornaments strung by an elf that has imbibed too much good cheer:
There also is the chunky-size variety of winterberry:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 15, 2025.)
Yesterday was sharply cold and pleasantly clear at windy Conary Cove. The old red boat house was dressed in her usual warm colors. She even sported a holiday wreath and (I think) holiday lights. I’ll have to check her out after dark some evening.
(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 15, 2025.)
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.)
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.)