In the Right Place: Imperfect Storms

As you see, we had a spring snowstorm here yesterday, which raises the intriguing question: If April rain showers bring May flowers, what do March snowstorms bring?

In Maine, for one thing, they reportedly bring more skiing. March is the third best month for skiing in Maine, according to the Saddleback, Maine, resort’s ratings. Better than November and December, not as good as January and February. Of course, this comes from a March posting by the resort.

Nonetheless, for me, snowstorms after St. Patrick’s Day should be banned as unseemly. March is not very good at doing snow. And, the older she gets, the poorer her efforts. She often loses control and produces imperfect storms.  They range from self-consuming snow-turning-into-rain washouts, like yesterday’s effort, to snow-turning-to-ice devastators, like the one last year at about this time that caused major damage.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 24, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Fruitful Thoughts

I know a place where buoy berries bloom during our cold winter and in our turbulent spring. There are two species: Buoy lobstertrapicus, which is the high bush version shown above that even blooms in trees, and Buoy mooringmarkeria, which is more of a clinging vine, as shown below:

Of course, their habitat is the WoodenBoat campus. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 7 [tree] and 14 [“vine”], 2025.)

In the Right Place: The Glass Menagerie Returns

Here you see glass eel fishermen, male and female, setting up a Fyke net yesterday to catch migrating baby American eels before they swim up Patten Stream:

The lucrative season for these fish (yes, eels are fish) opened yesterday and will run through June 7, unless the State closes it earlier for conservation or other reasons.

These eels are now about three inches long and transparent except for their eyes and backbone. Some call them “elvers,” a name for young eels, while others say that the glass eels only become elvers when they are four to six inches long and turn opaquely yellowish like their larger parents. Here’s an archive image of them:

Fyke (usually pronounced “Fick”) nets are named after 9th Century Dutch netted fish traps. They’re large, thin-meshed funnel nets on long poles and/or ropes with a trap and capture bag at the end. They’re placed in the historic paths of the incoming eels that are migrating from the Sargasso Sea area and trying to get into fresh water to mature.

Under Maine regulations, the young eels also may be caught by license holders with a dip net or a “Sheldon eel trap,” which is a netted or screened box trap that is named after its Maine inventor.

The glass eels caught in Maine are sold to dealers at very high, fluctuating market prices, which have averaged over $2000 per pound in recent years. They’re then mostly resold to Asian importers at even higher prices. Most of the squirming youngsters reportedly are sealed into watertight containers and flown to various locations in Asia, especially Japan, where they’re raised into adult eels and resold as expensive delicacies for use in sushi and other traditional meals. (Images taken in Surry, Maine, on March 22, 2025, unless noted otherwise.)

In the Right Place: In Memory of Tom

Here you see Great Cove Drive extending to infinity with the empaneled WoodenBoat School boatshed sunbathing alongside. Great Cove is at this end of the Drive, behind the camera about 50 feet. The panels on the shed are removed in May when the beauties sleeping therein are awakened and prepared for their summer jobs in the Cove. Some peeping Toms like to look in the shed’s end windows during the winter and admire the uncovered beauties therein:

By telling you this, of course, I’m reminded of Lady Godiva (not Gaga), who was responsible for the coining of the term “peeping Tom.” Remember the tale of beautiful Lady G? She rode naked through Coventry to protest taxes while everyone was supposed to avert their eyes. But, poor Tom the tailor (understandably) couldn’t resist a peek and was struck dead (or blind in the more forgiving versions). The peeper who took the images here survived without incident, I’m happy to report.

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

In the Right Place: Dreaming On

Well, spring has sprung – a leak. Ever since it officially arrived yesterday, we’ve been enshrouded in fog and episodically doused in rain. It hasn’t been inspiring, but it’s also not unusual. You have to learn to like (or at least be accepting of) wet and foggy springs to live an enjoyable life here on the Maine coast. Besides, many fogs make familiar sights, such as this one, dreamily different:

This image of spring’s opening act was taken a few minutes before damp (not high) noon in Naskeag Harbor yesterday. “Dear Abbie:” was in her usual guarding stance, the green-shuttered summer residence seemed to be squinting into the harbor, the tide was rising fast, and it was a relatively warm 42° F without wind.

“Abbie” will finish her scallop-dragging (dredging) season this month. I’ve got to imprint on my memory how she looks in the winter with her scallop-dragging and shucking gear – mast, boom, drag (dredge) and shelling hut behind the wheelhouse. She’ll be losing those and hauling lobster traps for the summer. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 20, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Honk If You Like Spring

Today is the first day of spring and I saw yet another flight of Canada geese this morning migrating north in the fog above Great Cove. We seem to be getting more of these jumbo-liner migrators this year.

You don’t have to be close to these birds to identify them from their slim necks, heavy bodies, and large, slow-flapping wings – not to mention their constant honking badinage. There also is their wardrobe of formal day-wear: wing collars and white bow ties, white vests, and well-tailored gray morning coats.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 18, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Harbingers of Spring, VI

We know spring is almost here when these neighbors, Wallace and Gromit, are out in the sun and smiling. They’re very friendly miniature donkeys that come to their pen’s fence for some nose-petting and a little chat when you come by.

Wordsmiths have a lot to consider with these animals. A “donkey” is NOT the same as a “mule,” which is the sterile offspring of a horse and a donkey. However, a “donkey” IS the same as an “ass,” which is derived from the Latin word “asinus,” meaning the age-old  “donkey.” (The scientific name for a donkey is “Equus asinus.”)

 A “Jackass” is a male donkey that also is called a “Jack,” while female donkeys also are “asses,” however, they usually are called “Jennies.”  Both male and female donkeys also are “burros,” the Spanish word for donkeys that also is used in English. Finally, the English word “donkey” is thought to be derived from the Middle English word “donekie,” meaning a miniature dun (brown) horse.

Thus, to be imprecise and drive wordsmiths crazy, Wallace and Gromit might be considered to be miniature-miniature horses. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 13, 2025.)

In the Right Place: A March Fog, Part II

The fog down here crawls haphazardly in from Great Cove behind me. When it reaches the fire pond, it rises to full height and strides confidently straight up the north field. The snow around the pond and the ice within it are as soft as vanilla sherbet and soon will be gone. But now they provide a pleasing contrast to the blurry, winter-browned landscape. The silence is penetrating. I feel like I’m inside an immense bell jar.

Once again there is the consternation of feeling I’m alone when I know I’m never alone here. My senses are just too dull for me to perceive my surroundings adequately. I search the woods’ edge with a long lens; sweep too quickly over a color change that triggers an instinct; move the lens back slowly, refocus. There!

The resting doe stares at me with what appears to be quiet disdain. She seems to know that my awareness skills are not as good as hers, here in her world. She also apparently has learned that I’m a member of an invasive predator species. She looks calm, but her ears and steady gaze tell me that she’s alerted and, if need be, she could spring up and be gone in a second.

She apparently has come to terms with predators. She was born with evolved instincts and has been taught by elders how best to deal with predatory behavior. Lately, I’ve come to realize that human education is lacking in that regard. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 16, 2025.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: A March Fog, Part I

The fog has stopped at the wetlands, encircling them, but not fully entering. I infiltrate through and enter the bog. A damp chill is the first sensation. It’s colder than cool, warmer than cold.

The slow, sloshing sounds of my boots in the darkened vernal pools seem too loud and discordant, evoking memories of long-lost arpeggios. I head for where I know there’s an invisible curtain of balsam fir scent, and I boldly trespass through it with deep breaths, each a small thrill.

The surrounding fog suddenly decides to ease its way through the trees, seemingly searching silently for me. The movement triggers a prehistoric impulse that only occurs when I’m alone and realize my insignificance: Beware But Behold!

And then it starts to rain fat drops that I can hear gulp giddily as they dive into the pools and become spreading targets. The mood is broken.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 16, 2025.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: Harbingers of Spring, V

Eastern skunk Cabbage spathes have been emerging through the ice and frozen ground for at least a week here. As usual, these are the first wild annual plants of the new year to break ground.

However, the above yellow variation is not usual; the usual color of the spathes is a mottled purple, as shown below. The Jester hat-like spathes are protective housings for the plant’s flowers, which grow out of a pin cushion-like growth (a “spadix”) hidden inside the hat.

The plant (Symplocarpus foetidus) is one of a very few plants that has evolved the ability to metabolically generate considerable internal heat, which enables it to get a jump on competitors before spring arrives.  Skunk cabbages have been reported to have raised the temperature of the flowers in their spathes to 71.6˚ F (22˚C), even when the surrounding temperatures are freezing.

Not only does that heat keep the flower from freezing, but it also is thought to attract and shelter the earliest pollinators, which crawl into the side opening of the spathe for a little refreshment as well as protection, then leave and help propagate the species. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 15, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Harbingers of Spring, IV

In Conary Cove, the ice finally is out, the snow on the shore is virtually gone, mallard ducks are courting on calm waters, and – for the very sharp-eyed – Canada geese are V-ing home high in the sky. The light, depending on your perspective, also is of several moods:

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

In the Right Place: Red March

Here’s a merger of three images of the total lunar eclipse early this morning that created an unusual Blood Full Moon:

(Merged mages taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 14, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Harbingers of Spring, III

Here you see Canada Geese immigrants returning home after being fired for causing fraud and waste, subjected to a 25% tariff, and deported as national security threats.

Well, actually, Canada Geese are fairly common in Maine as both residents and migrants. It’s always a thrill to have a V-shaped gaggle fly overhead loudly honking advice to each other. They’re good seed dispersers, beautiful birds, and (I’m told) good quarry for hunters.

On the other hand, excesses of these tundra nesters, sometimes caused by misguided humans feeding them or creating geese-friendly habitats, have been harmful to the geese and created disgusting, unhealthy situations. Maine wildlife officials have issued online advice on controlling them. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 11 [flying] and 13 [standing], 2025.)

In the Right Place: Restoring Magnificence

Here you see a peregrine falcon that has been trained to catch and kill on command by the master falconer on whose glove the bird sits:

The image appears with my monthly column in the current print edition of the Ellsworth American (and in the March 6, 2025, digital edition).  Click on the image to enlarge it. To read the column about Maine’s restored peregrines – the cheetahs of the sky – use this link: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Harbingers of Spring, I & 2

1.    Some Down Easters know that spring is coming when the first sailboat comes out of hibernation and causes a traffic jam in front of the Post Office:

2.    For others, it’s when the Holey Ritual of the Healing of the Driveways starts with the Laying on of the Sands:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine on March 4 [boat] and 11 [potholes], 2025.)

In the Right Place: Old MacDonald Had a Garage

“Traditional” red Maine barns are popular with photographers who enjoy historic sites, including yours truly. However, many, if not most, barns here are more likely to shelter cars and trucks than cows and goats, or contain summer apartments and party rooms rather than grain and hay:

A sobering story is told in the 2024 Maine Census of Agriculture (based on the most recent [2022] data). The number of farms in the state has been decreasing over the years. As in many states, Maine farms are mostly (82%) individual- or family-run operations.

A remarkable 57% of Maine farmers have a primary occupation other than farming. And, most of our farmers are old. About 12.5% of Maine farmers are over 75 years old, about 26% are in the 64-to-75-years-old category, and about 23% are in the 55-to-64 category.

Maine’s principal agricultural products are potatoes, milk and other dairy products, chicken eggs, blueberries, and (somewhat surprisingly) floricultural items (flowers and ornamental plants). (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 8, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Dock- & Pier-Peering, IV

There’s no question that, at the center of this image, that is a “dock” and not a “pier.” It’s officially the Brooklin Town Dock. I’ve heard that some think it’s squat and ugly. In isolation, maybe so. However, within its chosen place, it’s a valuable feature of a picturesque Maine working harbor.

When a Maine lobster boat is tied up to that Dock, a very pleasing composition is completed. The Dock is bordered by a small recreational and picnic area, a beach that provides good summer sunning and bracing swimming in very clear water, and a parking lot with a portable restroom facility. There also is a float docking system that is launched beside the Dock in the summer for small boats to tie up.

Note that, unlike many piers, this hard-surfaced Dock is wide enough and strong enough to accommodate trucks for loading and unloading lobster-trapping and scallop fishing equipment. It also can support heavy, mechanized grapple trucks that can install and remove booms, masts and chain-net “drags” (dredges) on fishing vessels.

The Dock is at Naskeag Point, the end of a beautiful peninsula that, itself, is on a beautiful peninsula named the Blue Hill Peninsula. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 8, 2025.)

n the Right Place: Dock- & Pier-Peering, III

Above and below are images taken yesterday of what is left of the Atlantic Boat Company’s traditional pier in Herrick Bay.

The pier was destroyed by the extraordinary winter storms of January 2024. Perhaps these wooden “bones” have been left as a memorial or a reminder not to take Mother Nature for granted.

The Company replaced this old pier with a modern, retractable floating dock system that is launched when the weather warms up and stored ashore in winter. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 8, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Dock- & Pier-Peering, II

Here’s the WoodenBoat School pier, which also is intriguing in a good Great Cove fog. It comes ashore adjacent to the School’s classic boathouse and probably is the most substantial pier in the neighborhood. It has a very long, heavy-duty wood span that rests on massive, old granite pilings. In the summer, it’s extended by a gangway and a fairly large docking float where visitors tie up boats.

Above, you see the pier from the south. On the north side of boathouse, there’s a flight of old, lichen-splattered field stone steps that lead directly to the pier:

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

In the Right Place: Dock- & Pier-Peering, I

Is it a “pier” or a “dock” or either or both? Some people insist that stationary passageways that protrude over the water on piers of wood, stone, or other supporting material should be called “piers.” Only structures that are designed to allow a floating vessel to tie up to them should be called “docks,” they say.

Above, you see the Brooklin Boat Yard’s pier yesterday as a reported 16.5-foot tide rolls into Center Harbor and a dense fog drifts out. Its relatively new and large home-like shed hasn’t weathered yet, but it’s certainly a distinctive feature. It looks a bit surreal (René Magritte-ish?) hanging over moving water:

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