In the Right Place: Moments of Clarity

When the fog momentarily lifts and there is no wind and no sun, our harbor waters can turn black and the stillness can be joltingly clear. Yesterday was like that before a hazy sun appeared in the afternoon:

However, when the fog lays heavily on us for hours – which it has for most of the days during the past two weeks – it can be “pretty tiring” for our fishermen, according to one of our seasoned lobster boat captains who has been going out in the exceedingly poor visibility: “It makes your head tired staring into the radar all day.”

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 19, 2023.

In the Right Place: Not So Outward Bound

Bad fog and apparent resupply needs yesterday morning turned the tough-it-out Outward Bound Maine sailing program into a wait-it-out event in our Naskeag Harbor. As you probably know, Outward Bound (OB) conducts challenging adventures designed to help troubled teenagers and others by increasing self-esteem, self-reliance, concern for others, and care for the environment.

Above, you see the OB vessel “Sally Drew” being secured just after she came ashore and most of the teenaged crew went off to rest on the beach. She apparently is a standard OB-commissioned Hurricane Island wooden pulling boat/sailing ketch.

These double-ended vessels are 30 feet long with a beam (widest part) of 8 feet. They have eight rowing stations (four per side) for use when in the rowing phases of their program and two sails that are sprit-rigged as a ketch. (A sprit is a diagonal spar that helps the mast support a four-sided sail.) The boats are “open vessels” in that they have no cabins or permanent shelters, although tarps can provide needed protection.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 18, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Games

Here you see fog creeping along Flye Point ridge yesterday. We’ve had far too much fog and rain this summer for my comfort. 

However, if you let your imagination loose a bit, you can play mental games with fog scenes, turning reality into illusion, certainty into doubt, and happy barns into brooding ones. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 17, 2023.)

In the Right Place: WTD Status Report

It must be summer: all the gray-coated, white-tailed deer are now red-jacketed, white-tailed deer; they’ve apparently all molted away their darker winter coats. “Our” herd looks very healthy.

Nonetheless, their brighter appearance has not stopped them from invading the garden. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 9, 2023.)

In the Right Place: The Fog of History

Here’s something that you don’t see every day: an Isles of Scilly pilot cutter. She’s the 60-foot working replica “Hesper,” waiting for the dawn fog to clear in Great Cove before starting a four-day cruise, which ended back here today. During that cruise, she was the classroom for a WoodenBoat School course on “Coastal Cruising Seamanship” and an iconic reminder of an interesting period in maritime history.

The Scilly (“SIL-ee”) Islands lie off the southwestern tip of Cornwall, England, in the midst of perhaps the most popular sailing approaches to England in the 19th Century. But it was treacherous sailing for the many tall sailing ships trying to avoid the area’s reefs and ragged coastlines.

The seamen of the Islands became famous for their courageous and competitive efforts to travel out to the incoming ships and pilot the sail-powered visitors through. By tradition, the first pilot to reach a vessel won the contract to guide that vessel safely to a harbor.

Some pilots used gig boats to row out to near-in vessels, others used fast and maneuverable “pilot cutters” such as “Hesper” to reach the vessels that were farther out in the Atlantic Ocean. The peak period for pilot cutters reportedly was between 1830 and 1860, when Scillies’ St. Mary’s Sound often was full of large sailing vessels waiting for a fair wind to continue to London or Liverpool.

“Hesper” (meaning morning star), now out of Camden, Maine, was built in 2004 at Queek Quay, Cornwall, by famed pilot cutter shipwright Luke Powell. She’s one of nine that he’s built. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 13, 2023.) By the way, Great Cove is totally socked in fog as I write.

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report 9

There was an amazing discovery this week: Ozzie and Harriet have a THIRD, previously unseen, nestling! I don’t know how I missed it. This shy bird apparently is the last born, hence the smallest. Per our protocol, she’ll be called June, the apparent month of her birth. Thus, in order of birth and size, the red-eyed nestlings are being called David, Ricky, and June for discussion purposes.

Above you see Ozzie serving breakfast to the nest this week. One of the three nestlings is visible; the two others are obscured by Harriet. Ozzie’s been delivering food daily since Harriet started brooding. He often flies to a nearby spruce-top after delivery and proudly oversees the family feast:

Although the nestlings do pick at the delivered fish, Harriet also still feeds them bits of it from time to time, especially June who is least developed and begs a lot:

The youngsters are growing very fast, but they need to do so; they’ll be migrating many miles in about two months. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 13, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Weeds of Prey

This composite image appears in my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American.

To read the column, which takes a different look at weeds in general and hawkweed in particular, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Soaking It Up

We’ve been getting some sun in the past couple of days and we’re not the only ones grateful for it. The painted turtles in our ponds have been out soaking up that sun at every opportunity, even when it’s weak and a sometimes thing.

Being cold-blooded (“ectothermic”), turtle body temperatures are determined by their environment. They must maintain an internal temperature of between 63 and 73 degrees (F) to be active, according to reports. Basking in the sun, especially on a surface that warms up below them, is a principal way that PTs and other wild turtles can maintain enough heat to be active.

The heat that they absorb increases their metabolism, helps them digest, and induces males to produce sperm, researchers have found. The sunlight also strengthens their shells, attacks algae that can cause infection, and enables turtles to produce vitamin D 3, which is needed for the absorption of calcium used in structural growth. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 11, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Sadness Symbols

Poppies are in abundance here now, thriving on the almost daily fog and rain that we’ve been getting. Red poppies have come to symbolize the blood shed by soldiers in battle and often are used to memorialize such soldiers or veterans in general.

There are several theories about the origin of the poppy’s soldier remembrance tradition. The leading one appears to be that it began after publication of the popular and poignant poem “In Flanders Fields,” by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae. He was a Canadian physician and poet who reportedly wrote the poem while he was serving in a field hospital on the front lines during World War I in Flanders (northern Belgium).

The short poem, which begins and ends with images of poppies blowing among the many rows of grave-marking crosses, is quite moving. If you want to read it, click this: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47380/in-flanders-fields

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 11, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Waxies

Our wild mushroom season usually begins in earnest in late June or early July and lasts until fall or early winter, depending on the weather. The excessive fog and rain that we’ve received during this spring and early summer may herald a bumper crop.

As of now, we’re seeing plenty of waxy cap mushrooms, including the small scarlet waxies (Hygrophorus coccineus) shown above, which are hard to miss. (At least I think that they’re scarlet waxy caps; I’m not confident identifying fungi.) We’re also seeing plenty of what I think are golden waxy caps (Hygrophorus flavescens):

When it comes to waxy caps, even the experts are having problems identifying them, now that DNA testing is proving old assumptions wrong. For example, not all waxy caps are waxy (or sticky or slimy) to the touch, but that’s the least of the identification difficulties.

MushroomExpert.com, currently reports that, “Answering the question ‘What are the North American waxy cap species and how to tell them apart?’ will require many years, many studies, many thorough and well-documented collections ….” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 9, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Coping and Care

Some ancient apple trees just hang in there as best they can, producing leaves, flowers, and eventually some fruit, despite the most catastrophic experiences. Fog is the least of their troubles.

Many abandoned apple trees don’t last as long as the ones shown here. The trees shown here, however, have the good fortune of living on the WoodenBoat Campus, where they’re cared for. Based on the year that the Campus property was developed for its original private owner (who reportedly planted apple trees), these trees are more than 100 years old. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 7, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Death in the Air

A blur flashed outside one of our second-floor windows on Friday and suddenly stopped less than 100 feet from me at about my eye level. It resolved itself into this handsome devil on the hunt.

He’s a juvenile Cooper’s Hawk who scanned the area for a few minutes, spotted something below, and swooped down, returning to a blur. (Sex assumed.)

Cooper’s Hawks are recovering well from devastating losses in the first half of the last century, when many were shot on sight. You know why they were slaughtered if you know that their other most common name is “chicken hawk.” There are reports in Edward Howe Forbush’s treatise of these birds swooping down with blinding speed and plucking a chicken as the very nearby farmer watched in frustration. (The bird was named officially in 1828 in honor of the ornithologist William Cooper; its scientific name is Accipiter cooperii.)

To be sure, Cooper’s are extraordinarily efficient predators, but they take far fewer chickens than they do small- to medium-sized wild birds and such occasional prey as small mammals and snakes. Their hunting prowess is legendary and the subject of one of Forbush’s most dramatic descriptions:

“When the ‘Cooper’s’ loud ‘cucks’ ring through the sunny, leafy woods …, the hush of death pervades everything. All erstwhile cheerful thrushes and warblers become still and silent. The ‘Cooper’s’ fierce ‘cucks’ are the most merciless sounds of our summer woods. There is indeed death in the air.” Birds of Massachusetts and Other New England States, II (1927). (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 7, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Rain and Sun

Being at a pond in a light summer rain often is not only pleasing to the eye, it can be symphonic to the ear – the fat raindrops hitting different surfaces can sound like harps and plucked violins, the breezes making the cat tails swish, the frogs playing double bass and the red-winged blackbirds playing muted trumpets ….

The performance is made complete after a brief shower, when the sun returns and the water lilies yield themselves fully to it. That’s always a stunning encore.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 2 and 5, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report 8

I’m virtually certain that Ozzie and Harriet have raised only two nestlings this year. So, per our Nelson Family protocol, the oldest youngster will be named David and the other will be named Ricky for discussion purposes. That’s David on the left complaining.

The nestlings seem to be able to feed themselves now. I see them picking at the fish that Ozzie drops off regularly; I haven’t seen Harriet feeding them pieces in more than a week. Harriet takes more breaks lately, flying off the nest and often returning with some new decoration for the family home:

Yesterday, however, she spent much of the morning sitting on the nest with wings out to shade David and Ricky from the hot sun. At times, she looked like an eagle on a quarter.

Ozzie now often lazes at the top of a tall spruce near the nest, just contentedly standing guard. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 5 and 6, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Ditched

Tawney wild daylilies (Hemerocallis fulva) are starting to congregate along our roadsides and elsewhere. They soon will become crowds that will wave at passing vehicles.

Occasionally, a few naturalized lemon lilies (aka long day lilies or Hemerocallis citrina) have joined the tawny wild day lilies.

Unlike true lilies that grow from delicate bulbs, tawny wild daylilies grow perennially from tough roots and runners. That means that they can be invasive. They’re native to Asia, but came here with our earliest European colonists.

These emblems of high summer are called daylilies because most of them, when they reach the flowering stage, will be opened by the touch of the sun and wither overnight. However, if it is a dark, cloudy day, many day lilies will remain closed. By the way, the wild ones also are commonly called ditch lilies due to their ability to live in roadside ditches and on other sloping surfaces.

 (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 2 [lemon] and 3 [tawny], 2023.)

In the Right Place: A Fine 4th

Despite forecasts of bad weather, yesterday was a partly sunny day and a wholly satisfactory one for those of us who celebrated Independence Day here in Brooklin, Maine. Brooklin is regionally renowned for its annual small-town July 4th celebration of summer sights, sounds, food, and fun.

As usual, the morning began with a remarkably imaginative music selection by the remarkably good Brooklin Town Band. It played under the maples on the Friend Memorial Public Library grounds, just across the street from the Brooklin General Store. While the band played on, entrepreneurial youngsters sold juices and pastries and the crowd gathered on Reach Road, awaiting the parade.

The parade started at about 10 a.m. and is shown below in its chronological order. It was led by the Brooklin Fire Department’s big red Engine 1, which — touchingly — was followed by a little red wagon for 2 children. Thereafter, came parading Uncle Sams and Aunt Sams, strolling Statues of Liberty, flag-caped celebrators, and a funny eagle mingling with fierce eagles.

Interspersed throughout, there were the usual hordes of decorated and classic vehicles, including more fire trucks from Brooklin and nearby towns.

Imaginative floats celebrated the coastal life of Brooklin, including a picnic and a fishing vessel that towed people on “water skates” instead of skis. And still more decorated vehicles.

And then, there were still more fire trucks and other vehicles.

At the virtual end of the parade, there was a fast-moving cloudburst, but this one happened to be a human one mocking our dank spring and early summer weather.

At the very end of the parade, a Brooklin rescue vehicle signaled that it was time to move to the Town Green, where the youngsters could toss a “dead” (rubber) chicken into a hole, throw a wet sponge at friends, swing at golf balls, and climb a high pole for dollars.

There also was plenty of food and gossip to be had at the Green. The “meals” consisted of barbequed chicken or pulled pork with potato salad, coleslaw, and watermelon. Hot dogs could be bought separately and, of course, they were “Maine reds.”

It was a happy coastal 4th that featured a dash of yellow lobster trap among the reds, whites and blues.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 4, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Wrinkled Ruffians

The virtually-daily rain this week has done a job on our Beach Roses, but I’m sure that these very rugged plants will survive the deluge and just about any other thing that Climate Change can throw at them.

The plant is deemed invasive in Maine and other states. In fact, ironically, it was imported from Asia centuries ago to spread in sandy areas and stabilize erosion of New England’s shorelines. Thus, its most popular common name is Beach Rose.

The plant also is known commonly as Rugosa Rose, Japanese Rose, Ramanas Rose, and, unfortunately, Letchberry, perhaps because of its invasiveness. It’s scientific name is Rosa rugosa, which relates to its rough and wrinkled (“rugoso”) leaves. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 3, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Great Fishermen We Have Known

I spent a wet but pleasant half hour yesterday watching this great blue heron hunt at Naskeag Point.

Raindrops were puckering the water and small fish were leaping out of it every time he plunged his spear-like bill into a school. (Sex assumed; look closely for the jumping fish.) Sometimes, the heron stretched so far it was a wonder that he could stay upright.

He must have eaten at least a fish a minute. After filling up, he spread his beautiful fan-like wings and disappeared into the fog.

Great blues are our largest common wading birds. However, breeding pairs have been in steady decline, apparently due in large part to our increase in bald eagles, which prey on heron chicks. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 2, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Slick

Here you see Belford Gray in graceful repose as the incoming fog is about to envelop her. She’s a small Friendship sloop modelled after the iconic Maine fishing boats that sailed primarily in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. These beautiful vessels reportedly were first conceived and built in and around the Town of Friendship in Maine’s Muscongus Bay area.

Friendship sloops typically have a bowsprit above a sharp clipper bow, a breathtaking sheer that swoops back to low deck areas, overhanging and elliptical transoms (stern ends), and a full keel below waterline. If ever there were a three-dimensional illustrations of the word “slick,” they are it. 

The low aft portions are designed to make it easier for one or two fishermen to haul nets and traps out of the water. Note the Belford’s many halyards (ropes for hoisting sails). Typically, Friendship sloops have five sails when fully rigged. Yet, they are very maneuverable and often were left by fishermen to “sail themselves.” 

Nonetheless, the Belford is not used for fishing. She was created by a series of WoodenBoat School students and volunteers and launched in 1992 as a schooling vessel. She’s 28½ feet long with a 9½ - foot beam (widest part), according to WBS data. Her name honors Belford Gray, a WBS instructor who was a highly regarded wooden boatbuilder. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 29, 2023.) Click on image to enlarge it.

June Postcards From Down East Maine

June is when the curtains part on summer’s first act. It’s usually a flashy month of sun and fun here on the Maine coast. But not this year. The characterizing feature of June 2023 was dankness most of the month — fog, rain, and unseasonable cold, often all together, often with high winds.

The opening of the sailing season in June usually is a time for applying sunscreen; this year, it was a time for buttoning up rain gear. Nonetheless, tourists still cruised the foggy coast in windjammers and gamely rowed back and forth to and from the classic vessels as part of rainy adventures ashore.

It goes without saying that sailing classes at the WoodenBoat School must have included lessons in foul weather seamanship.

However, we did have a few sunny June days to remind us that it was summer and provide a few spectacular memories. There were several brilliant dusks when activity in Great Cove appeared joyous; there also were mornings of reflected blue skies and, sometimes, we glimpsed the drama of wind filling big sails as storm clouds were forming.

There also were a few precious sunny scenes of clouds stampeding over Mount Cadillac in Acadia National Park; water lily pads rising; sun-dappled wooded paths; deciduous trees sending new leaves into a blue sky, and regiments of purple lupines standing at attention as we passed by.

One benefit of June’s precipitation was that it refreshed our abnormally dry May soil, improved pond levels and stream flows, and transformed drying bogs and ponds into pooling playgrounds for reptiles and amphibians.

As for the wildlife, June is a birthing month for many wild animals, including the birds who migrate here primarily to breed. That would include our ospreys that nest atop very tall trees and platforms where they are exposed to all of the elements that affect our coast.

Above, you see a handsome osprey that we’ve named Ozzie maneuvering on a clear day. Below. you’ll see Harriet, Ozzie’s mate, during a rain shower, briefly leaving their offspring, David and Ricky, who will be home alone for a few minutes with no mother’s wings to shelter under.

There are many ways of getting the feathered youngsters ready for their long flight south in the fall. For example, mallard duck mothers take on the sole responsibility of teaching their ducklings about life; common eider duck mothers form a “crèche” or nursery school with other, nonbreeding females.

June also is when many of the summer insects emerge, which is just fine for nesting tree swallows and red-winged blackbirds that have mouths to feed.

On the working waterfront, June and early July are the traditional opening times of the coastal lobster season. Masts and booms for dredging (“dragging for”) scallops have been removed from the vessels and traps are taken out of storage and loaded onto the boats.

Moving from the sea to the woods, June is when the delicate star flowers twinkle, Jack-in-the pulpits publicly pray, and bunchberry flowers huddle.

In the fields, wild iris emerge in June in their yellow flag and blue flag forms; hawkweed swoops up in its orange and yellow forms, buttercups fill with rain, and daisies brighten dark days and compete with lupines in a contest to show which can be more invasive.

In the ponds, wild fragrant water lilies glow on dark June days and arrow arum aims its weapons at the sky.

The flowers of bordering beach roses and wild blackberry bushes emerge from the thorny plants in June

Of course, June is when garden flowers start to show their stuff. Among the more spectacular this June were the peonies, poppies, and bearded iris.

Finally, we leave you with this thought: Despite the dankness, June was colorful in its own, complicated way.

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during June of 2023.)