In the Right Place: In the Shop, VI

DYLAN, in the foreground here, is coming into being nicely in the Brooklin Boat Yard’s main shop. By summer, she’ll be an exquisite Eggemoggin 47+ (overall length 47’6”), the latest and most advanced racing sailboat in that BBY-designed class. A plan of the basic E-47+ is shown below. Note the apparent “foils” (hydrofoils) instead of a keel to generate lift and decrease drag.

Her type is named after Eggemoggin Reach, the renowned sailing water that runs by Center Harbor, where BBY is located. The Boat Yard has been sliding its winter- stored boats into the Harbor recently, providing a welcome sight of sleek boats swinging with the tides. (Photograph taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 27, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Getting Lost

This lovely, but annoying, image of that miracle called Earth was taken during the flight of the Orion spacecraft earlier this month. It drives me crazy to look at it because the southern Atlantic and South Pole are on top; the Northern Atlantic, North Pole and Venus on bottom; Africa is on the left, and South America on the right. I get disoriented looking at it.

My problem is that I suffer from a northern hemisphere bias of what a geographic representation should look like. I’ve been raised with the myth that there’s a physical, geographic up, down, right and left with a corresponding north, south, east and west. These concepts were invented eons ago for 2-dimensional thinking and communicating. They don’t apply in the 3-dimensional vastness of “outer space” that can be without enough gravity to keep a good man or woman “down.”

The literature indicates that the concept of east-west likely developed thousands of years ago through observations of the sun rising and setting. The north-south concept apparently developed later from observing the path of the sun at midday and the rotation of stars around the object now called the “North Star.” All of this was before the invention of the magnetic compass, which doesn’t point to “True North,” anyway. In fact, for a while, some cultures reportedly drew their maps with the east or south on top.

Nonetheless, my confusion due to this official (“upside-down”) National Aeronautics and Space Administration image was easily rectified by copying the image, rotating it 180° and labeling locations for posterity:

(The unedited NASA image was taken through a window of Orion on April 3, 2026, during its translunar injection burn.)

In the Right Place: In the Shop, V

The 18-foot runabout being built in the Brooklin Boat Yard’s auxiliary shop is coming along nicely. Her interior is being inlaid carefully with fine woods and we’re beginning to get a sense of how special she’ll be.

By summer, this Muscongus Bay 18 designed by Mark Fitzgerald will be a speedy, center-consoled runabout with T-top and comfortable perimeter seating. Here’s another look at her plans:

Note that spring weather allows this “BBY shop on the hill” (aka “Odd Fellows’ Hall shop”) to open side doors, which creates a lovely working atmosphere.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 27, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Spring Gentleness

Here’s a bejeweled daffodil and her blue squill admirers with their petals down, thoroughly enjoying a recent gentle shower here.. The scene symbolizes the recent improvements in Maine’s drought situation, although we still have a way to go to get back to normal:

The weekly USDM narrative report for the Northeast included these comments: “Rainfall occurred but was largely confined to northern areas, from western Pennsylvania and New York through northern Vermont and New Hampshire into Maine, where many locations recorded 150% or more of normal precipitation. This wetter pattern led to improvements in abnormally dry and moderate drought conditions across northern Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. Severe drought was removed in northern and reduced in southern Maine.”

(Photos taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 23, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Ozzie & Harriet, I

Yes, it’s time for the Ozzie and Harriet show again. Ozzie returned to their nest at least by April 17, when I first saw him. This year, he didn’t have to wait long for Harriet. I saw them together in the nest on April 20. We’ll be following this osprey family until they (and hopefully their offspring) migrate back to a southern state or beyond in the fall.

The images here are from yesterday, which started off sunny when I saw Harriet alone on the nest, as you see in this first image. It was gray and drizzly by the time Ozzie brought lunch home. Note that Ozzie is up to his old tricks: He eats the heads off the fish before giving the rest to his mate. (The brains of fish may be their most nutritious parts.)

Their nest is almost 100 feet above Great Cove in a topless spruce. Unfortunately, the surrounding branches are encroaching on it and restricting my view. It’s difficult to get clear shots of them together. (I shoot from a car window at a considerable distance to avoid making the birds nervous.)

Nonetheless, I can see that the usual fish hawk antics have resumed. Harriet spends most of her time on the nest. She often engages in loud “begging,” issuing the characteristic, high-pitched female osprey pleas for attention and food. Ozzie spends most of his time elsewhere.

But, at least once a day, Ozzie flies in with a scaly meal, which Harriet often tears apart with gusto. They’ll often copulate once or twice before and/or after mealtime. Ozzie will return several times a day, apparently just to copulate. He’ll also return immediately if Harriet issues an alarm call due to such things as being threatened by a bachelor osprey or a bald eagle. They both defend the nest ferociously, seemingly without regard for their own safety.

Ospreys work hard at propagating the species. Copulation to assure fertilization will occur many times a day with increasing frequency until egg-laying time in late April or early May. (One report zealously noted 338 copulations by a pair before egg-laying.) Ozzie and Harriet have not been shirking their duty in that regard, but I don’t tally their efforts.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 24, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Body Language

There’s an ancient principal of American and English law called habeas corpus (Latin for “you have the body”), but we don’t need to get into any legal weeds now. It’s just that the name of that principle popped into my mind in an odd way while enjoying a much longer view of this sight of Conary Cove on a recent spring morning:

That is, we have a body here in this enlarged image, as you may have noticed. I didn’t see it with unaided eyes, until after Barbara said, “Did you see something move in those rocks there?” Something unusual had moved and a long lens revealed it to be – a hand! Unbeknownst to us, someone apparently was sunbathing within a crevice of the nicely-warmed-up granite ledges.

Not a bad way to take a break on a spring day, especially if you’re a good day-dreamer. Here’s a different look at the Cove’s old boathouse:

(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 18 and 20, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Plunging Necklines

Since early April, we’ve had two great blue herons wading in our waters and mousing in our marshes. They’ve inspired me to do a little research into the unique adaptations that have evolved in these prehistoric-looking birds. I’ll share what I’ve learned about two of these adaptations here.

The first is the great blue’s long, serpentine neck, which is specialized for hunting, defending and feeding itself. Its modified, longer vertebrae double back on themselves, allowing it to coil and strike like a snake – but faster, with greater force and with a long, spearhead-like beak that can be plunged into the water. (Or plunged elsewhere: I’ve seen a great blue drive off a bald eagle by repeatedly spearing the slower National Bird in the face and chest while fighting over a dead fish on the shore.)

In the middle of the GBH’s neck, the esophagus and trachea bend behind the spine,. This protects the bird’s windpipes during the ingestion of a whole, live fish and other large, resisting prey. Unlike geese, swans and other birds with large necks, great blues can tuck their heads back into their shoulders when flying and improve their aerodynamics.

Where the great blue’s neck joins its chest, it wears a necklace of wispy down feathers that are called pectoral plumes or powder down feathers. This adaptation is not only decorative, but also highly useful to ameliorate the results of the bird’s habit of getting blood, fish oil and pond sediment on its face and chest.

The tips of these specialized feathers fray into a cleansing dust that has a consistency similar to talcum power. Sometimes the heron just cleans its head and neck by rubbing them in the powder down. More often, it uses a specialized comb-like claw on its middle toe to collect the powder and comb it through needy areas.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine on April 17 [marsh] and 21 [water], 2026.)

In the Right Place: Now You See It; Now You Don’t

What a difference a day makes. Above is the near-mountain called Blue Hill, as viewed across the bay called Blue Hill Bay. Below is the same perspective from the day before:

Spring is magic. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 19 [fog] and 20 [sun], 2026.)

In the Right Place: Watching Paint Dry

This good-looking painted turtle is the first of the year in our ponds. He’s been rising to bask on sunny days since at least April 12, when I first spotted him.

He’s got exceptionally vibrant yellow and red stripes and daubs “painted” on his head, neck and shell. These are signs of a healthy diet and a healthy turtle. Potential mates will notice that he’s a good catch from a good place to hang out.

The literature reports that the painted turtle’s diet includes aquatic insects, fish, crustaceans (crayfish), snails, worms, algae, and leafy plants. Young turtles apparently are mostly carnivorous, but they become more herbivorous as they get older. Curiously, PTs have to eat in water. They have virtually fixed tongues and can’t produce saliva; they need water to act as a lubricant to get their food “down.” They swim with their mouths open at the surface or below to catch prey and floating vegetation, then use the water to help ingest their catch.

PTs are Maine’s most common and most colorful turtle, and they live 30-40 years. In the winter, they brumate (lie very dormant) in the muck at the bottom of ponds and lakes, and they’re one of the few turtles adapted to tolerate freezing temperatures for extended periods. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 18, 2026; sex assumed.)

In the Right Place: Spring Fling

Yesterday was a miserable, rainy, chilly, dark day. It also apparently was dangerous for one adventuresome woman and hair-raising to watch her. It started with me pulling over to watch a flotilla of colorful kayaks at the Reversing Falls in Blue Hil. They were trying to catch the waves in the outgoing white water of Salt Pond. The turbulence seemed meaner than usual in the rain.

Here you see the beginning of a courageous run by that woman:

She soon pitched deeply and this led to a roll that capsized and overturned her long, thin kayak completely.

She stayed under water for what seemed an eternity, but finally got out of her spray skirt, popped up and signalled that she was all right..

The American Whitewater Accident Database and Maine boating records don’t report any fatalities to kayakers in the Reversing Falls. However, these Falls are considered to be dangerous, especially in April when the raging, winter-cooled water averages around 39° to 41° (F).

Maine officials proclaim even still water below 55°to be very dangerous for those immersed in it because it can cause hypothermia. Spring kayakers are urged to wear cold water immersion gear as well as reliable flotation devices. This brave kayaker apparently wore both. Thank goodness. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 19, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Down East Chic

I don’t know why, but when I walked into this place again recently and liked the way I felt in it, I wondered how I would feel in the newly designed Oval Office in the White House, the People’s House.

I guess I’m not one of those people who would be comfortable in a room that looks like the lobby of a Florida golf club; and has full-length, shiny gold drapes with gold silk tie-backs; and gold-gilded wall appliques that make me hungry for scrambled eggs, and many big portraits of gruff males, and only one of a female. That one would be of the portrait of the attractive Jacqueline Kennedy, whose Presidential husband’s attractive countenance is nowhere to be found there.

Yes, you’re looking at an image of the inside of the old small boat shed at the Brooklin Boat Yard. It’s a nice, quiet place to do some wondering.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 12, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Good Luck, B&B

In response to many questions: I’ve not seen Bernie & Benice Beaver or any activity that could be associated with them (more trees down, dam leaks tended, lodge construction resumed, etc.) in three weeks. They apparently have moved on. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because they claim-jumped part of the territory of our alpha coyote, who would love to snack on the kits B&B plan to have this spring. Safe travels, my friends.

(Leighton Archive image of Bernie eating an appetizer.)

In the Right Place: Molly & Mike

Meet Molly & Mike Mallard, who appear to be scouting our corner of Great Cove for nesting real-estate. I’ve seen them together in that area since winter. They’re clearly paired and float and fly everywhere together.

Mallards in Maine usually nest from early May through August. Females lay eggs in hidden, ground-level or elevated locations near water, often returning to the same nesting area annually. When the female starts to incubate eggs, the male typically leaves. The ducklings can walk and swim immediately after hatching. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 14 and 15, 2026.)

In the Right Place: A Great Cove

Here you see a spring tide lowering in Brooklin’s Great Cove earlier this week. There was little wind bothering her, so the Cove had time to work on her reflections. As the water receded, she revealed blooms of her swaying rockweed, which soon became tangled mats hiding crabs and snails that waited patiently for the tide to come back. It always has.  

The Cove’s changing personality is perhaps her most remarkable feature. Every day, her two tides rise and fall about 9 to 12 feet, covering her completely and then exposing her mysterious tidal pools and pungent mud. Then, there’s the disappearance act that she can do in fog.

In the winter and early spring, there’s a beautiful vastness to the Cove, when her cold waters seem vacant, except perhaps for a few dabbling ducks and swooping gulls. In the summer and fall, Great Cove is a carnival for those of us who are addicted to the pleasures of “being on the water.”

Summer in the Cove, when she’s at her most frenetic, is worth a few word pictures: colorful small and large sailboats seeking the same winds; singing passengers on tall-masted windjammers helping to lower and raise big anchors and huge sails; luxurious or just strange power boats that contribute the husky background sounds of their engines; lobster boats churning up big bow waves as they take shortcuts through the islands; water-bugging skiffs, kayaks and paddleboards and, on occasion, a seaplane landing so its passengers can watch the finish of a regatta.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 14, 2026, and August 6, 2023.)

In the Right Place: In the Shop, IV

Progress is being made on this fine-lined little vessel being built in the Brooklin Boat Yard’s auxiliary shop. By summer, she’ll be a speedy, center-consoled runabout with T-top, comfortable perimeter seating, and fine woods:

She’s described as a Muscongus Bay 18 (18-foot overall length) designed by Mark Fitzgerald.  He’s a prominent naval architect who operates Fitzgerald Marine Architecture, Inc., in Camden, Maine. Muscongus means “fishing place” in the Abenaki Tribe’s language and was the name of one of their villages at a bay on the Maine coast. That Bay, now also named Muscongus, is known for its boat-related activities.

(Photos taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 15, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Here Kitty, Kitty

Pussy willow catkins are profuse now on Salix discolor shrubs. They’re beneficial to our earliest pollinators, one of which (a mining bee?) can be seen in this image by those with sharp eyes:

The soft, cats’-paw-like catkins are weather-protecting coverings that only grow on the male shrubs. The female shrubs have hairy green flowers that are caterpillar-like. The male cats’ paws soon will open and spew enormous amounts of powdery yellow pollen into the wind to fertilize the nearby female shrubs and give allergy-prone humans sneezing fits.

These shrubs reportedly host up to 18 species of butterflies and moths. Their bark contains salicin, an aspirin-like substance that has been used for centuries to treat human inflammation and pain. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 14, 2026.)

In the Right Place: The Price Is (Not) Right

Below you’ll see Fyke nets in Blue Hill’s Mill Stream. At high tide, they’ll try to capture migrating young American eels known as glass eels or sometimes as elvers. Most of them are sold into Asian markets, where they are farmed to maturity and then sold as delicacies.

The average price to Maine fishermen for glass eels peaked at over $2000 per pound in 2023. As of April 11, 2026 (the latest state preliminary price data), it was reported to be down to $197. This fishery, once considered lucrative and important to the state economy, apparently is in trouble.

The season this year is scheduled to extend through June 7. Maine only allows 425 fishermen to hold the licenses necessary to take a quota of migrating eels during a season. As original license holders drop out, they’re replaced by applicants who are chosen by lottery.  

The reasons for the low prices may be varied, but the market for the baby eels seems to be glutted. Timothy Larochelle, a veteran Maine glass eel fisherman and fishery advocate from Woolwich, thinks that “the low price has a lot to do with Illegal fishing in Canada and Haiti the past few years.” An internet search indicates that he may be right.

(Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 10, 2026.)

In the Right Place: In the Shop, III

We’ve been following the creation of DYLAN, the Brooklin Boat Yard-designed boat in the foreground of the above image of BBY’s main shop. She seems to be coming along nicely. By summer, DYLAN will be an exquisite Eggemoggin 47+ (overall length 47’6”), the third such racing sailboat in that class.

The green-hulled sailboat being repaired to DYLAN’S left is ZINGARA from Belfast, Maine. She’s a 45’ racer/cruiser that’s considered to be a "Spirit of Tradition" yacht -- a vessel that combines a classic design with modern materials and performance technology.

Being created to the left of ZINGARA is a 47’ Express Cruiser designed by BBY, a sleek power boat that apparently hasn’t been named yet. She also seems to be coming along nicely. She’s in line to be completed soon after DYLAN. See also the image of DYLAN’s graceful bow:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 9 and 12, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Fair-Weather Friends

Above, you see stratocumulus clouds on parade yesterday above the near mountain called Blue Hill. Below, you’ll see that the parade began over the Atlantic Ocean and also passed in review of the western mountains of Mount Desert Island:

As you probably know, stratocumulus clouds are a combination of "stratus" (layered) and "cumulus" (puffy) clouds. They usually are happy clouds that come by in fair weather, but, like all of us, they occasionally get moody and bring light drizzle, mist, or insignificant snow. (Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on April 11, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Hatching of the Nutty Kind

Above, you see a red-breasted nuthatch; you’ll see its mate ibelow. The pair buzzed me repeatedly this week; they apparently have staked out a nesting area near one of my favorite trails. In Maine, we also have white-breasted nuthatches that have (you guessed it) white breasts instead of rusty-red ones.

Nuthatches are known for moving headfirst down tree trunks. They’re diminutive (less than 5” and less than 5 oz.), but surprisingly aggressive. I’ve seen one get in the face of two bully blue jays and chase them off a feeder.

Contrary to what you infer from their name, Nuthatches don’t try to hatch nuts like eggs. They’re named after the Middle English term for their habit of "hacking" or "hatching" open nuts and large seeds by wedging them into tree bark crevices and hammering them with their sharp, strong bills. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 8, 2026.)