Here you see Naskeag Harbor at about noon during yesterday’s historic mega-storm; our fishing fleet had moved to safer moorings in the Benjamin River and elsewhere.
When the images here were taken, the southeast wind was reported to be gusting up to 50 miles per hour, wrenching rockweed from its boulders and flinging it ashore. The temperature was a mild 46 degrees, and the rain came in curtains of stinging water.
And, as usual, weaker trees gave up the ghost under the onslaught:
In the afternoon yesterday, we lost all external power, and it has not been restored as of 9:30 a.m. today – in fact, it’s snowing and 20 degrees (F).
Nonetheless, we have been fortunate to be able to experience the storm in complete indoor comfort, for which we toast Michael Faraday. (He’s credited by most historians with discovering electromagnetic induction in 1831 and coming up with a device that was the precursor to modern home generator systems, such as ours.)
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 23, 2022.)
Here you see Brooklin’s much-loved Friend Memorial Public Library yesterday, which is open until 6 p.m. on Thursdays. It’s a popular community gathering spot that hosts activities, provides public computers, and lends books, videos, and compact discs, among other things.
Although the original part of this FMPL building was completed in 1912, its predecessors stem from 1896. It has had many active benefactors, including the author E.B. White and his wife Katharine Sergeant Angell White, a New Yorker Magazine editor, both of whom are buried nearby in the Brooklin Cemetery.
Small town public libraries are a tradition in New England. The first free modern public library reportedly was opened in Peterborough, New Hampshire, in 1833 and the first library card catalog apparently was created at Harvard University in 1840.
In 1731, Benjamin Franklin started the Library Company of Philadelphia, which may have been the first multi-member library in what is now the United States, but it was a subscription library for paying members. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 22, 2022.)
Here you see the Brooklin General Store last night. Historically, one of the many charms of a small town was a general store that could act as a community hub and supply basics. Most general stores appear to be gone now, but not ours.
The BGS is the latest in a line of general stores that extends back at least to 1872, with only a few short lapses. The Store’s welcoming lights are the beginning of that “finally home” feeling when returning on a dark winter night. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 21, 2022.) Click on image to enlarge it.
Our neighbor apparently decided to memorialize a little-known scientific fact: Many, many, many years ago, before reindeer learned to fly, Santa had to pull his own sleigh from cave to cave.
(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 20, 2022.)
As you see, ice was forming nicely on our local ponds yesterday, but it’s obviously not a good time to try any outdoor sports on them.
Nonetheless, it IS a good time to remind ourselves of some of the ice-safety tips that Maine officials have issued. The principal State guidance is to stay off ice that is not at least four inches thick. And, no matter what the thickness, check the color of the ice before stepping on it. While checking that color, you might sing this Maine mnemonic (“NU-mahn-ick,” a memory tool): “Thick and blue, tried and true; thin and crispy, way too risky.”
Although ice color is not an infallible indicator of risk conditions, it can be helpful in deciding whether to become ice-borne. Here are the color indicators:
· Light Gray to Dark Black Ice: STAY OFF! This is forming or melting ice, even if it looks thick and the temperature is well below freezing.
· White to Opaque/Cloudy Ice: This most likely is a layer of water-saturated snow that froze on top of other ice. Be cautious, even if the underlying ice is thick; it might have air pockets in it.
· Blue to Clear Ice: This is high-density, very strong ice that is the safest type when at least four inches thick.
Texture also can be an important indicator of ice’s weight-bearing capacity. “Rotten Ice” can be thick, but mottled and/or slushy on top. It may contain weak spots that are thawing. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 19, 2022.)
Below you see a scene from yesterday morning. It would be an overstatement to say that this was our first “snowstorm.” It was neither a snowstorm nor our first snow of the winter, albeit we’ve had only a few non-accumulating flurries.
We had an event that resulted in small, periodic accumulations of snowflakes on the ground and in the trees. They were decorative, but not burdensome – nowhere near the levels needing shoveling or plowing. Snow scenes appeared and disappeared with the occasional intermixing of rain and raising of temperatures, which never got very cold. It was a good time to don rain gear, walk in the woods, wonder about what was happening, and take a few images:
As I understand it, when the temperature is at or below freezing, moisture in the air can grab on to dust or other minute particles and form snowflakes. Warmer temperatures produce higher moister and, therefore, wetter snow. The snowflakes start to melt at the edges, causing them to knit together into piecework and then, sometimes, blankets.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 18, 2022.)
Here you see part of “A Festive Christmas! 2022,” a holiday concert of the Bagaduce Chorale. It took place in Blue Hill’s First Congregational Church yesterday afternoon as (fittingly) light snow fell outside.
The Chorale is directed by the renowned Bronwyn Kortge. It’s a large, auditioned chorus of singers from Down East Maine that was founded in 1974. As usual, the performance received a standing ovation from everyone, and I mean everyone.
We always leave their performances with the Christmas spirit in our hearts.
Singing, researchers say, may be among the very few remaining ancient human activities. It reportedly predates any language and has its roots in our prehistoric ancestors imitating the sounds of birds and other wildlife to communicate before distinctly human languages came into being. In fact, there apparently still are no known human cultures that do not have members who sing. Thus, many consider the human voice to be the original musical instrument. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 17, 2022.)
Below you see a male bobcat in a nearby field yesterday guarding a deer carcass. I’ve named him Jack for conversational convenience.
He’s a handsome devil that I’m virtually certain we’ve been seeing locally for about three years.
Jack apparently has started covering the carcass with surrounding grass. That’s a trait of bobcats; they scrape up leaves or grass to cover large prey and return to their stash for subsequent meals. When I got within about 100 feet of Jack, he slowly got up and trotted off a distance. I stopped and did not get closer to his prey, and he trotted back to it. All the while, he was cautious, but not fearful.
Due to the distance that I maintained, I couldn’t determine whether Jack took down this deer or just found its dead body, but the deer was not in a state of decay. Bobcats have been reported to take down crippled and otherwise weak adult deer that are larger than the felines. (There are a surprising number of crippled and dying deer in the wild, many of which have been hit by vehicles on roads in their territories.)
Research shows that Bobcats are opportunistic and will prey on almost any edible thing that is available. Principally, they are reported to prey on small animals such as mice, voles, shrews, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, rabbits, and hares. However, they’ve been seen occasionally taking porcupines, minks, muskrats, skunks, fish, frogs, and insects. And, sometimes, they get to eat venison and deer organs. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 16, 2022.)
That forested eminence that you see rising across Blue Hill Bay is the principal part of Acadia National Park, now in its winter mode.
That means no camping or overnight parking, but plenty of activities for cold-weather wanderers. Among the scenic activities are scenic automobile drives on two sections of Park Loop Road, with the rest of the roadways designated as snowmobile routes for when the snow comes (perhaps today).
Hiking also is one of the most popular winter Park activities, but first-timers should remember that sudden unfavorable conditions (e.g., rain or snow squalls) sometimes arise and it gets very dark in the woods early now. Don’t rely on your phone for a trail map or flashlight; carry a detailed map, a powerful flashlight, and a good compass. And, trekking poles are always good, especially for those of us whose limbs can be surprisingly stubborn at just the wrong time.
Ice skating is allowed on Park lakes and ponds, but make sure that the ice is thick enough before you try your double Lutz. Cross-country skiing and snowshoeing in the designated areas usually are excellent after a good snow. But, dog sleds, dog carts and dog skijoring are prohibited. Nonetheless, dogs on up to six-foot leashes are allowed to join in the fun. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 13, 2022.)
it looked like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 horror movie “The Birds” yesterday morning in Naskeag Harbor:
However, Scott Keenan wasn’t being attacked by those Herring Gulls. He apparently was doing some cleaning on his scalloping vessel and tossing tasty bits overboard for the opportunistic scavengers.
A Leighton Archive close-up of a Herring Gull is shown below:
Leighton Archive Image
After eating, Herring Gulls and many other sea birds will drink fresh water if they can find it. (There’s a pond near the Harbor that’s a popular gull hangout.) However, if the ponds are iced-in or the birds otherwise can’t find fresh water, they’ll drink the salty sea water. The gulls apparently have filter glands in their heads that allow them to excrete excess salt out of their nostrils.
Finally, just for classic film fans: “The Birds,” filmed in California’s Bodega Bay area, reportedly was declared to be “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant” by the U.S. Library of Congress in 2016 and preserved in the National Film Registry. For me, it’s too scary to see a second time. (Vessel images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 14, 2022.)
We had one of those double-take sunsets yesterday afternoon. It was cold (about 28°F) and see-forever clear, which is part of the formula for good sunsets. A sash of low cloud stretched across the sky – stratus cloud, I think, just above the sea and the islands in Eggemoggin Reach.
The sun disappeared as it “descended” through those clouds, darkening our day. It then reappeared below them, creating a crack of honey-colored light just above the horizon, as you see here:
When the sun continued its “journey” and disappeared completely below the horizon, its light was angled up into the clouds, transforming them into luminous strands of purple, pink, red, and yellow-orange to celebrate day’s end:
At wonderous times like these, I have to remind myself that the sun is not moving relative to me; it’s my star – I’m standing on a moving planet within a moving universe. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 13, 2022.)
If you’re in the right mood and in the right place, you can catch these ancient apple trees secretly performing their frenzied winter dance on the WoodenBoat School campus:
On the other hand, if you’re not in the right mood and place, you’ll probably just see a cloudy winter’s day:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 8, 2022.)
Today is celebrated by many as Poinsettia Day, because Joel Roberts Poinsett died on December 12 in 1851. He was a physician, botanist, the first U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, and – here’s the point – the man who introduced this Mexican native plant to the United States. That’s why this tropical plant is sold under his name in the winter as one of our traditional Christmas delights.
There are more than 100 varieties of poinsettias in many colors. Some are on sale now at Mainescape in Blue Hill and other local nurseries. So are amaryllis plants, another tropical plant (originally from Africa) that became a traditional winter and Christmas symbol.:
(Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on December 9 and 12, 2022.)
I was in a fairly rough patch of woods Friday and saw this White-Tailed Deer before she saw me. Her classic profile was illuminated by almost Rembrandtian light.
She then sensed me, turned, and found me:
We had a stand-still-and-stare contest for a while and then she calmly turned her back on me and walked off without even a lift of the tail. Cool lady.
By the way, in case you were wondering, the 2022 antlered deer-hunting season ended yesterday in Maine with an expanded archery opportunity in some wildlife districts. Theoretically, you no longer need to wear orange blaze clothing in the woods for safety. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 9, 2022.)
The conversions of our fishing vessels from lobster trappers to scallop draggers is complete with the installation of “shelling” (or ”shucking”) “houses” (or “huts”) behind the wheelhouses.
These temporary wooden structures are shelters from the wind where the scallops will be sorted by size and shelled (or put overboard if they are too small).
Only the muscle that the mollusks use to open and close their shells (the adductor muscle) is kept. That’s what most people call a scallop, at least in restaurants.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 9. 2022.)
This image of a Christmas/Holiday wreath appeared yesterday in my monthly column in the Ellsworth American.
To read the column about the history of such wreaths, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column
I can’t help but think that cattail seedheads in their prime look more like corndogs than they look like cats’ tails. But then, I suppose it’s not very romantic to think of corndogs waiving in the breeze – especially in the early winter, when the seedheads crack and expose their “fluff,” looking like cats’ tails with the mange or corndogs that have gone way beyond their expiration dates.
Nonetheless, that fluff is one of the warmest of natural materials and often was harvested in days of yore. Native Americans reportedly lined their moccasins and papoose boards with it and early settlors stuffed quilts with it. It also was considered to be some of the best tinder for starting fires.
We reportedly have two species of cattails in Maine, one native and one thought to have originated in Europe. The native species is Broadleaf or Common Cattail (Typha latifolia), shown wintering above. The other species is the Narrowleaf Cattail (Typha angustifolia).
The plants’ leaves, flowering seedheads, and stalks die off in winter, but the essence of the plant lives on in its extensive root system (rhizomes) and patiently awaits a green reincarnation in the spring. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 6, 2022.)
I felt like I was in a Stephen King scene yesterday evening when I stepped out to look at the strange sky. The nearly full moon was rising behind thick storm clouds. It was less a moon and more a phosphorous-coated specter hidden behind a threadbare window curtain. It didn’t reveal what it was; it just produced a glowing light that illuminated the area in a creepy way and cast impenetrable shadows.
At first, there was silence, the kind of silence that seems to weigh over you at night like a bed blanket that’s too heavy. Then, a nearby coyote let go with a wail that shattered the silence to smithereens and immediately burned out my fear-flight fuse. A second coyote answered, as did others in a series that eventually became five relatively close coyotes. They sounded as if they were within a half mile to a mile of me. The chorus lasted about 10 minutes, until the light dimmed as the rain clouds thickened into a dark paste.
This episode seems to confirm the theory that coyotes don’t bay at the moon, as such. They bay when the moon provides light and illuminates the pack’s home territory, reminding them to warn off tempted intruders. It often is easier for them to hunt as a team in the moonlight, when they’ll communicate their positions with howls. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 6, 2022.)
Wind gusts of up to 20 miles per hour yesterday had the high grasses doing frenetic hula dances. Here you see what we’re told is one of the many cultivated forms of high panic grass (Panicum virgatum), a name that it may have been given due to its reaction to wind.
Panic grass is an important native American prairie tallgrass species that also is called switchgrass. The grass looks good all year with its always-upright blades of forest green turning to sandy tan. It looks especially interesting when it’s snow-capped.
The native grass has been used for forage or hay for cattle, and is being studied as a possible biofuel. It often is planted to stop soil erosion, but some of its cultivars are considered to be invasive by some gardeners. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 5, 2022.)