In the Right Place: One by One

One of the joys of spring is to watch marsh ponds awakening from a mostly sleepy winter, changing day by day, plant by plant, animal by animal. Here you see the largest pond on the WoodenBoat School campus, where the flora and fauna have been transforming quickly.

Among many other developments, fragrant water lily pads are starting to rise to the surface and green clumps of arrow arum have emerged well over a foot out of the water. The pads arise fully formed in earthy colors and soon soon will be accompanied by scented flowers.

The arum’s beautiful arrow-headed leaves are now forming and soon will be large enough to make their plants bow gracefully as if looking into the waters from which they arise.

A muskrat (or is it two that look alike?) recently has been extremely busy chewing off succulent new stems and swimming them to what apparently is an underwater entrance to a den:

The first litter of muskrat kits usually is born in May; I hope to see  a family soon. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 19, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Patchy

This year’s spring molt among our white-tailed deer seems to be occurring unevenly. Some deer already have experienced a smooth transition from heavy gray coats to lighter/cooler reddish-brown ones; others – such as this doe – are still virtually all gray and so patchy that they almost appear to be mangy:

We seem to be having an unusually chilly May so far. I wonder if that is affecting the molt. Nonetheless, don’t worry about this patchy cutey; we see her frequently and she’s acting normally – too normally when she sneaks into our garden.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 17, 2023.)

In the Right Place: The End Is Near – and Blooming

The flowering crabapple trees guarding the entrance to historic Naskeag Cemetery are now blooming, as if presenting arms in full dress uniforms.

Ironically, the cemetery’s name, “Naskeag,” means “the end” in the language of the Abenaki Native Americans who lived here before European settlers arrived. The area is a peninsular, the end of land and the beginning of fishing waters.

The cemetery was located there hundreds of years ago and includes the remains of some very early settlers, including William Reed, an American militia Captain in the Revolutionary War. He died and was buried there in 1790. 

The settlers liked the Abenaki name: The area eventually became known as Naskeag Village on Naskeag Peninsular, which was reachable by Naskeag Road. There was a community there that had a school and attended Beth Eden Chapel that you see across Naskeag Road in the first image.

Beth Eden is a one-room church and meeting place that was completed in 1900 and is now used primarily for occasional ceremonies and programs. Named in 2001 to the National Register of Historic Places, the Chapel is listed as an example of late Victorian architecture. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 18 and 19 [closeup], 2023.)

In the Right Place: Bog Blooms

Rhodora blooms are appearing in our bogs, as you see from these images taken yesterday. These delicate flowers appear in the shady areas before their plants fully leaf-out, which seems to give them an interesting candelabra effect.

The plant (Rhododendron canadense), also known as Canada rosebay, is one of only two azaleas that are native to Maine, according to State reports.

The other is the endangered swamp (or “clammy”) azalea (Rhododendron viscosum). Azaleas, as you probably know, are deciduous members of the rhododendron genus. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 17, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report 4

Ozzie and Harriet seem to be on their way to having a family by next month. Harriet apparently has been brooding on eggs for at least 10 days – she spends most of her time hunkered down in the center of the nest, where I can’t see her.

Ozzie has been very attentive. Above, you see him bringing Harriet breakfast in bed last week. Below, you see him (in light rain) bringing home some siding to patch up their love nest. He also occasionally helps with the egg incubation when Harriet needs to stretch her wings.

The incubation period usually takes about 38 days before the fuzzy, red-eyed nestlings appear. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 13 and 15, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Skewered

Kousa dogwood trees have been blossoming this week. Although native to East Asia, the trees are fairly common here and some appear to have naturalized themselves in our woods. They are also known as Chinese dogwood, Japanese dogwood, and Korean dogwood.

What appear to be four white petals are actually four bracts spreading from below clusters of often-unnoticed yellow-green flowers. (In botany, a bract is a specialized leaf, usually associated with protecting a reproductive structure such as a flower.)

Kousa dogwoods (Cornus kousa) can be distinguished from our native flowering dogwoods (Cornus florida) by the Kousa’s pointed, rather than rounded, flower bracts. One explanation of the origin of the word “dogwood” is that the very hard wood was used to make “dogs” or “doggerwood” – Old English terms for a meat skewer.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 13, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Greatness

Here you see a great blue heron ascending. In flight, great blues lumber along on their huge, curling wings that can be more than six feet in length. They often fly quite high and resemble bald eagles when their trailing legs are not visible.

When standing erect, the birds can be more than four and one-half feet tall. While hunting in the coves, marshes, and fields, these birds are silent stalkers; they move slowly on their reed-like legs, then stand still. At a distance, they look like a curl of smoke.

Nonetheless, they’re among our sparest birds; they usually weigh less than six pounds, according to reports. Yet, they’re voracious and indiscriminate eaters: They seem to eat just about anything that will fit down their slim necks – including insects, mice, snakes, frogs, toads, eels, and of course fish.  

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 2, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Arisings and Arousals

Here you see the clear, rising tide seemingly and magically causing some of the rocky ledges of Blue Hill Bay to float.

The beauty of the scene belies the fact that our sea levels are rising dangerously due to climate change. Moreover, the speed of that sea rise is, itself, increasing even more dangerously.

Maine is vulnerable to sea level rises due to its long, relatively open coast. Measurements at nearby Bar Harbor show that the sea has risen more than 8 inches since 1950 and is now rising faster by about an inch every 8 years. Further acceleration is expected to increase the danger.

As I understand it, warming of the Gulf of Maine, alterations to the Atlantic Ocean’s circulation, and ice melt seem to be the biggest threats. The rate of ice melt has been increasing significantly since 1992 and changes to the waters’ circulation and temperature have been increasing the frequency and viciousness of storms, especially those blowing in from the northeast (“Nor’easters”).

It's past time to take climate change seriously and many Maine towns are doing so by doing such things as raising causeways and structures, building seawalls, replacing culverts, and forming planning committees to study longer-term activities that would mitigate and prevent the expected effects. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on May 11. 2023.)

In the Right Place: Oh Buoy

Our springs here are marked by the arrival of such welcome sights as migrating warblers, budding flowers, and Vulcan. I’m not referring to Vulcan, the Roman God of fire and forges, I’m referring to the moorings vessel Vulcan owned by Brooklin Marine, LLC. Here you see Vulcan on Thursday laying mooring buoys in Great Cove for the WoodenBoat School's fleet and visiting boats.

You may have noticed that Vulcan is not exactly graceful with a slick racing profile. But, she’s built for tough jobs and apparently does them well. I’m told that she has a drum winch that is rated for hoisting 10,000 pounds. Moorings need to be heavy to be secure.

The basic parts of a mooring setup start with an anchor weighing hundreds to thousands of pounds, depending on the boat and water conditions. Where the sea bottom is soft and the boat is not huge, a mushroom anchor usually will do the job, but many prefer more permanent anchors in the form of a block of granite or concrete with a galvanized (rust-proof) eyebolt on top.

Galvanized chains run from the anchors to the mooring buoys/balls. Unless the boat is large, a nylon rope-like pennant usually is attached to the buoy to be hooked up to the boat via shackles and swivels. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 11, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Squirrelly Situations

This image of a feisty red squirrel appeared yesterday in my monthly column in the Ellsworth American. Click on the image to enlarge it. T

o read the column about the problems that we have with these squirrels and those that they have with us, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Morning in Maryland

We’re back in Maine and would like to share with you a few images from several refreshing morning walks that I took this week in Maryland’s Cabin John Regional Park, just to the north of Washington, D.C. The Park is now in dense, full leaf, unlike most of our Maine woods, which are just starting to leaf-out.

The Park is dominated by tall oaks and tulip poplar trees that emerge from a thick understory of smaller native and foreign trees and bushes. (There even are Chinese Princess trees [Paulownia tomentosa] in there.)

Cabin John Creek meanders slowly through the Park’s lush greenery. The 10.9-mile-long Creek is a Potomac River tributary that flows southward from Rockville, Maryland, to a culvert under the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal, which allows the Creek to empty into the famous River.

Winding, switch-back trails run along the ridges above the Creek, providing hikers and trail bikers a view of the Creek and a good workout. May apples and Christmas ferns grow in profusion beside the trails

(Images taken in Cabin John, Maryland, on May 4, 5, and 8, 2023.)

NOTICE

In the Right Place has gone on vacation for about 10 days. Hope to see you again then.

April Postcards From Maine

If April showers are any indication of how many May flowers we’ll be brought , we’re going to be up to our necks in flowers soon. This April was one of the wettest and windiest on record. We saw spring rains that were veritable car washes, high winds that were tree stranglers, roads turned to mush that required regrading, and that peculiar mix of fog and drizzle that is just plain oppressive.

However, the sunny side of this April was wonderfully exuberant. There were days to fly kites, watch clouds race, and otherwise experience the joy of a life on a clear day near the sea.

Aside from a few blow-downs, the woods remained inviting and the rain-swollen streams provided music that ranged from the melodic to the manic.

Aprils always begin with anxiety for me until I know that “my ospreys” have migrated safely to their nearby nest. Thankfully, they arrived on schedule this year.

Other winged migrators arrived before the ospreys this year — some were massive (Canada geese), some medium-sized (red-winged blackbirds), and some miniscule (eastern [“yellow”] palm warblers). Impressive as these visitors were, when it came to feathered flamboyance, they were no match for our male wild turkeys, which begin to feel their spring hormones in April.

Some of our returning wildlife in April didn’t come from the south, but appeared from the depths of local ponds and earthen shelters. We saw our first-of-the-year painted turtles and American toads during the month.

Our white-tailed deer and red squirrels are active year-round residents, of course, but their coats were thinning and changing colors in April.

On the working waterfront, the Atlantic scallop fishing season ended in April. The fishing vessels that dredged (‘dragged”) for these mollusks over the winter soon will be taking down their masts and booms, cleaning up, and getting ready to start hauling lobster traps in late May or June. Some vessels that spent the winter under wraps “on the hard” emerged like hibernators in April to undergo spring cleaning and maintenance.

In the April woods, the male red maple tree blossoms appeared as small, red pollen sprinklers; the speckled alder catkins hung like dormant insects dispensing pollen; white star magnolia buds started to show, and green needle-bundles burst from tamarack (larch) tree branches.

In the April bogs, the skunk cabbage leaves began to swirl up and furl out; a previously unseen yellow-white form of skunk cabbage spathe was found, and fern stems started to emerge like little groups of happy mummies, their fronds rolled tightly into fiddlehead-shapes.

In the gardens, the earliest flowers of the year were yellow and white: the forsythia and white star magnolia petals appeared before their bushes’ leaves emerged, as usual. And, of course, April daffodils (jonquils) arose and stood ready to blow their fancy horns if and when there was need for the alarm.

Finally, we come to April’s shadowy dusks and dark nights — often cold, often wet, and often dramatic. At times, an April dusk arrives with cobalt-colored clouds sliding slowly overhead and sealing off the last light above the sea.

This year, we were lucky to see a virtually-full April moon rise and silhouette the emerging red and pink blossoms at the tops of maple trees. This seemed fitting, since the April full moon is known as the pink full moon because it arises when pinkish flowers emerge.

(All images in this post were taken in Downeast Maine during April of 2023.)

In the Right Place: Long Shot

We’ve had painted turtles in our pond for at least 10 days, but they are illusionists – they disappear with a ripple before you get within normal “shooting” range. I managed to get this long shot yesterday by crawling with a 500mm lens as if I were in basic training with a rifle.

I’m guessing that this is a male because of the relatively long and substantial tail. Among other sexual differences, female PTs have shorter, stubbier tails to facilitate mating.

Painted turtles (Chrysemys picta) have existed for at least 15 million years, according to fossil records. These common natives to the United States evolved into four geographical subspecies here during the last glacial age, which ended almost 12 thousand years ago.

Maine’s subspecies, shown here, is the eastern painted turtle, Chrysemys picta picta; it’s the only subspecies with shell (“carapace”) segments (“scutes”) that occur in virtually parallel rows and columns. The other subspecies are the Western, Midland, and Southern PTs. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 29, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Fern Food

The fern stems are starting to emerge in the woods like little groups of happy mummies glad to arise again. Their fronds usually are rolled tightly into fiddlehead-shapes and covered with protective hair-like growths.

Once mature, some of these fiddleheads will be delicacies. Here in the northeast, a favorite spring vegetable serving is ostrich fern fiddleheads (Matteuccia struthiopteris). Note, however, that some ferns are very poisonous; don’t use any for food unless you’re sure that it’s edible and don’t eat any raw – there are plenty of recipes on the Internet.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 28, 2023.) Click on image to enlarge it.

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report 3

It’s been mostly a quiet and wet week for Ozzie and Harriet, but the sun came out about mid-day yesterday when the images here were taken.

Harriet spends most of her time alone in the nest, periodically “begging” for food and/or attention (some ornithologists call this typical behavior “soliciting”). Female osprey begging mostly is a series of about 8 to 10 short, rapid. high-pitched chirps. The birds usually don’t appear alarmed or otherwise agitated when making the calls; it’s apparently part of the pairing ritual.

Eventually, Ozzie returns to the nest from parts unknown, often with a fish offering, which Harriet may or may not pick at. He usually doesn’t stay long and sometimes Harriet appears to get bored herself and disappears for 10 or 20 minutes. There has been no sign of egg-laying yet.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 27, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Putting a Spin on It

One of our first trees to bloom is the red maple (Acer rubrum). Here you see male red maple tree flowers blooming yesterday before their tree’s leaves appear. The flowers are starting to release their pollen, which (if things go according to the script) will fertilize the waiting stigmas of nearby female red maple flowers.

At about the time that the maple trees leaf-out, those fertilized female flowers will have elongated into fruits in the form of “double samaras” (winged seed pods) that drop and spin through the air like little helicopters. The idea is for them to land at a respectable distance from their tree and germinate into maple tree seedlings.

Curiously, red maple samaras are reddish and fly in the spring, yet the samaras of sugar maples (Acer saccharum) are green and fly in the fall. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 26, 2023.)

In the Right Place: The End Is Near

Here you see the Fishing Vessel Tarrfish in Naskeag Harbor during yesterday’s rain. She still has her mast and boom up, but they’re used only in the dredging (“dragging”) part of the Atlantic scallop season, which ended last month.

Nonetheless, we’re in the last few days of the scallop diving season, which is when “divers’ scallops” are hand-harvested on the sea bottom by courageous (some might say crazy) winter swimmers. The diving season ends here in three days, April 29.

David Tarr, the Captain and owner of Tarrfish, traps lobsters in the summer and both drags and dives for scallops in the winter-spring. He reports that “overall the [scallop] season was good. The catch was good, the price was decent, and boats were pretty well spread out.” By staying spread out, the fishing vessels don’t disturb each other’s dragging paths or otherwise get too close for dredging comfort. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 25, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Anticipation

Rain, wind, and cold have been making it difficult for these and our other forsythia flower heads, which emerge before their plant’s leaves. A number of the yellow petals probably will hang on until sometime in May, when the bushes start to leaf and turn into nondescript green humps for the rest of the spring and summer.

Forsythia flowers are edible and can be made into teas, syrups, and a traditional Chinese medicine to treat the common cold. The plants are part of the olive family and are native to east Asia and southeastern Europe, but they’ve been popular in Great Britain and the United States for centuries. Victorian gardeners considered forsythias to be symbols of anticipation, perhaps because their blooms are among the first flowers of spring.

The plants were named after the 18th Century Scottish botanist William Forsyth (1737-1804), a royal head gardener who is known as creating one of the first rock gardens. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 23, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Special Attractions

Here you see a saltwater marsh pond in Blue Hill and, below that, a freshwater marsh pond in Brooklin. Both are different parts of Maine’s important wetlands.

Over five million acres of Maine’s wetlands are freshwater wetlands (wooded swamps, shrub swamps, bogs, freshwater meadows, freshwater marshes, floodplains, etc.), according to State data. Only 157,500 acres in Maine are tidal or coastal wetlands (tidal flats, salt marsh, brackish marsh, aquatic beds, beaches, large reefs, etc.), according to those data.

As I hope you know, wetlands in the U.S. need protection; they are under constant threat from humans and are decreasing in size each year. Since colonial times, over half of the wetlands in the lower 48 states have been lost due to such things as development, agriculture, and timber harvesting, including 20 percent of Maine's wetlands, according to Maine reports.

There are increasingly serious consequences suffered by these natural resource losses. Wetlands help prevent floods by slowing down and absorbing water, while they gradually release stored water to rivers and streams to maintain flow throughout the summer. They also recharge groundwater aquifers so that wells do not go dry, protect our shorelines from erosion by absorbing the shock of wave action, and preserve water quality by retaining sediment, nutrients, and other pollutants.

Moreover, wetlands are critical habitats for a wide range of life, including humans who sometimes need to escape enclosed lifestyles. They can be quiet and beautiful places that have a calming effect, not only on nature’s increasingly manic antics, but on humankind’s increasing anxieties. (Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on April 21 and 23, 2023.)